Kith, Kin, and Kicking Butt
“Scootaloo! Scootaloo!”
For the eighth time that day, Scootaloo had wedged herself between two branches in an apple tree.
“Scootaloo, where are you!? Scootaloo!”
Her helmet had protected her from the nastiest of headaches, but only up to a point. Her shinpads had been sheared off by passing branches a few trees back. Otherwise, she was dressed in a lot of twigs and leaves, but these showered off her as she came round from her brief knockout.
“Scootaloo!” Applejack’s voice broke off to give a sharp, shill whistle. “Scootaloo!”
Groaning, Scootaloo made to get up. Then found she couldn’t. Her head was stuck in the fork of two branches.
“Here,” she moaned.
A little closer now, Applejack’s cries were louder but no less clueless. “Scootaloo, where the hay are you!?”
“Here!” Scootaloo cried out.
“Scootaloo!”
A while later, she heard hoofsteps down below, a lot of pawsteps, and the barking of Winona the sheepdog. Stuck here, though, she could only stare straight ahead at a few apples.
“Scootaloo, what did Ah tell you!? Hold on a second. Ah’ll have you down in two shakes of Winona’s tail…”
During the pause, Applejack hummed. Sounded like she was sizing something up.
Then a bucking sound. Scootaloo broke out of the branches, flapped frantically, gained nothing whatsoever from her stunted wings, and yelped as she fell down into the waiting bucket. The bottom was stuffed with hay, but she bounced with a thud anyway.
“Ow…” Then she realized Applejack could still hear her. “I’m not hurt. It was the, uh, surprise.”
“Right. You OK?”
Two strong forelimbs reached out, but Scootaloo batted them off and patted her own neck. “Don’t worry about it. I got it. Just need to get a good grip on the branch, and…”
A few seconds later, her neck had rashes stinging her, and she still had a forked branch for a collar. She stopped struggling.
“Er, Applejack? Could you, er…?” she said.
Applejack reached out again. To Scootaloo, the branch had been like a millstone round her neck, but Applejack merely snapped it like a toothpick. Scootaloo barely felt a judder. Then she gasped for a proper breath while Applejack tossed the pieces aside and peered closer.
“You’re lucky,” she said. “No lastin’ damage. Just go easy swallowin’ for a while. Those rashes will heal ‘emselves if you give ‘em time.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” said Scootaloo, slightly annoyed by the twinges in her throat.
She hated the way Applejack looked at her. It was the way her forehead curved all funny. Like Scootaloo couldn’t handle this.
“If you say so,” said Applejack. And Scootaloo especially hated the way Applejack said that.
They walked back through the trees. Scootaloo tried to walk alongside Applejack or even make it look as if she was leading the way, whilst secretly following her as close as possible. Apple trees were apple trees to Scootaloo, but of course the very farmer who owned them would know them like friends.
The scooter hung from a branch a few yards ahead where Scootaloo had rapidly parted from it. Thankfully, the thing was still in one piece. True, it had suffered worse than being thrown several yards through snapping treetops before, but Scootaloo always worried the next crash would be its last.
Applejack wrenched it out of the tangle with barely a tug of her forelimb.
“Ah think,” she said, passing it down, “the eighth time should be the last time.”
“No! It was just a fluke! I can get it right on the next one!”
Applejack sighed. That was worse than arguing. Rainbow Dash would sometimes argue, when she remembered she was supposed to be the eldest and the most responsible. But that was OK because she never really believed in it. The shouting was just what she’d call “high spirits”. They were really sort of equals. Sort of. Weren’t they? Her and Rainbow Dash. Equals. Huh?
On the other hoof, Applejack only had to sigh and Scootaloo felt like a fool.
“Look, sugarcube,” she said in her infuriatingly reasonable voice, “you can’t cook an apple pie and juggle plates at the same time.”
“You weren’t juggling pl–”
“It’s just an expression. What Ah mean is: this was s’posed to keep you happy while Ah take care of things. If Ah have to come and pull you outta my trees every five minutes, well, it just ain’t workin’, is it?”
“Hey, it’s not like I planned to crash! I nearly had it that time!”
“No offence, but if you keep rollin’ snake eyes in a game of chance, you might not be playin’ it right. And that’s an expression too,” Applejack added sternly. “You take a break, you hear?”
They cleared the trees and passed the white picket fence to the timber house of Sweet Apple Acres itself. There was a lot of activity nearer the barn beside it, but on the edge of the yard was…
Well, the rigging, haybales, and planks piled up in a spaghetti of ramps and turns should’ve counted as Scootaloo’s perfectly safe and secure stunt course. In hindsight, the bit that pointed right out was a bad idea, but all she had to do was spin right round halfway through the jump. Then surely her momentum would spin right round with her? It made sense in her head, but not in the world outside, despite her best efforts.
Unhappily, mind, Applejack had set it all up on Scootaloo’s request. Most of it, anyway. The sensible, boring bits.
She hadn’t even thought to put in any ramps. Some ponies had no clue how to build a stunt course.
“Ah know that wasn’t there last time Ah checked.” Applejack reached out and took a plank at random, hefting it over her shoulder.
“Hey!” Scootaloo made a lunge for it, then realized what she was doing and stood back.
“Sorry, but you can’t just take stuff off my property like bobbin’ for prizes. Ah might need it later. But you can keep all the curves and things. That’d still be fun, right?”
The “curves and things” were everything that was left once all the things needed for later – and the things that looked way too exciting, breakneck, and just plain geometrically impossible – were hefted away for safety.
Scootaloo glared at the result.
“That’s it?” she said. “It’s just a circle track!”
Applejack dropped a barrel hoop from her mouth. “No problem! It’s a good test of endurance. ‘Sides, you can make a game out of it. That’s what my cousin Apple Cobbler always says.”
“Like how?”
“Easy. You see how many laps you can do in an hour. Then you try to beat that score.”
Scootaloo looked at the simple circle.
“That sounds exciting,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“That’s the spirit! Ah’ll be back before the grass grows too long to check up on you, OK?” Applejack winked.
Scootaloo watched her wander off whistling, then looked at her stunt course without any stunts, then slumped on her scooter.
“Wow, Rainbow Dash,” she grumbled, “eat your heart out.”
She made a game out of it. She saw how many laps she could do in five minutes. Then she got bored, left her scooter against the fence, and went off to find something less lame to do.
By the barn entrance, she found Applejack hauling a long table into place. Nearby, Big McIntosh raked up a few stray leaves to clear the yard, Winona the sheepdog patrolled whenever she remembered not to run around yapping in excitement, and Granny Smith’s humming could be heard coming from the open window of the house. She could smell apple pies baking.
For a moment, Scootaloo was strangely shocked by the scene. Why? It’s not like they were pulling painstaking stunts between hypersensitive lightning-clouds that’d blast them out of the sky if they got too close. They were just moving stuff. Or moving themselves. Boring, everyday stuff.
Then she remembered she was supposed to be angry and marched forwards.
“So,” she said once Applejack let go of the table, “do we get any actual time together today?”
“Course we do!” spluttered Applejack, a little flustered. “We’re spendin’ time right now, ain’t we?”
“How about if I crash into another tree?”
For a brief moment, Applejack’s lips were a thin line. Only for a brief moment.
“Ah just got a li’l caught up with other things,” she said, more kindly. “Give me a few seconds. Ah’ll be right with you, Ah promise.”
What are you doing anyway? But Scootaloo refused to ask. The answer wouldn’t make her any happier, not even enjoyably cross, and she knew that already.
“Or,” said Applejack, trying to sound as sly as anyone can be when they tend to sweat telling simple white lies, “or you might like helpin’ me out –”
“No,” said Scootaloo firmly, “thank you.”
“You sure? We could make a game out of it.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Me and Rainbow Dash always make a game out of washing the dishes and scrubbing the table.”
Applejack brightened up. “You too?”
Even she couldn’t misinterpret Scootaloo’s groan, especially not a groan that loud. Grown-ups could be so dense, but usually when they weren’t softening up.
“Don’t be like that,” she added. “Ah can see your scootin’ just fine from over here.”
“But you’re only looking. You’re not watching.”
“Come again?”
“And you’re only looking sometimes. Rainbow Dash –” Always watches me start to finish when I do a trick. Yet Scootaloo was smart enough to realize what Applejack’s face would pull if she got that far, so she stopped the sentence dead.
Scootaloo wasn’t smart enough to think what else to say, though. An awkward silence fell on top of them.
Applejack’s face was flint. “Ah ain’t Rainbow Dash.” Softening the contours of her face to the mere grassy hills of a calm countryside, she continued, “Ah really am payin’ attention. Ah can sense you over there, as clear as a Dale Chevally glass apple.”
Despite her annoyance, Scootaloo had to ask, slightly less impolitely: “Like how?”
“It’s an earth pony thing.”
Scootaloo continued to look blank.
Only when Big Mac set down a towering pile of plates did Applejack gesture to the broader rolls of orchard beyond the comfy clearing of the yard.
“Earth, see? Ah spent years feelin’ the soil in my hooves here. You might think Ah ain’t payin’ attention, but Ah could feel you gettin’ out of breath and gettin’ faster every time –”
“I wasn’t getting out of breath!”
Applejack’s smile was worse than a sarcastic bite. “And whenever you disappeared off the ramp flyin’. Course, Ah couldn’t sense as well soon as you left the ground, and sensin’ through trees are a li’l tougher. Too much livin’ stuff in a tree, see? Sap, beetles, growin’ wood… See, wood and earth are like… kinda like water and air.”
What made it wash over Scootaloo like harsh cold water was the way Applejack beamed at her. Like Scootaloo would know.
“Er…?” Scootaloo watched Big Mac disappear inside the house. Much preferable to watching Applejack’s smile sag.
“You know,” said Applejack, shrugging. “Rainbow explained it to me once. Sensin’ stuff through water, air. It’s a pegasus thing.”
Like flying, thought Scootaloo. That’s a pegasus thing.
“Uh, yeah,” she said. “Sure.”
“There you are, then! See, it all works out.” Applejack beamed encouragingly, then went off to help with the cutlery.
Scootaloo leaned against the wall and sulked. This was so unfair.
She stared up at the empty sky. In the distance, she thought she could see lines of smoke and a rapidly darting shape. A pegasus in action. What she’d give to go over and look at them – no, watch them – but she’d promised for one day she’d do something different. Rainbow took promises deadly seriously, at least when someone like Scootaloo was nearby.
Perhaps itching to run off and do something was a pegasus thing too.
Rainbow did pegasus things all the time. She was all 100% pegasus thing. She changed all the time, rarely doing the same trick twice. So did Scootaloo. Rainbow was free. Scootaloo sort of was, apart from the buzzing stunted wings. Rainbow connected with the air. Scootaloo… had to make do with jumps. The scooter let her jump higher and faster, but she believed in her soul that it could still work out the same, if she really believed in it.
Applejack, though? No, Applejack was 100% not a pegasus thing. She just farmed and worked, over and over and over. She was stable. Stable was boring. Lame, lame, lame lame lame lame laaaaame. And where Rainbow felt like freewheeling childhood, Applejack wore age and experience like a veteran wore her rusty medals.
Still…
For a moment, Scootaloo shuffled her hooves, digging them deeper into the soil. She closed her eyes. After all, being a pegasus wasn’t going to work all the time for her. Being a unicorn was out of the question too. In Equestria, that left one possibility.
And… yeah, she sensed nothing. Plus her hooves had clumps stuck to them now. Good job.
Since no one was looking, she sagged in disappointment.
Perhaps louder than necessary, Applejack coughed. Scootaloo’s eyes shot open.
“Just thinking,” said Scootaloo hastily.
“What about?”
Shock met frustration. Stuck here by a stupid promise, Scootaloo was going to tug at the leash as hard as she dared. She’d found a way to lash out at it.
“Rainbow would’ve done my stunt course easy-peasy,” she boasted, hoping to score a point by proxy.
“Uh huh.” Applejack piled up the soup spoons.
So Scootaloo rallied and tried again. “Yeah. If I made it bigger and made her stick close to the ground, she’d nail it. It’s an agility thing.”
“Sounds nice.” Applejack adjusted the stack of bowls.
“No one else could do it.”
Oho, Applejack stiffened at that. She tried to sweep her gaze across casually, but Scootaloo had seen casual, and Applejack was even worse at acting casual than at telling fibs.
“No one else, huh?” she said.
“Well, maybe an earth pony could try it,” said Scootaloo, as smugly as possible. “Scooters and hooves both touch the ground. But an earth pony like that would have to be as good as Rainbow Dash, and, well…”
Applejack’s eyes narrowed. “Well whut?”
“I mean…” Scootaloo idly examined a hoof. “I can’t think of anyone as good as her.”
The funny thing was: if Scootaloo had just said, “You can’t do it!” then Applejack likely would have dismissed it as a childish insult. It’d look like Scootaloo was trying too hard to belittle her pride, which meant it was that big to begin with. But when instead she sort of prodded at the suggestion that maybe – no offence meant – Applejack could be ignored when thinking about the competition, Applejack’s own pride would openly demand some credit.
The only thing bigger than her pride, in fact, was Applejack herself when she swelled with it.
“Is that a fact? Ah can think of at least one someone who could give old Rainbow a run for her money.”
“Can you? I can’t. I’ve only seen Rainbow Dash move that fast. No one else comes close.”
“All right, that there’s a challenge.” Applejack spat, squared her shoulders, and crouched ready to strike. “How about it? Right here, right now. One lap around the yard.”
Now this was more like it! Scootaloo’s wings buzzed excitedly.
“Go for it!” she shouted.
Applejack pawed the ground, then –
“Eenope.” Big Mac. Right behind them.
His word popped the bubble. Applejack stopped swelling and suddenly the big boring babying Mother Hubbard was back.
Scootaloo herself deflated.
“Sorry, sugarcube,” said Applejack, grimacing but still turning back to the plates. “Big Mac makes a persuasive point.”
“All he said was ‘eenope’!”
“That’s as may be, but chores is chores, and Ah gotta hop all over ‘em like a frog in a hot tin bath. Say, how about later? Once Ah’ve done all this? Maybe Ah can race you then or something?”
Meanwhile, Big Mac went over to Scootaloo’s improvised track to take some more planking away.
Apologetically, Applejack shrugged. “It might be for the best.”
“Forget it,” moaned Scootaloo.
She sulked off, picking up her scooter – the only friend she could trust at the moment – and revved up the mini-motor.
“Don’t shoot off too far, OK?” shouted Applejack. “Scootaloo!”
Even through the sulk, enough concern straightened up long enough to say, “I’m staying on the farm, OK!?”
Which was a safe bet, anyway. The acres were huge!
Scootaloo revved off, ignoring the concerned shouts behind her. Soon, she had no company but an audience of apple trees and a lot of rough, bumpy ground. At least they didn’t make her feel like a little girly girl, babying her all the time…
What did Applejack think she was? A wet blanket?
No, Applejack was the wet blanket. She got so worried about things. Like what, Scootaloo was gonna crash? Not on her scooter. She was too good.
Treacherously, her memory played her a few choice reels.
Well… even if she did crash sometimes, she didn’t need anyone to hold her hoof. She was tougher than she looked. No point getting sappy about… about an itchy neck.
Anyway… even if she did hurt like Tartarus sometimes, it was all for a good cause. It meant being fast and quick on her hooves, like Rainbow Dash. Except she was quick on her wings, but really, if you thought about it, hooves were just as good. Tougher, actually, because hooves had to work harder to cover the same distance, so she was going to work harder to make them do what Rainbow could do. Apart from the flying, but pfft, flying wasn’t everything. Flying. Silly flying. Flying was really too easy, like having a cheat slung over your shoulder all the time. Try seeing Rainbow Dash dodge trees like this.
Scootaloo’s weaving and dodging and zigzagging was perfect.
The trees and the ground were her audience. Her only audience.
Eventually, she slowed down to a mere tootle. Perhaps she ought to go back to –
No! What was she, some crybaby running back to mommy? Don’t be dumb. She didn’t need safety netting, like some big lame earth pony running around with a trampoline to catch her, or with a first aid kit, or something boring and lame and stupid and nice and lame and boring like that. Not at all.
No, she was a hellion. A rebel. She was awesome incarnate and dangerous with it. Rainbow knew that better than anyone.
Her little scooter roared its little motor roar. All this bumpy ground? This was just a test. The trees that could crush her? Let ‘em try. Danger was her middle name. Er… Scoot-Danger-Loo? Scooter-Danger-Loo? Scuh-Danger-Taloo?
Never mind. She was the star. Everyone would know her name. Scootaloo the… the… the Scooter Pony?
Yeah, something cool like that. Scootaloo the Danger. Scootaloo the Daredevil.
Scootaloo the lonely.
She caved in and scooted back. Being awesome was small comfort if there was no one to see her doing it.
But she wasn’t – she just wanted to be clear about this – she wasn’t going to say sorry for being an attention-seeking pain in the patootie for the last hour or so. She was just going to be less of a pain now. That was what was important. Then no one could complain, could they?
Back in the yard, she got annoyed to see no one worried about her. They didn’t even move chairs around like they cared all that much, or notice how awesome her skidding halt had been. If anything, they looked irritatingly practical-minded. Like they didn’t care.
Then she wondered why she cared about this specifically, because she sure didn’t care that they cared! So she just settled for being generally annoyed, instead.
Applejack and Big Mac didn’t even look up when she set her scooter against the barn wall and approached. Instead, they went inside the barn. Scampering but definitely not following, Scootaloo followed.
Piles of long benches stood there, stacked neatly on top of each other. Dozens of ponies – maybe hundreds – could be seated on all of them. But then, the Apple family was notoriously big.
What was going on was an engagement party.
Scootaloo watched as Applejack and Big Mac dragged crates into place in order to reach the higher stacked benches.
Hours ago, it had been a bit of a shock to Scootaloo when she’d arrived on the farm, only to see Granny Smith, Big Mac, and Applejack crossing and almost – but never quite – bumping into each other around the kitchen. She had liked the idea of being the centre of attention, but this was a bit much…
Until Applejack had said, “Do you think Candy Apples will eat candy apples?”
“What are you doing?” Scootaloo had said.
Applejack had spun round, nearly knocked the trays out of Big Mac’s mouth, forced him to dodge backwards, and nearly knocked Granny Smith into the oven she was bent over.
“Oh, sorry, sugarcube –”
“Scootaloo.”
“Scootaloo, sorry. Thing is… See, we can handle it fine. We can still spend time together, but seein’ as this was planned way, way back and… well, us two bein’ together weren’t… since it’s last-minute, and all…”
Scootaloo had simply blinked in confusion. “That’s OK,” she’d said, hoping it was. “The speeds I go at, we can fit anything in anything.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“Yeah,” Granny Smith had uttered, grinning. “Cos you ain’t never hhhover-committed like a moon-eyed hankerin’ babe hoppin’ on a hunk o’ junk before.”
“Ignore Granny: she’s been out in the sun for too long,” Applejack had said, smirking. Granny had stuck out her tongue at her.
Made sense to Scootaloo. A day without a lot of stuff happening was a day wasted, as far as she was concerned. She’d worried Applejack would be a stick-in-the-mud, but Rainbow had said earlier she could be all right for a laugh. You never knew your luck.
That was then. Several hours ago.
Fast-forward to now…
Now, all it meant was that Scootaloo got ignored – whatever Applejack said about that soil-sensing nonsense, Scootaloo knew ignoring when she saw it – and the stuff happening was just bench-pushing.
Literally. Big Mac pushed a bench into place. Some of them had seats as part of the design. The regular tables and chairs stayed on the margins of the yard, suggesting they were just there in case of overcrowding.
There were a lot of chairs. A lot of benches. So a lot of ponies.
Perhaps it was time to take an interest?
“Is this a family reunion?” said Scootaloo innocently.
Applejack looked up from lowering another bench off the stack. “Bless you, nah! Just an engagement party. Candy Apples and Perfect Pie are gonna get hitched, so it’s just their kin from the west side of Equestria. They’re also bringin’ a few friends, and a few friends’ friends, and stuff like that.”
“What? Here? Why?”
Even balancing a massive girder of wood, Applejack could look light with smugness, as if it were a bobbing balloon. “Biggest apple farm in Equestria. Best place for big family dos.”
Scootaloo really wanted to say something. She tried to say it. Words got stuck in her throat.
“Sorry, Scootaloo? Li’l room, please?”
“Oh, sorry.” Instead, she hopped aside to let Applejack pass. The bench swung slightly on her back. It was like watching a seesaw walk away.
After Applejack came back for another, Scootaloo hung around the entrance. A whole family, here? She opened her mouth, stepped forwards, remembered herself, and took her helmet off, freeing up her jagged feather of a mane.
To think that a while ago, she’d wanted to distance herself from Applejack and the farm. There was something awfully motherly about her, even when she was as lame as Rainbow Dash was cool. Especially then, weirdly enough.
It was a strange feeling, and Scootaloo didn’t like it. Unfortunately, it was also a very strong, determined feeling that left her standing there like a melon.
She didn’t stand long. Scootaloo hated doing nothing.
So she stepped forwards and said, spontaneously, “Can I help?”
Applejack screwed up her lips. The next bench didn’t need the crates now to take it off the top, but she still lowered it as if it was made of glass.
“Don’t worry yourself, sugarcube. We got this.”
“Eeyup,” said Big Mac, passing with two benches on his back.
“Oh, it’s no big deal,” said Scootaloo breezily. “Just moving stuff? Rainbow and me do that all the time. Heavy stuff, too. Weighs a ton. Benches, schmenches.”
Earth pony strength or not, Applejack stumbled a bit under her current bench. “Uh huh. Trust me, it’s best you don’t tackle these things, OK? You just take care of yourself there, you hear?”
But Scootaloo didn’t back down easy, not from a challenge. Not even if no one actually made one.
She’d already put herself in place under a leftover bench and was reaching up to the bench on top of it. Sure, it looked big and unwieldy. So what? Most of this “carrying stuff”… stuff was down to balance. Scootaloo, scooters, and perfect balance and control all went together like… like… like something that went together really well. Like Scootaloo and Rainbow Dash, maybe. Yeah, that’s it.
Next, she reached up, met some resistance, and tugged at the edge of the bench with her whole body.
“Scootaloo!” cried out Applejack, who’d just come back and spotted her.
“It’s OK, I got –”
“Don’t!”
The bench groaned, tipped too far, smacked down on Scootaloo’s back, and threw her balance completely off.
Scootaloo yelped and staggered, strong hooves grabbed the bench from her, and before she or Applejack realized the earth mare’s strong grip was in just the wrong place to stop it tilting again, the bench swivelled up and over and smashed – with a horrible crunch – into the higher part of the barn wall.
A few planks clattered down, awkwardly.
Scootaloo backed off, trying to make herself as small and unimportant as possible. She bumped into someone.
From the doorway behind her, Big Mac gasped.
With exaggerated care, Applejack lowered the tipped-over bench to the ground, let go, and backed off herself as if it’d explode into shrapnel.
Then she rounded on Scootaloo. Her eyes spread like two growing puddles of milk.
“You OK?” she said in a hush, as though in a sacred place.
Some relief quenched Scootaloo’s sudden thirst to not have bad things happen to her. Guilt wasn’t something she liked up close.
“I’m fine,” she said, and was horrified to hear a squeak in her voice. Danger and risks were all right in a mid-air 180 spin, but not when furniture leaped out and nearly crushed her.
Then the worst happened; Applejack’s face got a grip, firm and tight.
“What the hayseed were you thinkin’!? Ah told you no for a reason! You nearly got yourself hurt!”
“I didn’t…” Scootaloo tried to hide her head below her shoulders. “I just…”
“Look, Big Mac and me are tryin’ to get stuff done, safely. This farm ain’t no playground. Just go inside till we’re done, OK?”
“I… I only…”
“We’ll talk afterwards. Go on. Get.”
Well, Scootaloo had gotten some attention. Just not in the way she’d hoped.
Like a bird with a broken wing, she shuffled across the yard to the kitchen backdoor. Behind her, the groan and thud of benches being moved skilfully pushed her out of the way as a nuisance. Her wings buzzed, as they did whenever she needed to get the jitters out.
Inside, Granny Smith ambled from oven to stove to a tabletop full of ingredients, all set out like model airplane parts. The smells of cooking apple crinkled the insides of Scootaloo’s nose. A pleasure, but a mere blip on her dark radar.
She felt like she’d been hit. So she hit back, in a way. Muttering and grumbling under her breath. Scootaloo’s buzzing added to the private little din.
“Whatcha walkin’ around with a dark cloud fer?”
It was Granny Smith. She’d looked up and noticed Scootaloo there.
“Nothing!” barked Scootaloo. “I’m fine. Why would anything be wrong?”
“Uh huh. And to think Ah could hear Applejack hollerin’ all the way out here.”
There was no fooling that gaze. Granny Smith had a way of asking questions that didn’t bother with clumsy, persuasive words. She dumped a big bag of silence in front of Scootaloo and Scootaloo suddenly felt the urge to fill it. Besides, she was someone to talk to. At least she was paying attention.
Scootaloo scowled. Like Granny Smith would hear a word against Applejack, anyway.
“I’m starting to wonder why I came,” snapped Scootaloo. “Gee, if I didn’t know better, I’d say I was just getting in the way.”
“Mm hm?” Granny Smith turned back to stir something in a pan. Turning her back on Scootaloo! Already!
“I was only trying to help! Like it’s my fault she’s doing all this stuff anyway. I didn’t ask her to!”
“Nope, can’t rightly disagree with you there.” Now she was opening the oven and getting the mouth-gloves! Didn’t she care?
“I nearly got squished. Not that I couldn’t dodge it quick, but I nearly ended up a pancake.”
“Yeah, Ah’m listenin’.”
“But no, I’m just getting in the way, aren’t I?”
“Uh huh.” Now she was getting a tray of pies out of the oven! Was there no end to her cruelty!?
Something horribly sappy broke in Scootaloo’s chest. She stamped it back down hastily.
“Rainbow Dash wouldn’t ignore me!” she burst out.
Calm as a rolling apple coming to rest, Granny Smith laid down the tray and put a new one in the oven. The oven door snapped shut.
“Who’s ignorin’ you?” said Granny Smith with a shrug. “Ah can hear you loud as a dairy cow on a milk-o-matic here.”
Scootaloo lost interest. She hopped up to the sink, gripping its edge, buzzing harder for barely enough lift to keep her from falling right away. She glared out the window. More benches, back and forth, no games, no fun, not even a “Howdy do!”
“Real special time, engagement hoedown,” said Granny Smith, presumably while still busy on foodstuffs she could peel, bake, or put on a cooling tray. “Nothin’ like the whole family gettin’ together to wish two lovebirds good luck.”
Family, thought Scootaloo. She felt it too.
“Can’t she just move it to another day?” she said, trying to snap or bark and not feeling it.
“Don’t be such a goosey goober!” Yet Granny chortled under the words. “There’s dozens of ponies comin’. Been set for weeks. Movin’ it’s like movin’ the orchard! Sure Ah’d like to see you do that in a day.”
It hurt Scootaloo to say the next bit, but a prodding part of her instinct had to say it. “Then can’t she just move our day to another day?”
“Fine. Tell Applejack you don’t want to be here no more. See how she likes it.”
The hurt within Scootaloo suggested that Applejack might hurt in turn. Scootaloo’s glare vanished instantly. Sure, hitting back “in a way” was all to the good, but she still remembered the horrifying clatter of the bench out of control. Besides, angry as she was, she wasn’t that kind of pony. It just wasn’t what she would do.
“What kind of pony tries both at once?” she said in despair.
“AJ? Ha! Ain’t nothin’ new there, then. Smack two trees with one buck if she could get away with it. Hhhover-committed, that one.”
Scootaloo watched the two earth ponies outside. They just went about arranging benches among the serving tables like it was no one’s business.
Yet again, she wished Rainbow Dash was here. Rainbow didn’t always pay attention, but when she did, it was like being honked at by an unexpectedly late freight train barrelling down on her. It was suddenly your whole world, if a shock to the heart. You then had to move fast or do something really brave and stupid. All you could do, after all.
That stuff about sensing her through the soil was Applejack horse apples. Total nonsense.
Well, sure, Applejack honestly meant it, but she must be crazy.
“Feelin’ a li’l left out?”
Scootaloo yelped. Granny Smith stood right behind her. She must have moved with ninja stealth.
“No,” lied Scootaloo.
“Really?”
“Maybe,” said Scootaloo.
“Really?”
“Only a little,” confessed Scootaloo. “A little.”
“Sure, she’s got a lot on her mind. Easy to lose any thought about you in all that attention, don’tcha think?”
“I don’t care.” The universe nearly ripped itself apart holding onto that lie. Scootaloo’s ache jolted like a bolt of lightning.
They watched Applejack heave a last bench into place. Scootaloo admitted – only to herself – that she looked pretty impressive. Those benches must weigh a ton.
“She might not be lookin’ this way,” whispered Granny, “but she knows we’re watchin’. Used to be like that when Ah was her age. So long as someone knows you’re around, that’s what family’s all about.”
“I didn’t say anything about family!” said Scootaloo, who had just nailed the right tone of voice for sounding scornful.
“Oh, sure,” said Granny, and Scootaloo could cringe at the grin in her tone of voice, “you’re just a fan of bench-pushin’. That’d be an interestin’ fan club, wouldn’t it? The Heavy-Liftin’ Support Group.”
Scootaloo had a lot in common with Rainbow Dash. For instance, realizing too late she should’ve kept her mouth shut.
She could see the business-like look in Applejack’s face while she told Big Mac something and the two of them gripped either end of a tricky table… Ah, that was why. To make room for a bench next. Anyone’d hardly think Applejack had been angry earlier. Whereas Scootaloo’s glare took ages to settle down.
Now the red mist in her eyes was fading away, Scootaloo wished she could go back and not try to pick up a big, heavy bench. Applejack didn’t care about the benches, like she’d thought. Nor even about the broken bits of wood.
But she’d still been angry.
Well, yeah, because even Scootaloo could see how dumb she’d been. Trying to lift a bench weighing a ton?
“How come the benches are so heavy, anyway?” she said aloud.
“You kiddin’? All those Apple ponies packed together tight, havin’ a good time next to each other? Gotta stand up to the jumpin’ and dancin’ and thumpin’ and chantin’.”
“The chanting!?”
“Big Mac’s got a mean bass when he’s enjoyin’ himself too much.”
Scootaloo’s buzzing wings finally gave up. She slumped to the floor, which would have been an elegant move if she hadn’t banged her chin on the sink.
“Ow!” At Granny’s hum of interest, Scootaloo added, “I mean, wow. I said wow.”
“Ah didn’t say nothin’.” Something like a kettle whistled in the kitchen, so Granny Smith’s hoofsteps moved away to deal with it.
Scootaloo wished she’d come back. At least someone had been listening to her…
When Applejack came in, however, she simultaneously couldn’t tear her gaze away and wished she could run off and hide, preferably behind a mountain. Any attention was better than none, but bad attention? Not by much.
This was it. This was where she got an earful for her stupid, reckless stunt –
“Apple Bl–” Furiously, Applejack growled at herself, thumped her own cheek, and started again, putting on a smile like her own set of oven mouth-gloves. Behind her, Granny Smith and Big Mac gave her suspicious eyebrows, and then shook their heads and moved off to other chores.
The guilt on Applejack’s face – when she glanced behind her at the other two – reminded Scootaloo of her own.
“Scootaloo.” She removed her hat and twirled it around one hoof uncomfortably. “Ah’m sorry Ah yelled at you. It was a…” She gave a quick glance at Big Mac behind her. “Well, Ah’m right now responsible for you – as you’re my guest, and all – so it’s me who’s s’posed to, if anything…”
“That’s OK,” said Scootaloo, when she realized Applejack thought she’d been, you know, hurt in any way. “Nothing happened. It’s cool.”
Applejack kept twirling her hat. “No, that ain’t right. Ah shouldn’t have been leavin’ you out to dry, not when Ah’m the one who said come right on over anyway. That ain’t no way to behave.”
“It’s no big deal –”
Annoyance grabbed Applejack’s face. “App– Scootaloo! Will you quit actin’ tough for two minutes!?”
I’m not acting: The words got as far as Scootaloo’s throat, then she remembered she wasn’t talking to Rainbow Dash and swallowed them. Something about Applejack’s gaze poured into her own eyes and doused what little fire of rebellion had been lit. It wasn’t like Rainbow Dash’s flamethrower confidence. This gaze could flood her, drown her, pool around her, wash over her, clean her, drip life-giving rain on her, provide her a fresh drink, anything. And the choice was partly up to her.
Scootaloo was used to the idea of being the centre of attention, but she’d always thought it was because you were special. You had to prove it: jump up and down, yell your tonsils out, and do something to knock manes off stunned heads.
This, on the other hoof, was an attention she’d realized had been on her the whole time. It was ready for her whatever she did. She fell silent, and even stopped fidgeting and urging her wings to buzz. She’d simply never come across the idea that she’d get attention just by being there. Suddenly, that whole stuff with the soil sense made… sense.
True, she could get lost in it. There was a whole family sharing that space with her. On yet another hoof, though, she was at least part of a crowd. Nothing left a pony feeling alone like that moment when no amount of jumping, yelling, and doing dazzling mid-air stunts stopped her from feeling like she was nothing.
It was a shock to think she was special by default. Safe in a crowd, even when one of its members had been telling her off for trying to pick up benches. Even then.
At first, Scootaloo was too stunned to speak.
Applejack replaced her hat. “Let me do this right, like Ah shoulda done first time: would you like to join us for our part–?”
“YES!”
Scootaloo got attention from all three. Quite intense attention.
Outside, Winona barked happily back at the noise.
“Er…” said Scootaloo, stopping her wings from buzzing again. “I mean, sure. Yeah. Why not?”
“You sure you’re OK with it?” Yet Applejack brightened up a tad. “Ah wouldn’t want to force you to –”
“What else would I do? It might be… cool.” She’d nearly said “nice”, but that would have wrecked her cool image something fierce.
She squirmed a bit. Just admit it, she thought to herself. Be pony enough to say what you feel.
No chance, though. Tough pony was what tough pony did. She should know. She’d practically studied the Rainbow Dash Way. Sappy confessions were so uncool.
Instead, she said, “But… could I try something?”
“Like what?” said Applejack.
“Do you do, like, shows and things? Dances? That kind of thing?”
“Yeah…?”
“Could I try something for that?”
Intrigued, Applejack leaned forwards. “OK, shoot.”
Scootaloo hadn’t thought it all through, but she told as much as she’d figured out.
Applejack grinned. It was a Rainbow Dash grin, one Scootaloo could read like a Wonderbolts poster. It said: This sounds like a challenge, all right. And why not? How many times do you get to do something this spectacular?
Big Mac rolled his eyes behind her, but the mood was turning against him.
“All right,” said Applejack. “But if Ah agree to this, then you agree to do what Ah say, got it?”
Scootaloo hesitated. Being dictated to wasn’t part of the plan.
Never mind that, she thought. We’re here and now, right? You got something better? Then give it a try. Push back a bit.
Sounded good to her. She could always push back a bit. That’s what being a daredevil was all about.
She nodded. “Deal.”
Applejack spat into her hoof. Scootaloo – delighted as only a child can be to discover this – spat into her own hoof. Both met, spit for spit.
So it began.
They had to practise a bit, first. It surprisingly didn’t take long.
There must have been hundreds of them.
That evening, as the guests piled onto the yard, Scootaloo hung on the margin near Applejack, who’d gone up to greet them. It seemed to take forever.
Granny Smith had said there’d be a few dozen. Scootaloo was no mathematical whizz kid, but she’d had an idea of what a few dozen looked like, and that had gotten overwhelmed by sheer Apple ponies half an hour ago.
She hated this. Standing off to the side made her invisible and made her stand out too much. A crowd normally drew towards her on her scooter like jars of honey drew flies. Yet she hung back as if watching a complicated spider’s web shimmer before her.
Everyone was happy to see everyone. At this rate, it’d be dawn the next day before they stopped saying, “Howdy!”
To her immense relief which she in no way allowed herself to show, Scootaloo found Applejack emerging from a nearby family huddle just to join her.
“Wow…” breathed Scootaloo before she could stop herself.
“Purdy sight, ain’t it?” Applejack said.
Scootaloo gave it her best shrug. “Eh, I’ve seen bigger crowds.”
She knew Applejack’s smile had seen right through that one, but it didn’t go any further than that, and for once Scootaloo could relax.
“Like to meet ‘em?”
“Uh, sure.” No, no, no, Celestia, no! What should I say!? What should I do!? Come on, brain! Stupid, stupid brain! Help me out here!
Just to be on the safe side, Scootaloo threw in another shrug.
Gently, Applejack patted her forwards by the shoulders, as if congratulating her for a good score. Enough daredevil pushed through Scootaloo to get her moving.
She’d barely taken a couple of steps nearer before a group of hat-crazy stallions engulfed her.
“A pegasus? Stone the crows and call me Trixie, so she is!”
“Well, hey there!”
“Welcome to the hoedown, gal! Nice to see a new face round here!”
“Tough-lookin’ scrapper, Ah’ll bet my hat.”
“Howdy!”
“Lemme guess: you’re from the Pie side of the family?”
“Ha, she’s got the glint in her eye, right enough!”
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Hooey, ain’t seen pegasus kin in a while!”
Scootaloo said, “Er… I’m not –”
“Kith,” corrected Applejack. “Not kin, least by birth. She’s a family friend.”
A couple of the stallions jerked back in surprise, but the others talked even more excitedly over the news. One stepped forwards and shook her hoof – Scootaloo winced at the strength in that grip – and as he winked at her, she suddenly recognized him.
“Welcome to the family, kid!” He winked again. “You got a name?”
“Er, Scootaloo. Didn’t we –?”
“Now that’s a name breakin’ the mold! Welcome! Name of Braeburn, but you probably know me already.” He winked again.
“Well, yeah, ‘cause we met –”
“You see, fellas? Even pegasi way outta Appleloosa know me! Ah’m famous!”
The other stallions scoffed.
“Oh, knock it off, Braeburn.”
“You’re full of it.”
“Appleloosa this, Appleloosa that.”
“Bet you asked her specially to say that!”
To Scootaloo’s surprise, they all laughed at this, even Applejack and Braeburn. Somehow, the whirlwind of voices made her dizzier than a kite in a crosswind.
Braeburn stopped laughing first. “Glad to have you with us, Scootaloo. Allow me the honour of introducin’ my compadres.”
“Sure,” said Scootaloo. She had no idea what “compadres” meant and was hoping it’d all make sense if she went along with it.
Introductions took a while. Every stallion had a joke ready to toss in, all of which went clean over Scootaloo’s head.
She’d had this experience once before. It was like the time she’d joined Spike the Dragon’s tabletop games without reading any manuals first, and then she’d suddenly watched him and everyone around the table shout out, “JELLY SANDWICH KING!” and fall off their chairs hooting and chortling at whatever the heck that joke had been.
Only once Golden Delicious had said something about buckball tryouts that had the others booming with mirth did Applejack lean down and whisper, “They’re my cousins. Come all the way from San Palomino. Don’t be nervous; they’re real friendly folk.”
“I’m not nervous,” replied Scootaloo.
“Cousin!” said Braeburn in mock indignation. “Shame on you! You holdin’ out on us? Have yourself some cider. Kick back all four hooves for a change.”
“Just keepin’ everything goin’, Braeburn. Less you want no cider after this batch runs out.”
Amid the incomprehensible laughter, Braeburn sheepishly added, “Ah never said that.”
“Usually, we don’t do cider this time of year,” whispered Applejack as she gently but firmly steered Scootaloo away. “But seein’ as it’s a special occasion, Granny says what’s a few apples among kin?”
“Are they all like that?” said Scootaloo before she could stop and think.
“Like what?”
“Like laughing all the time, and all that stuff they were saying.”
“Nah. It’s just them. Come on, Ah’ll introduce you to Candy Apples’ ma and pa…”
And so it went on. One after another, bushels of Apple ponies were presented for Scootaloo’s inspection. Some of them merely smiled, quite a few beamed at her as if she was, for this single moment, the best thing they’d seen all day. One or two laughed, all as free and wild as mustangs on the plains.
At first, she felt about as welcome as a rogue banana, but the more faces she toughened herself up against, and the less Applejack steered her from group to group, the stronger her confidence grew.
She’d go from being introduced to introducing herself. A few comments would mob her like excited sparrows, yet she’d throw a few comments back. She went from the odd pegasus out to a local scooting champion to a notorious troublemaker on the farm with her speeding, which if anything made her far more popular and welcome. It was weirdly like she’d tested the Apples with her crimes and found they’d actually pardon her for being such a good sport.
Soon, she was giddy with delight, hopping into groups and figuring out how to throw in a “Howdy!” like it was some new trick she’d learned. Apple ponies didn’t always turn to her right away, not if someone else was talking, but she found some patience as she went round and round until she could judge just the right moment to land on a gap in the conversation.
Still, she was hugely glad Applejack was never far away. Somehow, just knowing she was close made her want to go bolder and talk wilder.
“Oh yeah, I’m like a local legend,” she said. She’d quickly worked out the more outrageous her story, the louder other ponies cheered. “Like Rainbow Dash. She’s Captain of the Wonderbolts and awesome with it, buuuuuut only in the air. Not many pegasi can hit Mach 3 even in the air, but I can do it like that. On the ground too.”
“What a load of balderdash,” said the filly of the group with obvious approval. The grown-ups jeered and cheered, smiling either way.
Braeburn had managed to slip into the group. He gave Scootaloo a hearty slap on the back. She took a lot of pleasure in not stumbling from the force of the blow at all.
“You’re crazier than a sidewinder with sunstroke, kid!” he said. “Goshdarn, we could use a speed demon like you out in Appleloosa to help Sheriff Silverstar. Wanna chase down outlaws for a livin’?”
“On a scooter?” said the filly doubtfully.
“Like I don’t already.” Scootaloo puffed out her chest. “Out here, they call me the Desert Rider.”
“Ah love this kid!” shouted Braeburn among the whoops and stamping applause. “Is she the greatest or what!?”
On the simple stage off to the side, a band began playing. Banjo twanging, harmonica shrieking, guitar tuning up, and ponies moving towards the open gaps of the yard for the hoedown. There was no dancing yet, and the ponies started settling down onto their seats.
Scootaloo’s stomach lurched at the sight. In all that, she’d never once thought about where she was going to sit…
At which point, Applejack nudged her in the ribs before she gravitated towards anything.
“What, what?” said Scootaloo, waking up.
“Prep time, you think?” whispered Applejack.
“Oh, right.”
Entertainments. A few ponies were gathering near the tables, some with props for whatever shows they wanted to put on. Braeburn had conjured a bullwhip out of nowhere.
In fact, there didn’t seem to be any order to the proceedings. Food steamed or gleamed on the serving tables, and mothers and their foals were already helping themselves. A few ponies had gotten up to dance, despite it being too early for the good songs to have started yet. Several chanted and clapped to the beat, especially when Braeburn’s whip cracked through the air in some complicated supersonic dance of its own.
Scootaloo hadn’t expected this. She’d thought hoedowns were somehow more… organized. Especially after watching the military precision of Granny’s cooking, Big Mac’s table-arranging, and Applejack’s bench- and stage-setting, it was hard to believe that now all the ponies in the family would go for the party equivalent of a free-for-all.
She followed Applejack off to the side. They’d practised a little bit beforehand, but mostly this was just adapting routines both of them already knew.
“Got your scooter?” said Applejack.
Scootaloo held it up, revved its motor, and picked up her helmet. She didn’t feel the helmet was necessary, but Applejack refused to help if she tried to ditch it.
“Got your rope?” said Scootaloo.
Applejack kicked something up into the air and caught it between her teeth. Within seconds, the lasso swirled overhead as if it had always been there.
It had been Scootaloo’s idea – at least, she’d planted the seed – but it had taken a lot of Applejack’s watering and nurturing and patting into shape for anything sensible to come out of it. Scootaloo had tended to get overexcited.
Either way, it was their plan.
So when the music stopped and Braeburn cracked his last and the Apple family cheered him off, the two of them took up their places, ready.
“And now!” hollered Granny Smith, briefly taking centre-stage. “Applejack and Scootaloo got a li’l something they cooked up for Candy Apples and Perfect Pie! Prepare to be amazed! Ah know Ah was; Ah’ve already seen it. Rub your hooves together! For! Erm…”
She hurried over. “What did y’all say it was called again?”
“The Flyin’ Phoenix,” hissed Applejack back.
“Gotcha.” Louder, Granny announced, “The Flyin’ Phoenix!”
Silence fell on the crowd pretty quick. Pegasus ponies weren’t often up for a show in Apple family hoedowns.
Applejack winked. Scootaloo’s wings buzzed. The scooter reared like a rampaging horse.
They launched.
For Scootaloo, this was nothing. She’d ridden roughshod over this terrain lots of times, and the tables and benches didn’t offer much in the way of obstacles. She could circle the whole yard easy-peasy. She could slide sidelong along the picket fencing, and this time had even promised to help repaint it tomorrow.
She could use Big Mac’s stacked haybales and planks to get onto the roof, then throw herself into a jump whilst spinning and buzzing so fast she floated down like a sycamore leaf and cut through the air like a chopper. She could hop off the scooter, over Granny Smith – who’d kindly volunteered for the role – and land back on it with no wobble whatsoever.
So the applause of the crowd seemed, if anything, too early, too easy.
It was Applejack’s part where this all shined.
Whilst Scootaloo tackled her lap, Applejack did a few simple stunts. Hopped through her own lasso and back again. Reared up to let the swinging rope lower itself almost to the grass and then rise back up to the air. Skipped rope, even. All whilst spinning it fast enough to get airborne herself.
Now Scootaloo approached, the moment they’d been practising for the most hit them.
Applejack’s lasso whipped out like a snake crossed with a yoyo.
Scootaloo’s scooter pounced like a mountain lion crossed with a rocket.
Both met in the air…
Slower than a drifting cloud, time cushioned them both. There they were: Applejack’s lasso reaching out and closing around Scootaloo; Scootaloo herself flying in an arc through it.
Then time snapped back into place. Scootaloo landed on her scooter and dashed round Applejack. The lasso wrenched itself back as if nothing had happened.
Several foals screamed through sheer excitement. Gasps and nervous laughter were freely shared.
A few mini-laps around Applejack, a few skips of the rope just to keep the stunt interesting – whilst Scootaloo leaped over them all – and both rodeo champion and speed demon slowed, stopped, and –
Applejack’s rope lashed around her own neck, tightening into a thick horse collar. Scootaloo hopped up, sending the scooter flipping through the air. The result: Scootaloo balanced one-legged on Applejack’s back, the scooter balanced on Scootaloo’s upthrust forehoof, and they fought hard not to wobble and sweat.
Applause didn’t just shoot up. It hollered and whistled and stamped its hooves on the table, jangling cutlery.
The two of them relaxed. Scootaloo climbed down, and only then did she stumble and slip off. It was vitally important that everyone pretended not to notice this, and in this they were 100% successful.
Applejack and Scootaloo took a bow.
Amid the shouts of “YEEHAW!” and “WHOA NELLY!” from his table, Braeburn stood up and stepped forwards. He reached up, took off his hat, and thumped it right down over Scootaloo’s eyes.
“Here, Desert Rider, Ah want you to have this. Heck knows you deserve it.”
Scootaloo held it up to the sinking sunlight. She’d never had a hat like this before. Suddenly, she wished she had a mirror.
“Your hat?” she said. “Nah, I couldn’t…”
“Shoot, ‘tain’t no thing. Ah got six just like it at home.” Catching her dropping smile, he added, “Not as good as this one. This one’s a special hat.”
“Wow! Thanks!”
“Look after it, though. Hat’s a pride and joy to a cowpony.”
“Er…” Scootaloo revved up the scooter briefly. “It doesn’t have a chinstrap, does it?”
The Apple family were at that stage where everything sounded incredibly funny. Despite herself, Scootaloo beamed back with rare pride. Wow, she was good at this joking thing…
Puffing and trying to hide her heaving chest, Applejack nudged her in the ribs. “So,” she murmured, and the other ponies calmed down to hear her. “What do you think? Can Ah be ‘awesome’, or what?”
Scootaloo at least gave it a few seconds’ thought.
“Not as awesome as Rainbow Dash,” she said. “But it’s pretty close.”
Applejack’s face got the biggest laugh yet, eventually even from her once she got over herself.
Everything after that seemed like a big, hot bath. She vaguely remembered sitting among admirers – and next to Applejack – eating stuff and saying boasts and outright baloney. She remembered the announcement made by Candy Apples and Perfect Pie and had cheered as hard as anyone, despite not understanding a word of it herself. She definitely remembered dancing was in there somewhere, but the wild west dances barely seemed like a challenge to her. She just remembered wearing herself out a lot.
The whole evening seemed a hundred times better so long as Applejack was nearby. Scootaloo didn’t understand it. There wasn’t really anything near as cool as her scooting show, but everything seemed like the most exciting and wonderful time she’d ever had.
To Scootaloo’s own surprise, she herself was happy to help clear up the plates afterwards. For some reason, tidying and washing up seemed much less lame than she’d normally thought.
And she was simply glad Applejack was nearby the whole time. Not doing anything spectacular: just being nearby, or doing something else, or occasionally giving her a helping hoof, and largely letting Scootaloo get on with her volunteering. She still wore Braebrun’s big, floppy, oversized cowpony hat.
Things all seemed, for the first time in her life, perfectly right. Not just exciting or cool or awesome or the best thing ever, but simply… right.
Deep down. Buried deep down, perhaps, where no one would see. But at least she sensed the strong, rich soil down there, as if through her hooves. For the first time in her life, being grounded didn’t seem so bad at all.