> MLP: The Long Dark
>  by SparrowFae
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> CHAPTER 1: Constant Companions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“If you’re feeling lonely and you’re still searching for your true friends, just look up at the sky. Who knows, maybe you and your future best friends are all looking at the same aurora.”

CHAPTER 1: Constant Companions

The lights were beautiful and the pain was amazing. Those were my first two thoughts when I woke up after it happened. I heaved my left foreleg out of the snow and held it above my face. I could see by the ghostly light of an aurora borealis that my poor limb was nothing but a darkened smear of red and mottled orange. The aurora lit up the night sky and glinted off of a jagged shard of metal lodged right into the bottom of my hoof. Then I had my third thought.

I was cold. Freezing. Half of me was sunk into a snowbank and there was a stiff wind blowing over my other half. My thoughts were still sticky and slow as chilled molasses, but something bubbled to the surface of my mind and told me that I really needed to move. But I wouldn’t be able to walk with this oversized metallic splinter sticking out of my hoof. I reached up with my head and took hold of it in my mouth. My teeth just clinked against it as they chattered from the cold and I had to clench my jaw tight to get a good grip. The metal was hard and cold and didn’t give one lick about how it grated against my chompers. My tongue cringed away from the shard, curling into the back of my mouth. I gave a tug and the pain was like the whole inside of my leg was on fire. I kept at it for just a second, pulling a little harder, but it wouldn’t budge. Then my head started to swim with the agony and the muscles of my foreleg refused to stand still and let me torture them any longer. I let go, groaning and clenching my eyes shut. Some tears leaked through my eyelids and a gust of wind froze them against my cheeks. I let my head sink a little deeper into the snow. It was soft, like a pillow. And I was tired. 

My Granny always told me that sleep isn’t something you do, it’s something that happens to you. It’ll never come when called, but it’ll sneak up underneath you and let you sink in while you’re not paying attention. And you’ll never know it happened until after you wake up. A fair many times when I was a filly I would wake up to Granny giving me a right colorful scolding for falling asleep on a boring job. So I learned to be wary of sleep and always know when it was sneaking up on me at the wrong place and time. 

And that’s how Granny Smith saved my life, for I had barely started to relax into that snowbank when my old instinct rose up and bucked me in the tail. There was something that needed doing, and I had left it half done. And that just wasn’t my way. 

My eyelids stuck for a moment, their lashes frozen together, but I got them open and squinted against the wind. The aurora was still swirling through the sky casting an eerie green light down on me. Not sure why, but it made me uneasy. I suddenly wanted to get out from under that unnatural light as sure as I wanted to find shelter against the freezing wind. I just needed to be able to set all four hooves on the ground. With my renewed focus, my mind started to thaw and my thoughts started dripping freely. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just pull the shard out. My teeth were hammering together from the cold now, and it was all I could do to hold my foreleg out of the snow, much less keep it in place while I yanked on the shard. 

My Brother had once stepped on a nail and his hoof had swelled up around it. Ponies’ mouths aren’t exactly made for grabbing and pulling much more than grass and weeds, so it was impossible to yank that nail out by just grabbing it in his teeth. I had thought we’d need to find a unicorn with some fancy magic to pull it out, but he had another idea. He tied one end of a piece of twine around the nail and the other end around a wooden board. Then he laid on his back and used his hind legs to push the board away. Now my family’s known for having some mighty powerful hindquarters, so it only took an ounce of my brother’s strength to buck that board clear across the yard and the nail along with it. 

I didn’t have a board or twine, but I had my legs and the hair ribbon I always wore to keep my mane off my neck. My shivering made it hard to untie the ribbon, but after a couple minutes of struggle I had one end tied firmly around the shard and the other end knotted into a loop. Then I laid on my back and curled my right hindleg up, slipping my hoof into the loop. Gingerly, I rolled my hindlimb down until the ribbon was taught. I took a few breaths, trying not to think about the pain that thudded in my hoof with each beat of my heart. This was just another buck. Just another apple tree that needed shaking. I had done it a million times. The motion was practically automatic. My leg was curled up and ready to kick. I just had to kick. Just kick. Kick. Right. NOW!

It wasn’t quite like a normal buck. Lying flat on my back made it awkward. But it did the trick. My hindleg snapped straight and for a moment I thought I would buck those dancing lights right out of the sky. The shard followed, flinging a trail of blood out in an arc. The pain flared like fireworks going off in my fetlock. I coughed out a gasping yelp and jammed my hoof into the snow as my whole body spasmed and tensed. Icy cold bit the skin of my foreleg and seeped into my hoof. It was a numbing mercy. I let myself have a few seconds of that relief, but I could feel sleep sneaking up on me again. I might not be able to put my whole weight on my injured hoof, but with the shard out I could at least limp. 

I sat up and finally took a look around. The spooky light from the aurora was enough to see the wreckage. A few train cars and a train engine, smashed to smithereens at the bottom of a gorge. The engine was crumpled like an enormous soda can, but it was mostly intact. Might make for good shelter. Even better, I could see a tiny spark of orange light in the cabin. It took most of my strength just to stand up, but I managed the few shuddering steps over to the massive, metal engine. It had tipped over on its side, spilling coal from its wagon all over the snowy ground. There was a crack as long as a barn door in the side of its boiler and steam was still curling out only to be swept away by the night breeze. The whole thing reminded me of a sleeping dragon and I thanked my lucky stars to find a fire still burning in its belly. 

Gingerly, I crawled into the cabin through the sideways door. The window on the side that had hit the ground was shattered, but the big heart-shaped front window only had a spiderweb of cracks and was still blocking the wind. I looked up to see the aurora dancing away through the other side window. Next to that window, bolted to the up-turned wall was a first aid kit. I sure was looking forward to opening that, but a fresh shiver reminded me that I was still freezing. 

The furnace had been jostled by the fall, but a few glowing embers had survived. I opened it up, which was tricky to do with the whole engine turned on its side, and stoked it with a few pieces of nearby coal. Exhausted, I sat back on my haunches and let the warmth seep into me. As the numbing cold dribbled away, the pain in my left hoof started to flare with each heartbeat again. I stood up one more time, careful of the broken glass that littered the cabin. I didn’t need another hole to patch. Reaching up, I flipped the latch on the first aid kit and everything in it tumbled down onto my head. I gratefully noted the bandages that plopped through my loose mane and the bottle of painkillers that bounced off my nose. I picked up the bottle first, twisted off the lid, and chewed three of the tablets. A few minutes later, I had my hoof tightly wrapped in gauze. It was only then that my instincts lowered their hackles. Sleep came and snuggled up to me again. If it were a stallion I’d have rebuked it for being so forward. But as it was, with a warm fire going and my pain a dull and distant throb, I was more than happy to let sleep carry me down into the dark. 

* * * * *

I remembered. She’d found me in the orchards. The dead of winter was a slow time for earth ponies, but work never really stopped. Even in the coldest months, it was possible to grow food. At least it was possible with earth pony magic. And my crop of frost apples would make a mighty fine treat in a few months. The trick was to keep them on the tree as long as possible, soaking up the winter cold so that they stayed nice and chilly all the way up into summer. But of course I had regular apples growing too. Equestria’s appetite didn’t hibernate over the winter, and though the bumper crops of autumn would last at least through Hearth’s Warming, earth pony farmers were always expected to keep the supply of produce flowing. 

So it was no surprise that she’d known to find me out tending my trees. She trotted right up to me, just like she might have done years ago, back in the good old days. Back when any little problem could be solved with a change in perspective and a letter to the princess. It had been a strange feeling, watching her plod through the snow towards me, wearing that look of determination she used to get right before she would whisk us all away on some grand adventure. I held my peace as she approached, letting her speak first. 

“Applejack, can we talk?”

“Can bees squawk?” I replied. Her lips curled and for just a moment I had thought she would laugh. But I watched that spark sputter out of her face and I knew she was feeling the same, old sadness that I felt welling up in that hollow space under my throat. By now we were both so familiar with that melancholy that it only took a second before we’d both stamped it down and put on a neutral expression. I wished I had just said “Sure.” 

I pressed on and said, “How can I help you Twilight?” And like that we were down to business. I quelled the stale echo of resentment that I told myself I didn’t feel anymore. 

The lavender unicorn set her jaw and I could tell she had practiced her next words. “I need to ask a favor of you.” There was an old fire behind her eyes. Almost as if . . . 

It was too much to hope. I turned away, making a pretense of examining my apples and replied, “Ain’t no harm in the asking. What can I do you for, sugarcube?”

“I need you to accompany me to-- on an errand.”

“An errand, huh? Well, I suppose I’ve got a few hours. Where’re we going?”

I caught her squirm out of the corner of my eye as she said, “I’m afraid this will take more than a few hours. We’ll be taking a trip. I’ll need you for at least a few days.” 

I sighed. “Well, I can’t say that’d be too much to spare. But where are we going? And what do you need me to do?”

She hesitated and I glanced back at her. Now she was the one looking at the apples. I try not to be a suspicious pony, but all this hemming and hawing was making me twitchy. There was something she knew she had to tell me, but she didn’t want to do it. 

Finally, I pressed her, “Just what kind of errand is this?”

She sighed and I could tell she had made up her mind. Still, she refused to look me in the eye as she said, “It’s royal business. I can’t give you the details, but it’s imperative that you come with me.”

I swear I did my best to stay cordial, but consarnit that made me angry. Well, If I’m being honest, I was already angry. It was an old anger, the kind of unresolved bitterness that curls up deep in your bones and only comes out when it smells your weakness. When you’ve had a rough day, when you’re overtired and the world seems bleak, it saunters out like a smooth-talking salespony and lays out some enticing targets for your bad mood. And very rarely, you have a reunion with one such target, and that sleazy salespony offers you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A chance to take out all of your anger and hurt on the pony that made you feel that way in the first place. 

I hate salesponies. And I was quick to turn down that particular offer. But of course that slick bastard left a free sample of icy resentment that stuck to my words like hoarfrost. 

“I don't really see how royal business would concern me.” It wasn't an outright rejection, just a bit of stalling and a cruel reminder that I would be well within my reason to turn her away. I hated myself for saying it, but I kept quiet, forcing her to respond. 

A few seconds passed and i watched her expression harden. Finally, she said, “This is of the utmost importance to the realm. It is your duty as a subject of Equestria and an Element of Harmony--”

“You know that ain’t true,” I snapped, “And now my duty is to my family and my farm.”

She bristled. “This is bigger than any one family.”

By now I knew where this was going. It was an old and familiar argument. And I suddenly found that I didn't have the stomach for it. That nasty salespony was gone, slipped away like the unwanted guest he knew he was. All that was left of the wares he was peddling was a sick feeling in my guts and the looming memory that the pony standing in front of me had once been one of my dearest friends. My next words I spoke in sadness rather than resentment.

“Then what do you need me for anyway?” I said, “If this is so important, why not get a more important pony to help you?”  

That stopped her in her tracks for a moment. Her tone softened, and she spoke with the sort of tenderness you afford to a broken limb. “You are an important pony whether you like it or not. You're the Element of Honesty.” She paused, then with a small sweep of her hoof she gestured around at our surroundings, “Your farm is doing very well. I, uh, I hear the Cakes’ business has really been picking up since they started pairing your zap apple jam with their buttercream.” I raised an eyebrow, but nodded politely. “And I was so happy to hear about Applebloom’s cutie mark. I see she’s been making some additions to your farm. Is she still helping the local youngsters with their cutie mark problems as well? 

I narrowed my eyes and said “Eeyup.”

“Everything is just fine here. Please believe me when I say I hate to ask you to leave, but your farm is fine and your family is fine. But right now there’s somepony far away who needs help. And I can't do what they need without you.”

Land sakes, was she being sincere or did she just know me well enough to figure the exact words to set the hook? I regarded her for a long moment. She stood perfectly still, waiting for my final answer. 

I felt a strange mix of emotions. On one hoof, I hated her for asking for my help now, after so many years of distance and isolation. Dropping in out of the blue like a falling piano and expecting to sweep me away without so much as a day’s notice. And after I had made it so clear that I would have been there, I would have had her back whenever she needed, even after our worst failure, if she had only let me. In the light  of  all that, her current presumption was annoying to say the least. 

But on the other hoof, I was thrilled at the prospect of going on an adventure like in the old days. I loved my quiet life, but ever since our last adventure, I had felt that I should have been doing something . . . more. Plus, I couldn't deny that seeing Twilight Sparkle and speaking to her again brought hope to my heart. A hope that maybe, we could be friends again.

“Alright” I said. She closed her eyes, her shoulders relaxing in relief. “I just need to know where we're going.” 

* * * * *

Straight to the bottom of a ravine. I looked up the rocky walls at the train tracks above, then down at the twisted ruins of metal that used to be our train. Something had happened to derail it and send it down here. I’d have thought that whatever that was would have left an impression, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what had happened. Not exactly, at least. One thing was for sure, though. I wasn’t getting back up that cliff until my hoof had had a few days to mend. And that meant I needed some food. 

Where's Twilight? I ground my teeth against the first answer that sprung to mind. She hadn’t come looking for me yet. Which meant she couldn’t. Either because she was hurt, trapped, or-- No. I'd never been one for lying to myself but I sure as hay knew when to stop thinking and get to doing. She wasn't here. There was no sign of her and I couldn't get far on my bad hoof, so my only option was to get myself sorted before I went looking for her. With luck she’d be nearby and we'd cross paths soon. After all, she’s a smart pony and would know she'd need supplies. There was a good chance we'd search the same areas. 

There had been a few apples in my travel bag, but that was nowhere to be seen. Probably thrown out of the train in the calamity and dashed somewhere in the trail of wreckage that stretched at least a half mile back along the floor of the gorge. There hadn’t been many cars in the train, but the crash had wrenched them apart, one by one, and sent them down a good distance from one another. Their mangled hulks stuck out of the snow, most of them on their side or wheels up. When I was barely more than a filly, I’d had the displeasure of witnessing the aftermath of a cattle stampede that had careened off of a cliff. The broken train cars reminded me of the carcasses, crushed and distorted, with their stiff legs poking up at odd angles. With a shudder, I gave my surroundings another glance. There was nothing but rock and snow and twisted metal. Gingerly, I pawed at the ground but found nothing beneath the snow but frozen gravel. Not even a clump of dried and brown grass. With a sigh, I started making my way toward the nearest train car. I was dubious about my chances of finding food there, but I reckoned that it was better than trying to eat frosted dirt. 

It took a while to get there, limping on my injured hoof, and by the time I finally made it, I was chilled to the bone. I made a note to keep an eye out for cold-weather gear as well. Ponies might not exactly wear clothes, but at these temperatures, I’d have happily put on a frilly dresses just to help block the wind. 

The car was on its side and fairly easy to access. I pried open the door at the front of the car and ducked inside. The cabin was a mess of splintered benches that had been torn out of their places by the impact with the worst of the debris piled against what had been the floor. There was a narrow strip of wall, near the ceiling, that was just clear enough for me to walk on. I checked each of the rows of benches as I went. It had not been a busy train. In fact I couldn’t remember seeing a single other pony besides me and Twilight. My heart lurched at the thought of her, but my stomach growled, cowing any concerns I might have for my friend into the back of my mind. 

Not many modern ponies understand what real hunger is like. All the amenities of magic and technology make it so a decent meal is never more than a short walk away. Restaurants and market stalls are always stocked year-round, and if there’s a shortage of one crop, there’s sure to be an abundance of another. And you can hardly go two minutes without being offered some form of sugary pastry. 

To be honest I'd never felt real hunger either. But my Granny has. She always loved telling and retelling the stories of her youth, but there was one particular yarn that she only ever spun once, and it was something I'll never forget. 

My family hasn’t always been sedentary farmers. We have our roots in the wandering lifestyle of vagabonds, always searching for a home, but never quite welcome anywhere they went. Winter was always a hard time for my ancestors, but the winter of my Granny’s memory is something else entirely. Brutal, it was. Malicious and sadistic. Now I’d be the first to tell you that Granny Smith is prone to exaggeration, but you can always tell when she’s being cheeky by the stubborn glint in her eye. When she told me this story, her eyes were dead flat, cold, and distant. When she said that year's winter was out to torment and kill her and her kin, I believe her. 

Travelling out of Manehattan late that autumn, they were heading west through a barren tundra on the edge of the Frozen North. Now, normally that’d be a right chicken-brained idea, but Granny’s pappy had heard tell of a new pegasus settlement and figured they’d need plenty of produce living so far off the ground as they did. The whole family was hoping they might even be able to set up a permanent arrangement farming and selling to the pegasi. But they never made it that far. 

A week out of Manehattan, the first blizzard hit, screaming down from the north. Granny swears she saw shapes of ghostly, flying horses in the clouds as the wind howled and the temperatures plunged. After it finally died down, one branch of the family tree decided it would be better to turn back and try to make their living on the streets of Manehattan. They were right. But Granny’s pappy led their family onward. 

They couldn’t have known that the blizzards would keep coming, pounding down on Granny and her family again and again. It wasn’t until they were weeks away from any civilization that things started to fall apart. Literally. The wind tore apart the canvass covers on their wagons. The icy ground was like driving over jagged rock and turned their wheels into wood pulp. And the sleeting snow stuck to everything, slowly freezing their axles solid. They were forced to stop and endure the weather for as long as it decided to last. 

It wasn’t so bad at first. They had supplies. But, as Granny tells it, the winter knew their weakness. Without being able to move, the ponies got cold. And when they got cold, they burned oil lamps to keep warm. Wood fires don’t like to start in the cold and damp, and it wasn’t as if they had much wood for fuel anyway. But oil is happy to burn when wood won’t. It burns in the chilliest and wettest of weather. And once it starts burning, it won’t stop until it’s all gone.

The wind shook a lamp off of it’s hook in the supply wagon and splattered oil all over the provisions. One of the best ways to get wood to burn in the cold and wet is to douse it in oil. In fact, just about anything will burn if it’s doused in oil. That includes food. Months’ worth of supplies was lost in minutes, and all my Granny could do was watch as it was all carried away as ash in the wind. 

They tried desperately to get moving at first, but by then the wagons were frozen to the ground. There was nothing left to do but sit and hope that the weather would clear. But the winter was just getting started, and it was patient. It wasn’t merciful enough to take my family’s lives through frostbite or hypothermia. Instead, it sent its faithful servant, hunger, to reap its souls. 

There were just enough rations scattered between the wagons that Granny’s family could survive, at the cost of their once-powerful, earth pony physiques. That was the first thing hunger took from them, but it was not the last. Granny said that hunger’s face was a skull, and it was tartarus-bent on sculpting those ponies in its image. She remembered how she could feel her mother’s ribs and joints as they huddled together for warmth. And how their lips would chap so badly they would have to pull them back from their teeth in a deathly grimace. But worst of all, she said, were the dull eyes of her parents and relatives, staring out of the shadows of their sunken sockets. 

Hunger doesn’t make you scared, she said. In fact it doesn’t let you feel much of anything except hungry. At first, it demands that you serve it, and forces you to humiliate yourself by eating tree bark and scraps of canvas. Anything to fill your stomach. But, after a while, it just steals any sense of purpose or spark of life. The seeds that they had been planning to plant or sell were consumed without even a mention of how they had been their only means of making money next season. Hunger took from them everything that they were and left them as empty shells, no different than the frozen wagons. 

“We were all dead that winter,” Granny had said, “But only one of us was actually dying.” 

One of her older cousins that was hunkering in their wagon had a foal. He didn’t cry. Hunger had taken his voice early on and made him quiet just like the rest of them. Still, his mother nursed him every day, pouring what little vitality she had left into his tiny body. And every day, Granny could see the toll it took. It wasn't long before her cousin had nothing left and the nursing stopped. Each morning when Granny woke, she would look over to see her cousin with her son on her chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath. Hunger was working in both of them, slowing their breathing one day at a time. 

One morning, Granny woke up, and discovered that hunger didn’t take away all of her cousin’s feelings. The tears on her face betrayed the one thing hunger would leave in a pony. Grief.

* * * * *

I shook the tears from my eyes before they could freeze. My stomach was still growling, reminding me that hunger was always with me, just like sleep, waiting to make itself known. Reminding me what it would do to me if I didn’t keep it at bay. 

With a whinny, I pressed forward into the train car, but it was immediately clear that I wouldn’t find much of use in there. Clearly, there had been no passengers here. The benches and cargo spaces were all empty. My stomach growled again and I noticed that my mouth was starting to feel pretty dry as well. My body was reminding me that I was in a race against time. If I didn’t get something to eat and drink soon, I’d get to experience first hand what my Granny had so many years ago. I picked up a few pieces of broken wood that looked like they’d make decent fuel for the fire and moved on.

The wind blasted my hide as I trudged on toward the next car. The sun was as high in the sky as it would be today, but not much of it’s light made it down to the bottom of the ravine. It gave everything a dull tint, and I nearly missed the flash of green in the snow. At a second glance, I recognized the familiar shape of my saddle bag. My heart leapt as I trotted over, hastily flipping it open. There were two pristine, red apples inside, along with my good scarf. I ate one of my apples immediately and quickly donned the warmer clothing. It was frozen, crackling as I draped it over my neck as best I could. I’d be able to dry it by the fire back at the engine, but for now it at least helped to block the wind a bit. Even so, I was shivering by the time I made it to the next car. I wouldn’t be able to keep this search up for much longer. 

The front half of this car had been torn away, but the remaining half was fairly intact and miraculously upright. Even better, I could already see from the ground which car this had been: the cafe car. I clamored in and set about searching the various cupboards behind a small counter. It was hardly a buffet. With barely any passengers, I doubted they had even had a designated crew member to run the cafe, but there were still a few items in stock. A few packages of potato chips, some cans of vegetable soup, and some canned peaches. 

“I hope nopony else needs any of this,” I muttered as I loaded the food into my saddle bag. I knew it wasn’t stealing. This was an emergency and I needed to do what I could to survive. But I still worried that I might have been the first pony to make it here, and that anypony who came after me would be in more dire straits. Of course, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair nor any sign at all of any other ponies down in the ravine with me. Mulling it over, I decided to take everything, reasoning that if anypony did make it here, they would be heading for the engine anyway and I’d be happy to share what I’d found with them once they got there.

A gust of wind shuddered through the car, blowing my mane about my face and reminding me that I really ought to be getting back to that fire myself. I had enough provisions to last me a couple days. Long enough to recover and find a way out of this gorge. Walking back, the wound in my hoof started to pound again. The pain killers were wearing off, and I didn’t hesitate to take a couple more when I made it back to the engine. The remaining two pills clattered around in their tube as I tossed it and the rest of the bandages into my saddle bag. It seemed terribly forlorn and empty.

With a sigh, I limped over to the furnace and stoked it back to life with a few more coals. I cooked some soup and used the leftover can to melt some snow for water. It was quiet, and for the first time since finding myself at the bottom of this ravine, I had some time to  just sit and think. Sunset was tinging the light streaming through the window above me. I was amazed at how long it had taken just to walk out to the cars and back. It was so quiet. I liked the silence and solitude of country living, but this was different. No pony was around for miles. I was alone in the silence. For just a moment, panic swelled up in my throat. I didn’t know how many more days I could do this. I’d be out of food soon. What if nopony came to rescue me? What if I couldn’t make it out of this crevice? I was going to wither away like Granny Smith during the skeletal winter. Only there wouldn’t be anything afterwards for me. I was going to die here.

“NO!” I shouted, slamming my hoof into the metal wall. “No . . . Come on girl. This ain’t even the worst situation you ever been in. You’re gonna be okay.” The sound of my voice in the small space felt muted, but it helped tamp down on the panic. “I just gotta get out of here and find Twilight. She’ll know what to do. She’ll figure this out. Just like old times.”

Just like old times. I clung to that thought as I huddled down near the furnace. I just needed to find Twilight. Tomorrow I would try to find a way up the cliff. At this point it was pretty clear that nopony was down here with me. Or if they were, they’d left the train behind and gone off down the ravine. So I needed to get out and find some sign of my friend. Even if we weren’t with each other, we were still in this together. But where exactly were we anyway?

* * * * *

“Great Boar Island,” Twilight said from my living room.

“And where’s that?” I asked, spitting a few apples into my saddle bag. It looked pathetic with barely anything in it. But looking around my kitchen didn’t reveal anything else I might want to pack. I wouldn't need cooking gear. It’d been ages since I’d baked anything remotely exciting. My eyes fell on the open bottle of apple brandy sitting on the counter. Hastily I trotted over and corked it, glancing back over my shoulder, but Twilight hadn’t seen it. She was still standing in my doorway, looking at something else in the living room. 

“It’s far to the north. The big island in Luna Bay,” she said without glancing toward me. I took the opportunity to slip the liquor bottle into a cupboard. Regarding my saddle bag again, I decided the apples would suffice for train snacks and that I probably wouldn’t need to pack anything more. I paced back into the living room, shouldering my pack. 

“Well, I have everything I’ll need. Is that all you’re bringing?” I said, indicating the heavy-looking metal case she had on her back. “What do you have in there anyway?”

“I can’t answer any other questions.” I raised an eyebrow at her abrupt reply. “It regards the security of the realm,” she said placatingly. 

“You expect me to travel halfway across the kingdom and won’t even tell me why we’re going there? Twi . . . You’re not in some kinda trouble are you?”

She glared at me, a steel wall slamming shut behind her eyes. “Are you coming or not?” She said, turning on her fetlock and trotting away through my front door. 

I hesitated, taken aback at how she just walked away from me as if she knew I’d follow. Then I rolled my eyes. Of course. She did know. She always knew. I glanced back into the kitchen, wondering if I should grab the apple brandy before I left. 

* * * * *

I woke up shivering. A weak light filtered through the dust and ash inside the train engine, the only illumination inside the tiny cabin. Sleep chortled at its victory as dismay rose in my chest. My fire was out. I thought I had been careful. I thought that I had staved off sleep until it was safe, but my fatigue must have been greater than I thought. I hadn’t woken up in time to add more fuel to the furnace. 

Panicked, I threw the wood I’d taken from the train cars in to the stove. A few lingering embers lit some of the splinters and caught the wood. My heart lurched as I realized the fuel was little more than kindling, barely enough for a few minutes. In desperation, I gathered a few pieces of coal and crammed them into the cold belly of the furnace. My sticks were burning just fine now, but no matter how long I held the tiny flame to the coal, it refused to catch. In desperation, I dashed outside, looking around for anything that might burn easier. But the ravine was nothing but ice and rock. No trees were growing down here and not even a twig had found its way to the bottom. There was nothing left for me here. I didn’t have any choice. I had to move. 

It took a minute to gather my meager supplies. The food I’d found in the dining car plus my remaining apple. A couple of bandages from the first aid kit. Some cardboard matches I found near the furnace, and I also took a few lumps of coal that would prolong any fire I managed to stoke up. I also took a moment to find my old hair ribbon, still tied around the jagged shard of metal. I grimaced, but decided to drop both into my bag. A sharp implement might come in handy. 

I tapped my injured hoof on the metal wall of the engine. It still twinged but at the very least, sleep had let my body heal and recover a bit. Ready as I could be, I set off into the cold. I decided to head back the way we had come. With only the two directions to choose from, I reasoned that I might as well travel the way I might find more supplies, and maybe even Twilight among the remaining scattered train cars.

Starting out wasn’t too bad. Nothing I hadn’t experienced in the days since the crash. Even though I’d slept longer than I intended, it was still early in the day, at least by the position of the sun. Night time dominated in the winter north, crowding the daylight into a few, pale hours. Still, I could see well enough to watch for any path out of the ravine, but the rock face was sheer and steep everywhere I looked. I would have to hope that there was some way up further down the path.

My hoofsteps became a rhythm of crunching snow, the only sound in the world besides my labored breathing. Another step. And another. And another. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. It went on for an hour. Then two. A soft breeze whispered over my back and sent a shudder up my spine. It was colder today than yesterday, and leaving my shelter before the sun was high made it even worse. My teeth started chattering and I knew I had a new problem.

Cold. 

Cold was a monster with claws and teeth, constantly trying to tear its way deeper inside me and consume the warmth of my blood. My scarf had thawed and dried, but it was poor armor against the beast that rode the wind and snatched at my mane, throwing it about my face and numbing my cheeks. It clutched at my hoofs as they plodded through the snow and climbed up my legs. It battered against my body, trying to bear me down and maul me against the frozen ground. 

I thought ponies filled the winter months with holidays, comfort food and cozy fires just because those were all nice things. Fun ways to spend time with friends and family. But now I understood. Hearth’s Warming, hot chocolate, snowball fights, and stories around a fireplace. Those were all the ways we kept the cold away, ignoring it as we played and escaping into our homes before it took us. We locked it outside at night and huddled into thick blankets, blissfully ignorant of the deadly creature lurking right outside. 

Now that creature had finally caught me. My body convulsed in shivers as cold took me in its jaws. I didn’t have any weapons to fight it off. All I could do was keep moving and endure its relentless onslaught. My muscles felt stiff and distant, like my flesh was being flayed away by cold’s teeth. Chill settled into my skin, stinging at first, but then fading into an unsettling numbness. I was turning into one of my frost apples, soaking up all of the frigid cold. It definitely felt like I would stay frozen straight through to summer. 

I let out an angry groan as I trudged on. My vision was starting to waver and I was having trouble staying focused. My hoofsteps slowed as I felt deep fatigue in my limbs. Hypothermia. My body couldn’t make heat faster than the cold drained it. I was bleeding out, dying from the ravages of an invisible monster. Once, on a camping trip, I’d seen a fox catch a squirrel. It was horrific, watching the poor critter struggle in the larger animal’s grasp. After a short struggle, the squirrel’s eyes had gone glassy and it’s kicking had stopped. I thought it was over, and so did the fox. But in a sudden flurry of fur, the squirrel made one last bid for survival, tearing itself free and bounding away, the fox hot on its heels. Today, I was the squirrel, and this was my last chance to escape the cold before it consumed me. 

My breath shuddered as I drew it back in and I took off into a gallop. I didn’t know where I was going, all I knew was that I needed to get there fast. I passed a few cars that were too shattered to provide any shelter. I needed some place where the cold couldn’t follow. Some place safe from the beast dogging me as I ran. In the distance, I could just make out a dark red train car that looked whole. The caboose. The last car on the train, and my last hope to escape the cold. I’m sure I wasn’t moving too fast, but to my cold-addled perceptions I was flying, barely able to keep my balance. The ravine was a blur around me as the caboose loomed closer. I knew if I stopped or tripped the cold would take me again and I would never be able to escape.

And wouldn't you know it, just as I thought that . . . I tripped. It wasn't much of a thud as I hit the ground, either because I was moving even slower than I thought or I was too numb to feel it. With a defeated moan, I glanced back, half expecting to see an ice colored monster closing in. 

Instead I saw the remains of a campfire. It was half buried in the drifting snow, but the arrangement of charred wood was unmistakable. There was even a couple more pieces of wood, seemingly reclaimed from the wreckage of a crate, stacked nearby. If I hadn’t stumbled over them, I’d likely have walked right over my salvation. 

I wasted only a few minutes as I broke one of the wood pieces down into more manageable kindling. It was nearly as much work just to retrieve the matches from my saddlebag with my clattering teeth. Holding it as steady as I could, I struck one of the precious matchsticks, inhaling the phosphorus aroma. Delicately, I lit the kindling, watching with anxiety as it began to smolder.

“Come on. Come on,” I urged it. Smoke rose as the kindling slowly began to flare, but just as it began to lick at the reclaimed wood, it suddenly sputtered and died, vanishing into wisps of gray. I cursed colorfully enough to feel a bit of heat touch my cheeks and drew out another match. Again the kindling caught, and again it failed just as it reached my fuel. It was starting to feel as if my shivering would shake me apart. And I only had three matches left. 

I never was great at fire starting. That was always Big Mac’s job when we went camping. It always used to make me nervous that he’d catch his mane on fire, bending down so close to flames to blow into them like a bellows. I suppose that was why I never wanted to do it myself. The thought of lighting my own mane on fire made me feel warm . . . or maybe I was actually starting to feel warm again? Oh. That was not good.

The last match took me a few tries, but it finally came alive with a *chirk*. This time, instead of letting the kindling burn itself out, I leaned in close and let out a gentle breath. My reward was a face full of smoke, and a bright glow as the flames leapt. I blew again and again, stopping to cough a bit as I inhaled too quickly. But once my coughing subsided, I had a small but durable fire going. With a whoop of triumph, I piled on a few more pieces of wood and a short while later, tossed in the coal I’d saved. 

Huddling near my crackling handiwork, I slowly started to feel my sensation returning. The cold grudgingly and slowly released me from its icy clutches, retreating for now, but I knew it wouldn’t go far. I stayed next to the fire until my body felt more like a refrigerated jell-o and less like a block of freezer-burned ice cream. By then the fire was already starting to burn down, and I didn’t have anything else to toss in. 

I stood up, glancing around on the off chance there was another chunk of wood or charcoal I’d missed. A glint of yellow caught my eye. I wiped the snow away from the colorful object and found a small can of lighter fluid, sadly empty. Huh. Where did that come from? For that matter, who built the original fire I’d tripped over? Could that have been Twilight? Another breeze set my teeth back to chattering. Good thing I was near a shelter when I fell. Any further investigations could take place inside. 

The caboose was usually reserved for high paying customers. I had been lucky enough to ride in one on a few of my old adventures with my friends. Those were good days, sharing a tense sort of excitement with the most faithful of companions. The kind who you knew would have your back no matter what. Those memories were crushed and misshapen now, much like the caboose I was trying to pry open. 

Incredibly, the car was right side up, but the crash had warped its door frame. I stood back to regard it for a moment. Well, nothing for it. It wasn’t as if somepony would be looking to collect payment for any damages I caused. Wheeling about, I bucked the door right in the center, blasting it back into the caboose’s interior. It struck the opposite wall and splintered into perfect firewood.

The red car was drafty. One of the windows had been shattered, apparently by a rock thrown from outside. It looked like someone had gotten here before me, but there was no way they got inside. The window was too small, especially with the razor sharp glass still clinging to the windowsill. I took in the rest of the room. A decent-sized bed took up the far wall and a small fireplace was nestled next to it. A wood basket nearby was overturned and empty. That must be where the fire outside had come from. A smile broke across my face as I glanced from the fireplace to the broken window. There was no way a pony could have reached that far. At least, not without magic. I knew any unicorn could have done it, but my gut said this was Twilight’s handiwork. 

I wanted to dash right back outside and start galloping. If my friend had been here, then she must have gone down the ravine the same direction I was traveling. If she’d gone toward the engine, we would have crossed paths. But the fire she’d made was half buried, which meant she was long gone, probably a day ahead of me. And I was in no condition to strike out on a nighttime pursuit. It was already getting dark and I was still pretty weak from nearly freezing to death. Even so, I felt my spirits lifting like I’d lassoed a pegasus. Twilight was okay. And if she was okay, then I’d be okay.

A sudden yawn interrupted my thoughts. I may have chased off the cold, but sleep had snuck in to take its place. And with a loud grumble, my stomach let me know that hunger was waiting in the wings. But now I’d gotten to know these three strangers well. These consonant companions of the frozen north, each one waiting take me into the long dark if I let my guard down. 

So, instead of running back out into the cold, I started a fire in the fireplace using the pieces of the shattered door. In just a few minutes, the caboose was nearly comfortable, and once I’d wrapped myself in the heavy woolen blanket from the bed, I was snug as a baby dragon. I was even able to warm up one of my cans of food. Peaches. Not as good as apples, but sweet and filling. After washing down my meal with some melted snow, I finally curled up on the bed and let the dancing shadows from the fire lull me to sleep.

* * * * *

“Long time since I been this far North,” I said, looking out the frosted window of our train car. 

“Yeah,” Twilight replied flatly, “Seems like a lifetime ago.” 

There was a pause as we both teetered on the edge of that painful topic. Our last trip North. I knew she must have been feeling the same. 

She spoke before I could think of the words I wanted to say, “I saw that you still have it.”

“Huh? Have what?” I asked.

“The picture. Our picture. The one of all of us in front of the library. It was on your mantle.”

“Oh. Yeah. I mean, I couldn’t really just get rid of it. After a while I just sorta forgot.” I knew she was watching me now. I just kept staring out the window into the inky, frozen night.

“I kept mine too.”

I took my eyes off the window, turning to her in surprise. “Why?”

“Memories I guess,” she said, her eyes distant. 

“I thought you wanted to forget.”

The faintest hint of a smile touched her lips. “Not all of it.” 

Neither of us could bare to look at the other. Instead we lapsed into another pause, examining the upholstery of the seats and swaying with the gentle movement of the train.

“So . . . Are you still working on that project for the Princesses?” I asked when the quiet became too much to bear.

“No,” she replied promptly, “ I’ve . . . moved on to other things.”

“What other things?”

“I’ve been working on my own projects. My own research.”

I raised my eyebrows, “You’re own research. Without any input from the Princesses?”

“Yes,” She replied coldly.

“That sounds . . . interesting.” 

Her sidelong glance was a warning.

I tried to back off from that topic, “Still trying to save the world, huh?”

“Someone has to.” There was a hint of venom in her words that stung like a flyder bite.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Her eyes widened. “Nothing, I -- I didn’t mean -- Never mind. I really don’t want to fight. Things have just been . . . difficult lately.”

“. . . Yeah. It’s alright sugarcube.”

Another quiet moment passed. 

“I think about them all the time . . . you know?” Her voice was so quiet.

I looked over to see her staring straight ahead. I knew what she was seeing. The same scene played out in my mind nearly every night.

“I know you do, sugarcube.”

“What I did. The choice I made. I did it for all of us,” Her gaze didn’t falter as she spoke. Like she was oblivious to everything except what she was saying. A soft light from outside was glinting in her eyes.

“You don’t have to -- We shouldn’t,” I said, looking away. As I looked back out the window, I saw it. 

“No,” Twilight said, “I need to tell you this.”

“Twi--” I tried. The light was brighter now, and it wasn’t just coming from outside anymore. But she didn’t seem to notice. “Twi, hold on a min--”

“No, I need to say this. You need to know before-- AH!” 

A flash of bright green and magenta, and then nothing.

* * * * *
> CHAPTER 2: The Price of Failure
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This adventure has taught me to never lose faith in your friends. They can be an amazing source of strength, and can help you overcome even your greatest fears.”

CHAPTER 2: The Price of Failure

* * * * *

“Applejack! Wake up!” came the harsh whisper, “I don’t think she’s ever cooked before, and I am not interested in ending our first ever sleep over with food poisoning.” 

“Mrmmble. Five more minu– hey!” I exclaimed as my warm blanket was whisked away. I bolted up, glaring at the alabaster white unicorn standing at the foot of the bed. “Ah, Rarity! I was even being careful not to muss up the blankets, just like you showed me.” 

“And I do appreciate it, but right now we have more pressing issues. Twilight is currently trying to use a toaster to heat oatmeal.” 

“Woah nelly, alright I’m coming,” I said, hopping out of bed and following my friend downstairs. It was a beautiful summer morning. Golden light streamed in through the windows of the great tree that served as Ponyville’s library and Twilight Sparkle’s home. The mess of books and pillows from last night’s antics still littered the main room. It had been one of the best nights ever, a night I’d grown closer to two of my best friends and learned a valuable lesson about myself in the process. 

It was one of my dearest memories. Our first sleepover.

I looked across the library at the two unicorns. Rarity was deftly convincing Twilight to let us take over the cooking while she started re-organizing the scattered books. With her silver tongue, I reckoned she'd have Twilight thinking it was her own idea to leave the cooking to us. 

Rarity. She'd been the first of my Ponyville friends I'd really connected with. First after Twilight, that is. And boy did that come as a surprise. We were opposites in nearly every way. Fussy, detail-oriented, prim and proper Rarity. Turned out none of that mattered one bit, of course. That unicorn had a beautiful soul. Her taste for the finer things never got in the way of her work ethic, even if it sometimes slowed her down a bit. And she harbored a fierce devotion to her friends and kin. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a little Apple heritage somewhere back in her family tree. 

The day it all fell apart, she'd been right there, handling one crisis after another without a single stray hair escaping from her perfect mane. With Rarity at my back and Twilight leading the mission, I was sure we could handle anything. But then we failed. And now this memory was one of the only things that remained of my friend. 

 I stood at the bottom of the stairs, rooted in place. I wanted to go over and hug them, especially Rarity, but the space between us seemed to be growing.

Across the distance, Twilight turned her lavender gaze toward me. “Applejack. We need to talk–”

* * * * *

I woke up with a gasp. The inside of the caboose smelled of wood smoke and peaches and a pale light illuminated the small chamber. And I was alone. A few tears fell onto the blankets as I sat up in bed. I wiped them away, knowing they would freeze the moment I stepped outside. 

My hooves crunched into the snow as I hopped through the door, tying the wool blanket tightly around my neck. The cold would have a harder time clawing through that. The breeze was softer today, but a steady snow had begun to fall. Big, fluffy snowflakes drifted through the air, making everything feel muffled and close. My own breathing was loud in my ears, the only sound I could hear besides the faint cawing of some crows.

I went back to the remains of the fire that had saved my life last night. If Twilight really had been here, there might be some way for me to trail her. The snow and wind had covered any tracks she might have left, but tracks weren't the only signs a pony can leave. 

I walked a slow circle around the area, paying close attention to the ravine walls. A flash of blue caught my eye. There was a small tangle of yarn clinging to a bramble about one and a half pony lengths up the steep hillside. Same color as the scarf Twilight had been wearing. I trotted over and stretched up to pluck the yarn out of the thorns. The coarse fibers between my teeth still had the faint scent of books and candles. This was definitely from Twilight’s scarf. Looking up, I saw more thorny brush sprouting from the rocky face. It looked climbable. Barely. I regarded the brambles with a frown. The long thorns and thick bramble looked like it would claw me like an angry chicken with a manicure. But if Twilight could do it, so could I. 

Carefully, I reared up and took hold of the lowest vegetation, hauling myself up with a grunt. The thorny bramble raked at my exposed underbelly and snagged at my blanket and scarf, but they served as good hoof-holds. Up and up I went, alternating between anchoring myself with a mouthful of woody, twisted vines and heaving my body up the sheer cliff face with my forelegs.

After a few minutes, I chanced a look over my shoulder. I ain't afraid of heights or anything, but clinging to the side of a cliff, fifty feet off the ground, with nothing to hold on to but some icy stones and a tangle of weeds would give even the most extreme pony a thrill. 

Just a few more brambles above me, I could see a small ridge that was supporting one of the trestles that the train track rested on. I could use that to take a rest before trying to climb up onto the tracks. Good thing too, since my legs were starting to cramp and it was getting pretty difficult to bite down on the brambles hard enough to keep from slipping. 

I let out a sigh as I clamored onto the ridge, then nearly fell right back down into the gorge as I saw the body. It looked like the engineer pony. When the train first started to detail, he must have been thrown out of the engine . . . Or jumped.

It looked like he'd been alive at least a while after tumbling down under the trestle because he was sitting with his back against the wooden frame. His face was mercifully hidden, huddled into his forelegs. He was absolutely still, literally frozen solid with snow beginning to pile up on his shoulders.

Some movement caught my attention as I stared, something drifting down from the sky. As the object gently settled near the pony I saw what it was. A black feather. Glancing up, I saw the jet black figures circling above, their ragged calls echoing down to my precarious perch. Crows. Being an apple farmer, I’d never much minded crows. They didn’t eat much fruit, unless it was rotting on the ground. They were scavengers, cleaning the land of anything left over after a harvest. Just a regular part of the cycle of life. At least, that was their role in the cycle of civilized, pony life.

Death was part of that cycle. Being from a big family, I’ve attended my fair share of funerals, seen ponies lying in their final rest. It never really bothered me. Just recently, my great aunt Golden Delicious had passed away. The ceremony had been filled with pictures and memories. Aunty Golden had always been a big story teller in our family, but that day was filled with stories of her. I’d never spent a lot of time with her outside of family reunions, but it seemed like all of the older family members had a tale about their favorite one of her cats. Heck, most of those cats were in attendance for the funeral. The whole thing was practically one big pet adoption drive. Aunty Golden’s body made an appearance for a proper viewing, of course. I wouldn’t say she looked like she was just sleeping or anything, but she was all dressed up and presentable. In all honesty, she didn’t exactly look like a real pony. Just a life-like doll, gussied up to look like a pony, and the trappings of tradition and presence of family made mourning into a proper and peaceful affair. 

This was nothing like that. The dead stallion crumpled against the trestle was frozen, both literally, and in the sense that he was locked in a tableau of his final moment. He wasn’t carefully arranged or posed. It looked like he’d dragged himself upright and huddled against the cold. He looked . . . real. He WAS real. A few days ago he was a walking, talking, warm-bodied pony. Just like me. If I’d been somewhere else on the train, if I’d been less lucky with where I fell, or if I hadn’t managed to escape the cold, I’d be the same as him. Heck, if I wasn’t careful, it could still be me. If I couldn’t find enough food, or wood, or shelter, then I’d wind up another stiff corpse decorating this frigid island. 

My nose hurt. I suddenly realized I was hyperventilating, the chilled air pumping in and out of my sinuses and drying out the delicate lining of my nose. I shook my head and pulled my scarf up over my muzzle, taking deep breaths and trying to steady the heartbeat slamming in my ears. I was okay. I wasn’t even terribly cold just yet, though my ears were starting to prickle. I rubbed at them. My loose mane helped, but the slightest breeze scattered the strands of hair around my face and bit at the tips of my ears. What I wouldn’t give for a hat. I’d been wearing my trusty old cowpoke hat on the train, but it hadn’t made it down into the gully with me. Or at least it hadn’t landed anywhere I could find. Not that it would have provided much protection, being designed mainly to keep the sun and rain off a pony’s head. I needed a proper winter hat. And it just so happened that my frozen companion was wearing one.

I regarded the knitted garment. It was a thick, wool cap embroidered with a vibrant, red maple leaf. A hat like that would keep me a might more comfortable, maybe even save my life if I had to sleep outside. It wasn’t as if my new friend would be needing it anymore . . . but, well. Taking unattended items from an abandoned cafe car was one thing. But removing somepony’s own hat right off their head. Even if they weren’t making their own body heat anymore, it felt a bit too closely related to stealing. 

A gust swirled up the ravine, throwing a fresh slop of heavy snowflakes into my face. The damp was starting to get into my makeshift coat and I could feel the cold licking its chops, waiting to sink its claws into me again. A numbness was taking hold in my ears, giving me a taste of what it would be like to go the way of the frozen engineer. With a gulp, I reached out a hoof to grasp the hat. It stuck to the stallion’s scalp and took a firm tug to get loose. Beneath the layer of frost that clung to him, the older buck had a thinning, orange mane. It was the same color as my brother’s. 

Overwhelming nausea threatened to make me lose the precious calories I’d had for breakfast. I needed to get away from the grizzly scene. With a jerk, I stuffed the hat onto my head and retreated to the frame of the trestle. The cross-bars were perfect for climbing, but at that moment I reckon I could have climbed up the sheer side of a pegasus’ cloud house. It took less than a minute before I was pulling myself up onto the tracks. 

From the top of the trestle bridge, I had a full view of the carnage below. I had no idea how I’d survived the fall. It must have been nearly a hundred feet. Even with the blanket of snow lining the bottom of the gorge, it’d take supernatural luck to avoid being dashed to bits, just like the train cars were. 

The bridge the train had been crossing was spanning a wide section where the mountain had given way to a rockslide long ago and didn’t have enough incline to carve out an even ridge to support a track. I was about halfway between either end, and that left me with a choice. Forward, or back. I couldn’t remember passing any sort of civilization since leaving the station at the Boar Island harbor. So, maybe forward? 

I tapped a hoof against my chin. Traditionally, the best thing to do in a disaster was to stay put. A train crash wasn't exactly something that would be overlooked. Even in this remote region, a train that was more than a day late without any communication would trigger a search. And a pegasus rescue team should have been here by now. I’d been in plenty of emergency situations, even some world-threatening crises. But something about the stillness of the air was weighing in my chest like a rotten apple.

I needed to find some help, and best I could figure, there was no chance of that going back the way I came. Twilight would reach the same conclusion, so I headed off down the tracks in the same direction we’d been traveling when we derailed. 

The planks creaked under my steps. It was a heck of a lot easier to travel without wading through snow up to my ankles, but I was beginning to miss the solid ground. I was no pegasus, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be so lucky if I took a second fall off of the train bridge. I kept to the center of the track, right between the two steel rails. It was hard to resist the urge to stare down at my hooves as I walked, but I knew I’d be able to see through the ties. Just the thought of looking down the side of the cliff made me dizzy. 

The far end of the bridge was in sight, but barely felt like it was getting any closer as I walked and each hoofstep seemed to echo in the ravine. A sudden gust flowed up from under me, rustling my coat and sending a shudder through the trestles. The whole wooden structure moaned like a cow after too many cupcakes. I stopped with a grimace. There was no way the bridge couldn’t handle a bit of wind, right? It was carrying our train just a few days ago. Of course . . . it had suffered a derailment. That couldn’t be good for the tracks. Another gust started a cascade of shaking in the bridge frame. I looked over my shoulder. The other end was even further away. If a collapse really was a risk, my best option was to get off as soon as I could. So on I went.

For a while, it was easy trotting. The falling snow mostly fell through the tracks, leaving them a little slick, but mostly clear. And the end of the bridge was finally starting to feel like it was within reach. It looked like the track disappeared into a tunnel through the mountain. At the very least I'd be able to get out of the snow for a while. Maybe even get a fire going to dry off my outer clothes. 

The heavy flakes were coming down pretty hard now. They were obscuring my vision so bad, I almost didn’t see the huge gap that had been torn in the tracks. I stared down through the gaping ruin, my stomach plummeting about as far down as the ground below me. When the train derailed, one of the cars must have fallen and struck the track before careening into the gorge. A good seven ties were torn away, the rails twisted like snakes in an agonized spasm. 

The far side was about ten feet away. At least that was what I figured when I could get my mind to think rationally. My churning gut told me it might as well be a thousand feet across the gap. The wooden ties were wet, even a little bit icy. Taking a running jump might result in a slip right at the edge. Or I could trip when I landed on the far end and tumble off to my doom.

I turned and looked back. The trestle bridge stretched behind me for what looked like a quarter mile. And beyond that? Nothing but wilderness all the way to the coast. Certain death. Taking the leap over the gap wasn’t exactly the smartest play, but I’d have a chance. It wasn't even all that risky, I told myself. The tracks were wider than they felt, and I was an excellent jumper. I even almost beat a pegasus friend of mine in a distance jumping competition once. Would have even won if she hadn't used her wings. 

I looked back over the breach, scanning the far edge for anything that might get in my way. A scrap of blue fabric was flapping there, caught in a ragged bit of wood hanging on a broken tie. It was another piece of Twilight’s scarf. She had come this way! 

I crouched low and inched my way right up to the edge of the gap and looked down into the ravine. It was hard to see with the snow, but I was sure that I would see the bright lavender unicorn's body if she had fallen into the crevasse. There was nothing down there but gray stone and white wood. She'd made it, and she was somewhere up ahead. 

The thought of the bookish mare leaping this gap brought back a memory. It was one of the scarier dangers we'd faced together, along with a couple of our other friends. We'd been out in the Everfree forest when we'd been set upon by a giant hydra.

The three-headed beast had chased us up to the edge of a small canyon with a few rocky spires that served as stepping stones across. We'd all leapt over, except for Twi. She'd been just a few seconds too slow and the hydra had bashed the rock spires apart in its attempts to grab her. 

With no other options, Twilight took a leap of faith. It was the first time I truly thought she was done for, and it's hard to describe the feeling of watching a friend desperately trying to escape danger and not making it. It's just about the worst thing a pony can experience aside from being the one falling to their doom. 

But then there's the feeling of seeing Twilight soar right back out of that chasm like a phoenix rising from the dead. Surviving the unsurvivable became a common occurrence in our group, right up until the one time we didn't. And even then, Twilight refused to play it safe. 

I had to chuckle a little as I regarded the gap in the trestle bridge. This little death-defying jump probably hadn't even slowed the unicorn down. 

"Just another hop skip and jump," I muttered.

I backed away from the edge, giving myself plenty of room. To be safe, I untied my improvised cloak and removed my scarf, stashing them both in my saddle bag. The shivers set in immediately, but I promised myself a nice hot fire the minute I got to the tunnel. I pawed at the bridge, clearing away the thin layer of snow. The wood was wet underneath, but I could still get a good grip with the tips of my hooves. Hooves that were rapidly going numb in the cold. 

I gave a few stomps to make sure my muscles knew they had a job to do and snorted out a cold breath of vapor. 

"Just a hop–" I launched myself forward. 
"Skip–" I took two long gallops. 
"And jump!"

I looked down. I couldn't help it. And I suddenly knew what it was like to really fly. I'd never really given much thought to how pegasi felt when they flew. It was just so mundane, a nice convenience for travel or putting up decorations. I figured I knew how it felt, having taken my share of trips in hot air balloons or sky chariots. But riding in a basket couldn't compare to the feeling of having nothing below you and being completely untethered. Pure freedom some might call it. 

I called it downright terrifying. Something behind my navel clenched in a way I'd never felt before and my legs took over control from my paralyzed brain. Maybe I have some pegasus ancestry, cause my limbs started flapping faster than Granny Smith's cheeks on a roller coaster. 

Luckily, the jump didn't last long enough for my flailing to send me off course. My legs remembered to at least try to catch me as I came down hard on the tracks. They did an admirable job. Mostly. My right hind hoof caught the edge of a tie and twisted under my weight, sending me sprawling into a ragged show angel. The explosion of pain and impact on the bridge knocked the wind out of me, and for a moment I just lay there, gritting my teeth and trying to keep back the tears that would freeze my eyes shut.

I'd learned my lesson about stopping unprepared out in the open like that, so I ruthlessly turned myself over and lifted my weight onto my three good feet. It was a good thing the gap in the tracks was close to the end of the bridge, otherwise I don't think I'd have made it with how bad I was limping. Each step brought a flash of pain, but I refused to slow down. The pulsing of my swelling joint might be agonizing, but it wouldn't kill me. The chill working is way into my hide would. 

Finally, I passed under the lip of the tunnel entrance and immediately felt more comfortable with dry gravel beneath my hooves. Safely out of the thick snow and rising wind, I quickly set to work starting a fire. Using what I learned the day before, it was a lot easier, but used up the last of the wood I brought from the caboose. Still, I reckoned I'd get a couple hours of flame, and that was enough to put some cheer in my bones. 

With the fire crackling merrily, I retrieved my warm garments from my bag, along with the last two pain killers. Those I swallowed down as soon as I boiled a bit of snow-melt in one of the empty soup cans. As the pain eased, I wrapped my only remaining bandage tight around my wounded fetlock and began to feel more confident about the travel ahead. 

The fire lasted just long enough to boil some extra water and cook a can of soup. The warmth of the food radiated from my belly, bringing feeling back to my extremities. By the time my fire was burning down, I had hunger and cold held at bay, and was not yet feeling the pull of sleep. By my reckoning, it was only a little past midday, though I couldn't be completely sure with the overcast.

I felt comfortable pressing on. If need be, I could venture out, collect some wood for a long fire, and return to spend the night in the train tunnel. It wouldn't be as luxurious as the caboose, but I'd survive. 

Of course, I was hoping to find some kind of shelter, maybe even a settlement further along the track. Twilight would have been smart enough to use the tunnel too, and I wasn't seeing any sign of her, so she must have found some place to stay out there. I held tight to that hope as I shouldered my pack and stepped off, leaving the gorge behind. 

The train tunnel was dark. Before my fire was completely gone, I plucked a brand that was cool enough on one end for me to hold on my mouth. It didn't provide much light, and cast disorienting shadows on the walls and curved ceiling, but it let me see well enough not to twist any other hooves. By the time it burned out, there was plenty enough light from the exit.

Leaving the tunnel, I found myself on a gently sloping ramp leading to the heavily forested foothills of the mountain. To my delight, I found a small station platform with a service road intersecting the track at the bottom of the ramp. It looked like a platform for transferring goods on and off the train, which meant there must be ponies living nearby who got shipments from the coast. The road was barely more than a wide, gravel path cutting back and forth in a series of switchbacks down the hill. I thanked Celestia for this first sign of nearby civilization and started making my way down the hill. 

Dead sticks and branches littered the ground and I filled my pack with them as I went. The snow might be wet and damp on my coat, but that was just because my body heat melted it as soon as it touched me. But the deadfall from the trees would be cold and dry, at least if I shook the snow off before stashing them in my pack. I’d have plenty of fuel for my next fire. 

That is, if I could find somewhere to make a fire. Since starting down the road, the wind had really begun to pick up, blowing the falling snow and picking up even more from the ground to batter me. I hadn't seen a storm with winds this fierce since watching all the pegasi in Ponyville lift our reservoir with a tornado. What in Equestria was going on? There was no way a remote area like this had enough weather ponies to power this big of a storm, and even if they did, why would they? It was just another question that sat in the back of my mind, growing tendrils of creeping dread. 

But I couldn't worry about it now. The wind would dump snow and douse any fire I tried to make out in the open. My blanket-coat, hat, and scarf were putting up a brave fight against the cold, but as they grew heavy with moisture, they were slowly losing that battle.

I walked slow. The wind was hammering at me from every side as it swirled against the hill in a blinding eddy. My vision was like trying to look through glasses where the lenses were replaced with snow globes. Luckily, The edges of the road were bordered with wooden barriers, otherwise I probably would have walked right off the path. 

Finally, I made it to the bottom of the hill where I found a wide swathe of clear-cut forest. I guess the station I’d found must have been for transferring logs from this operation. The tree stumps did little to block the wind, but through the blizzard I could make out the shape of a small shack further up the road. It looked shabby, its roof rattling loosely in the wind. But its walls were sturdy enough to provide a respite from the storm. 

I approached the metal door to the snack and knocked. There was no answer. Trying the handle, I found it unlocked, and as I stepped inside, it was clear the place had been abandoned for a while. The small interior looked like it used to be a bunk house for the lumber ponies. Mattresses and pillows lay scattered on the floor, a short counter was littered with empty cardboard boxes and one of the doors to its built-in cupboard was hanging by a single hinge. It was cold, but without the wind or driving snow, it felt a heap better. 

I took a few minutes to rummage around. There was no sign that anypony had been here in ages, so I reckoned nopony would mind if I made use of anything they left behind. Or at least they'd understand I needed it in an emergency.

The first thing I took was a dry blanket from one of the bunks, swapping it in for the blizzard-soaked one I was wearing. The musty smell was a small price to pay for dry wool. Aside from the bedding, there were a few pieces of cloth and a small sewing kit left forgotten under a bed. A book of matches was lying on the counter and in the cupboard was a single can of beans and an energy bar, both only recently expired. I ate the energy bar immediately and stashed the beans in my bag. There was also an empty water bottle which I took to store extra snow melt. And the grand prize, hiding in a corner behind a crate, was a whole set of snow boots. My cracked and muddy hooves practically sighed in relief. I happily donned the hoofwear and retired to a mattress with the rest of my bounty to take stock. 

I had plenty of sticks to use as kindling and firewood, a hoof-full of matches, a can of beans, some sewing supplies, and the sharp shard of metal I'd pulled from my foot the night of the crash. In terms of survival gear, it was pretty meager, but it was better than what I had that morning.

Peering out through the small window, I could see that the light was beginning to fade. With the blizzard still raging, it wasn't safe to press on, and I was feeling sleep moseying up to get me. It was as good a time as any to rest, so I grabbed an extra blanket and lay back on the bed. My muscles were used to hard hours of work, but the trauma of a train crash followed by days of laboring in the bitter cold had brought on the sort of aches I only felt after a long week of apple bucking season. The pain in my body echoed a familiar pain in my soul as I remembered the friends who had once helped me with that harvest when Big Mac had hurt his back. I rolled over and buried my face in a pillow, trying to clear their faces from my mind as I drifted into sleep. 

* * * * *

Colors danced everywhere around me as I ran, autumn hues from the falling leaves mingling with the brash spectrum of my friend's mane. We ran in lockstep together, our hooves beating the ground in near perfect unison, keeping the perfect pace to shake the vibrant leaves from their branches.

My legs were burning. It had been a long day of racing and this was our second time running the course. I badly wanted a breather, but I wasn't about to be the first to suggest it. I knew Rainbow Dash must have been just as exhausted as me, and we technically weren’t competing on this run, but that didn't mean we wouldn't push each other.

Rainbow Dash. Of all our friends, the sky blue pegasus was the closest to me in personality. Maybe she was a might more impulsive, but we had the same zest for competition, particularly in physical feats. And as much as we both might get caught up in our own pursuits, when the wagon wheel hit the gravel, we stood by our friends.

As we rounded the final bend, the finish line came into sight, a familiar, lavender unicorn nearby. As the end of the course drew near, Dash and I shared a glance. The challenge was clear in her fierce smile and I'm sure my face looked much the same. In a flurry of kicked dirt and flying leaves, we burst into a sprinting gallop and shot down the course like a pair of apples from a colt’s slingshot. 

My lungs heaved with fatigue and strain, but at that moment I couldn't have cared more if I had an Ursa Major on my heels. I was alive, with one of my best friends, dashing freely in the sweet, autumn air. We ran together, each trying to squeeze out an ounce more speed, trying to edge ahead of one another one nose at a time. Not to win, just to race. 

The look on Twilight’s face as we came barreling toward her shifted from smugly content to surprised to panicked. We were both going so fast, I don't think we could have stopped even if we were still fresh and limber. Lucky Twilight was able to slow us down with her magic just before we collided, or I think we'd have all been crippled. 

"You guys!" the bookish mare complained, struggling to untangle herself from the pile of pony limbs. "I thought you agreed that the competition was over."Dash and I couldn't answer on account of the fact that we were both wheezing in uncontrollable laughter. Twilight cocked her head with a disapproving expression. "What's so funny?"

It took a few seconds before Rainbow Dash finally croaked out "Your–  heheh–  your face!" Twilight scowled at that, sending us into another fit of laughter. I don't know why it was so funny. Maybe we were just the leftover runner’s high that was causing euphoria. Whatever the reason, it was a good feeling. At that moment, I knew I’d always be able to count on Dash to be right beside me whenever we needed a feat of strength or athletics. If we were together, we’d be unstoppable in any physical struggle. And she’d tried so hard, fought so hard to get us all out of the danger on the day of our failure. But some things you can’t beat with brawn alone.

Rainbow picked herself up, not quite hiding the slight wobble in her legs. "Good to know I've got somepony who will always give me a real challenge," She said, offering her hoof to help me up. I wasn't about to let her see me needing help, so I figured I'd make it a friendly hoof bump.  

"Applejack, where are you?"

I was suddenly falling, my outstretched hoof gasping at air as I tumbled away from that golden afternoon, down into darkness.

* * * * *

I hit the floor in a tangle of blankets. The cold floor brought me back to myself in a flash of sickening reality. It felt like a black hole had opened up in my gut, curling me into a tight ball. I wanted to scream and weep and buck everything within reach to splinters, but it was too much work just to get free of the blankets, so I just lay there, hurting. 

I didn't want to be here. Alone, far from home, one mistake away from death and with no friends to rely on for help. Everything was all wrong. The pure, incomprehensible wrongness was like a black seed inside me, spreading its roots through my flesh. 

I thought of the frozen engineer pony from the day before and considered what it might be like to just stay right where I was. I could let it all go, wait for hunger or thirst to pull me gently away from the world and leave my few supplies to whoever found my frozen corpse.

But Twilight was still out there somewhere, and if my other friends were here now, they'd be telling me to pick myself up and get moving. Plus, I needed to use the little filly's room. 

With a grumble, I managed to get unstuck from my bedding and set about tending to my needs. It wasn't pleasant in the subzero temperatures outside, but I managed to make a fire in a nearby barrel, so at least I didn't have to worry about frostbite. Beans and snow-melt eased my cotton-dry mouth. I was out of food again. That would need to be my priority today. 

The blizzard had ended sometime in the night, and the weak light of pre-dawn was just enough to make out my surroundings. I was still on the same road that wound up the hill to the train tracks. It ran through the small logging operation, which looked like it hadn't seen any workers in years. The few pieces of remaining equipment were rusted and mushrooms were taking over most of the tree stumps. An old road sign stuck out of the snow on the edge of the clear-cut. "FILLYTON 5 MI," it read. A town. I nearly jumped out of my new boots with joy and relief. A couple hour's walk and I'd be safely back in civilization. 

Of course, I should have known that it wouldn't be that easy. The sun was just peaking over the horizon as I trotted into the town. Was the sunrise going slower than usual? I shook my head at the thought. Celestia's daily sun raising wasn't my concern. I had more important problems. 

Nothing moved in Fillyton. No pony came to get me and there was no sound of the regular hustle and bustle I’d expect, even in a remote, rural hamlet. Every window I could see was either dark or boarded up. Sure looked like an abandoned town to me. But the smell wafting on the wind told me otherwise. Something had happened here recently. Something awful. The stench of cold smoke, burnt paint, and something else that made every hair on my back stand up like corn stalks August. I suddenly felt like the barren wilderness might be a bit more inviting, but I knew the only thing waiting out there was hunger and cold. I either went down into Fillyton, or I’d likely be seeing Aunty Golden Delicious a lot sooner than I’d hoped.

I whinnied at my legs to get a move on, and they reluctantly obliged, carrying me into the creaking ghost town. It was an eerie mix of long deterioration and recent abandonment. Many houses had boards affixed over windows and doors with weathered, rusted nails, while others only had the last few day’s snow piled up on their steps, the rest having been shoveled off to the side. A few of the houses had wood sheds near the door with a few good pieces of dry firewood. I left those for now. Even if everypony had left the town for some reason, they might be back. I had a nagging feeling that was wishful thinking, but I couldn’t bring myself to really believe that this entire town had just disappeared, never to be heard from again. That burnt smell was getting stronger.

It wasn’t a large town. Plodding down the main street, I passed maybe two dozen houses. A small post office stood on a corner, a boxy, stone building jutting from the snow like a tombstone. That building I actually approached. Breaking into somepony’s home was too much, but this was a public building. A notice on the door read “Not accepting mail until next month.” I frowned at that. What kind of post office didn’t post mail? I pushed experimentally on the door. It was locked. I gave a few knocks on the door, knowing it was a vain effort but desperately wanting to get out of the stinking air. 

After a few seconds of fool’s hope, I gave up and retreated from the post office. I trotted down to the corner so I could peer down the cross street. The source of the horrid smell perched about halfway down the street like a giant, skeletal crow. It was the rough shape of the schoolhouse in Ponyville, but in a scorched and eviscerated form. The walls of the school were burned down to stumps on two sides and the roof had completely collapsed into the structure’s belly. The hulk of blackened wood repelled me, but I found my hooves carrying me forward with morbid fascination. In a frozen landscape, here were the remains of an inferno. I could see dirty icicles that had formed on the adjacent houses when the heat from the fire melted the snow off their roofs. It didn’t look like anypony had even tried to fight the blaze.

A glint of light caught my eye as I approached. It was a pair of cracked glasses, partially buried in the snow near the warped door. Once I was looking, I noticed a section of broken wall with charred coats still snagged on hooks. I suddenly knew what was making the smell I couldn’t identify. The world dimmed as my pupils dilated to points and it felt like somepony was using the inside of my chest as a bass drum. I backpedaled so fast my rump hit a cart parked across the street. My mind rebelled at the conclusion. Accepting the obvious was like trying to climb into an ice-cold bath, I could drop right in, but as soon as I touched the surface a reflex would force me to draw away. But the truth was as stark as the coal-black wood of the schoolhouse against the fresh snow. Not everypony in Fillyton had left. They were right here in front of me, buried in a pile of splinters and shingles. 

I sat on my haunches, trying to make sense of what this meant. Had this been some kind of accident? How many ponies were inside, and had any escaped? Smoke was still curling from the wreckage, so had this just happened? No, wait a tick. That couldn't be right. There was a layer of snow blanketing the burned out building and a skirt of ashy ice had formed around the edge of the walls. To all my senses, the school was dead and cold, so why was it still smoking? 

I stretched my neck, looking for the source of the thin wisp of smoke. Moving to the side, I could see that it was actually coming from a row of houses behind the burn site, drifting out of one of the chimneys. Somepony was alive in Fillyton. 

Twilight! It had to be! I dashed away from that macabre scene faster than a chicken running from a cockatrice. I shot up the steps of the house’s front porch so fast I skidded into the door with a thud and bounced off, falling in a clumsy sprawl. I rubbed my shoulder as I got back to my hooves. I’d probably scared the mane off of whoever was inside with that thump. I opened the door sheepishly and went inside.

I blinked as my eyes adjusted from the midday sun to the soft firelight. I stepped into a small living room where an empty rocking chair swayed next to the fireplace. 

"Hello? Twilight?" I called. 

In reply, I received the metallic clang of a frying pan against my skull. A flashbulb exploded behind my eyes and I pitched forward into darkness. 

* * * * *

The Ponyville train station was unusually empty as we sat waiting for our train. It was getting close to Hearth's Warming, and most folk were busy preparing for the holiday and wouldn't be traveling until a few days before. Twilight hadn't said a word since we'd left Sweet Apple Acres. The unicorn was practically sitting on the metal case she'd brought with her. I reached over to tap it lightly. 

"You really not gonna tell me what this is?" I said, "If I knew what was going on, I might be able to help better."

She probably thought she'd managed to hide the pain that flashed behind her eyes, but I knew her too well. 

"I can't tell you. Not yet," She said. 

"Well, if it really is confidential, I guess it’s probably for the best," I sighed,  "I haven't gotten any better at keeping secrets."

"That's good. You wouldn't be the same without your honesty," Twilight said, wearing a smile that looked like a worn out mask. "I wish I could say that magic was still part of who I am."

I snorted. "You having trouble with magic? You sure you didn't just learn all the spells and now you can't find any new ones to master?"

Her smile grew a rueful edge. "Oh, I'm sure there are a few spells I have left to try. But I was talking about the other kind of magic." I fell silent, feeling guilt for the kind of teasing that would have released some tension in the good old days. 

A train whistle broke the silence. "That's us," Twilight said, wrapping her case in telekinetic magic and floating it up beside her. "I'll be honest, Applejack. This won't be an easy trip. We're going to need both kinds of magic to make it through. I know how things are right now, but . . . can I count on your friendship?"

I looked into her violet eyes, suddenly not sure what I was seeing in them. Hope? Fear? I guess there was still more for me to learn about this grim little unicorn I was following into Celestia-knows-what. I wanted to tell her she could always count on me. I think that’s what I did say, that day on the platform. But in my dream, the station was enveloped by steam as the train rolled in and faded away into a swirling pattern of colorful light. 
> CHAPTER 3: Strangers on the Road
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Someone may look unusual, or funny, or scary. But you have to look past that and learn who they are inside.”

CHAPTER 3: Strangers on the Road

* * * * *

 Colored light filtered through the falling snowflakes, making them glow in red, green, blue, and yellow. The fresh, cold air carried a few of the rainbow flakes to land on my nose as I inhaled an invigorating breath. It was late, far past the time I'd normally be asleep on Hearth’s Warming Eve. But the energy of the big city night and the lingering thrill of the pageant had me feeling like I'd had a whole pot of Granny’s double-strength coffee.

The memory was as vibrant as the decorative lights adorning every building and lamp post. We were in Canterlot, the capital of Equestria, to perform lead roles in the annual Hearth's Warming Eve pageant. It was my favorite holiday, and everything had gone perfectly that year. The play was done, and me and all my friends were given the honor of having our families hosted in the Princess' palace for the celebrations. 

"Hey, close the window already, everyone else is already at the meet-and-greet!" Twilight’s brusque command was diluted by her cheerful tone and obvious excitement. 

"Alright alright, I'm a'comin," I said, shutting the window and taking special care to make sure it was properly latched this time. If I weren't so much in the holiday spirit, I'd be a bit grumpy that Rainbow Dash hadn't bothered to fly up and take care of the window. But she had been in such a hurry to get to her "adoring fans'' that she'd probably have just left it unlatched anyway. 

The dressing room was empty by the time I climbed down from the ladder. At least it seemed empty, but as I turned toward the door, I noticed the little, yellow pegasus sitting behind a costume rack. 

"You not coming out to mingle Fluttershy?"

"Oh, you go ahead. I was just going to put my costume away," the meek pony said, gesturing at the shiny fake armor she was wearing. 

"You sure? Usually the performers are supposed to keep their costumes on for the meet-and-greet."

"I know, it's just that I don't really know anypony out there. I'm sure no pony would be interested in meeting and greeting with me."

"Don't ya'll have any family that came to see the show?" I asked with a sudden sinking feeling. 

Fluttershy retreated behind her long, pastel pink mane. "Well, no. My brother likes to spend the holidays at home, so my parents couldn't get away to come to the show."

I stared at her, aghast. "Are you saying you're gonna be spending Hearth's Warming all on your lonesome?"

"Oh of course not. I was probably going to fly back to Cloudsdale in the afternoon, if the weather isn't too bad."

My heart broke for the filly. She was always so quiet and unassuming. Most ponies never paid her any mind, but over the past couple years, I'd gotten to see her how she really was. Observant, thoughtful, and probably the bravest pony I've ever met. We'd faced some pretty scary varmints together, and I knew she was always the the most afraid, but she never wavered. At least, not when it really counted.

It made me feel awful protective of her, not because I thought she needed it, but because she deserved it. She faced her fears over and over for us, it was only right that I be a solid friend who would watch her back and stand with her when things got tough. 

"Alright, sugar. You don't have to mingle if'n you don't want to. But you know, Applebloom's favorite character from the play is Private Pansy. She'd love to see the costume up close. If it's not too much trouble, would you mind making an appearance in our suite tomorrow morning? You'd be welcome to stay for breakfast. Granny Smith always makes too many flapjacks."

Fluttershy emerged from her mane with a smile. "I'd love to!" She said with demure enthusiasm. "It's always nice to see Applebloom. And Big Mac is such nice company. Thank you so much for the invitation."

"Applejack, are you there?" Twilight was calling from the hallway. 

"Be right there!" I called over my shoulder, but my voice was suddenly muffled by a thick fog that must have overtaken the room while I was talking to Fluttershy. I turned back to my timid friend, but she was gone, lost in the fog. I was alone, standing in an endless sea of mist, strangling on the crushing knowledge that I would never see her again. 

* * * * *

I didn't open my eyes when I woke up. My head hurt so bad that I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to see straight anyway. Trying to focus my thoughts was like corralling cats, but I knew that something had just happened to me, and it was important to remember what. 

Slowly, I pieced together my memories of the previous day. The empty town. Then the disaster of the burnt school. Then a house with smoke from the chimney. 

"Twilight!" I hollered, remembering why I had come into the house. Was that where I was now? Gingerly, I opened my eyes and sat up. It felt like I was on a cruise ship in bad weather, but I managed to get my eyes lined up enough to look around. 

I was in bed. I vaguely remembered somepony helping me lay down. They hadn't covered me with the blankets, but it was just as well since they apparently hadn't bothered taking off any of my gear. Even my saddlebags were still strapped to my sides. The room was dark, and besides the bed it was mostly empty. The only other thing was a big steamer chest against one wall. 

Standing from the bed took the same effort as I usually spent running a course at a rodeo, and once I was up I felt like a plate spinning on a stick. With a grimace, I noticed the swelling bump on the back of my head when I reached up to adjust my hat. So I hadn't imagined that somepony had hit me with a frying pan. The door was wide open, so it seemed whoever it was didn't want to keep me prisoner, but I decided to be a little more careful walking around corners for now.

Emerging from the room, I found myself at the top of a staircase. It was almost too dark to see the stairs. Instinctively, I reached for a nearby light switch, flipping it with a click. Nothing happened. I flipped the switch a few more times before I realized what my ears already knew. The house was way too quiet. Normally there was always some low-level sound in any home. Refrigerators hummed, furnaces rumbled. But the only thing I could hear was the soft murmur of a fire. 

No power. Could that explain why there hadn't been any rescue party to the crash site? Must have been one heck of a power outage for everypony to overlook an entire train gone missing. It felt like another piece to an ominous puzzle. I didn't know if I actually wanted to see what it looked like completed.

"I know you're up. Why don't you come downstairs so we can talk."

I stiffened at the unfamiliar voice. It was good to hear another pony for the first time in days, but that definitely was not Twilight, and a strange voice in a strange house where I'd recently been knocked unconscious was far from comforting. For a moment, I considered going back and pretending to be asleep, or even trying to slip out the bedroom window. But whoever this mystery pony was, they were my best chance at picking up Twilight’s trail. With a gulp, I descended the stairs. 

There were pictures on the wall of the stairwell. Very old pictures, mostly of two mares in the outdoors. They looked happy. As I emerged into a firelit sitting room, I found an elderly mare who bore a close resemblance to one of the mares in the photos, though it was hard to tell for sure given the long years that had obviously passed since the pictures were taken. On top of that, the old earth pony had a blindfold tied neatly over her eyes. She rocked slowly in her chair, the firelight dancing over her ash-gray coat. I gulped again as I noticed the frying pan she held in her lap. 

"That's close enough," she said. Her voice was soft, but not like she was shy or frightened. It was more like she was keeping her tone under a tight and deliberate control. She gripped the handle of the frying pan. “Stay right there. The first time I hit you was a warning. Any closer and you’ll see how much strength is left in these old limbs.”

"I don't want no trouble ma'am," I said, holding up a placating hoof. I instantly felt like an oaf, realizing she couldn't see the gesture. I tried to put the same sentiment into my words instead. "My name’s Applejack.”

She regarded me with a raised eyebrow for a moment and then seemed to relax slightly. "You can call me Gray Mare,” she responded, “What are you doing here?”

“I'm just passing through,” I said, “Looking for a friend of mine."

"Not from here," She said, tilting her head in a way that reminded me of a crow, "Hmm. No threats, no yelling, no demands for Gray Mare. Outsider. But not one of the bad ones?"

"I don't mean you no harm, if that's what you mean," I said, unsure if she was even addressing the question to me. Something about the way she spoke seemed off. Before Aunt Golden Delicious had passed away, she'd spent nearly a year with memory problems. Whenever anypony tried to talk to her, she'd respond, but it was like she was talking to somepony else, usually somepony from a long time ago. Sometimes she'd mistake us for our parents, or think she was talking to a younger version of my Granny. This Gray Mare didn't seem quite so bad, but there was a hint of the same sort of mental detachment. 

"No," she sighed, petting her frying pan like a pet, "Not one of the bad ones. So why do you come to Gray Mare? Why come to Fillyton? Outsiders never come to Fillyton."

"There was an accident," I said slowly. “Our train crashed up in the mountains. I got separated from my friend. Has a unicorn mare been through her recently?"

Her brows knit in a sort of pained concentration. "Unicorn mare," she repeated, "Maybe. There were voices. When the lights went out. And the other lights came on."

"You mean the aurora and the power outage? Do you know what happened? Why no pony seems to be doing anything to fix it?"

She gave a wry chuckle. "Fix it? We can't fix it. Last time we had an outage this bad, we waited weeks for outsiders to bring equipment from the mainland. And they never finished the repairs. So many ponies lost their homes or jobs. The ones who could leave took whatever they had and went to the mainland. But this. . ." She leaned back in her chair, "this isn't like last time."

"I'm sure somepony will be here soon," I said, trying to comfort the elderly Mare, "The Princesses will know there's something wrong out here. They'll send help and we'll have everything back to normal in a couple shakes of a timberwolves trail."

Gray Mare fixed me with a stare so strong, I could feel her eyes on me even through the blindfold. I actually had to look away after a moment.

"You don't know," she said, her tone a mix of wonder and pity. 

"Don't know what?" I asked with a growing dread.

"Everything has changed. It's not just the electricity that is gone. Magic stopped working too."

I blinked. “You mean unicorns are having trouble with spells?”

The elderly mare shook her head slowly. “I mean magic has stopped. All magic.”

At first I couldn’t even comprehend it. She might as well have said rainbows had stopped working. Magic wasn’t some pony invention, it was just something that was always there. Unicorns could use it to cast spells to create just about any kind of short-term effect. Pegasi controlled the weather on an immense scale. And earth ponies could imbue long-lasting enchantments into anything they put enough work into. And that was just pony magic. There were countless other creatures and phenomena that produced or manipulated magical effects. Magic was like gravity: just a natural and immutable part of the world. If it just disappeared . . . it really would change everything.

“I need to find Twilight,” I said woodenly, not even realizing I was about to speak. But once I said it, I knew it was more true than ever. I needed to find my friend. The one pony I knew who could take on another world-threatening calamity. Even ... even if it was just the two of us now. 

“Twilight? Your friend?” Gray Mare said.

I nodded in response, then kicked myself again for using body language with a blind mare. “Yes,” I said hastily, “She might know what’s going on. Maybe even how to fix it. ”

Gray Mare took in a long breath leaning her head back against the chair and gently setting the frying pan down, leaning it against the stone of the fireplace. She looked peaceful, almost wistful. “No. There is no fixing this time. No repairs to make. You go. Find your friend. But this is the end for Gray Mare.” Her tone set every nerve in my body on edge.

“Now hold on one apple-picking minute,” I said, my voice cracking with the prolonged stress of the past few days. I  hadn’t survived a train crash, freezing temperatures, an unstable train bridge, and a blizzard just for the one pony who might have seen Twilight to give in to despair right in front of my eyes. I risked the few steps it took to bring me to her side and sat down by her chair, placing a firm hoof on her shoulder. “Things might look bad, but you can’t give up yet. Please, you’re the only pony I’ve seen in days, I don’t know who else to ask for help.”

“You don’t understand,” her voice wavered, “I can’t help you. I can’t – I can’t remember. It’s been quiet for so long. Food ran out. Wood is almost gone. Everything is slipping away, bit by bit. I can’t leave. And I don’t have much time left.”

My eyes widened in realization. If the magic had stopped, then there was nothing keeping the warmth in her home or keeping her food from going bad. After nearly a week, she may have already gone a few days without food. And I knew how fast you went through firewood when you had to burn it constantly to stay warm. Maybe some of her delirium was just from hunger and cold. 

I thought about all of the empty houses. I didn’t know for sure that everypony who lived in Fillyton had died in the school fire. They might be out in the wilderness, expecting to come home to whatever they had locked away. They would have food, water, fuel. Everything Gray Mare needed right now. I could take it all, gather all the possessions of the townsponies and bring it here to support this one mare. It wouldn’t be much different than when I took supplies from the logging camp, right? It was just survival. Gray Mare's breathing was a quiet, steady rhythm. I’d gotten to see my Aunty Golden not long before the end. Her breathing had been shallower, less regular. But the stillness of a body just waiting for death is something you can’t fake. If I didn’t take those supplies, Gray Mare would die. Soon. And she’d take any clues to finding Twilight with her. 

“I’ll get you some food,” I said gently, “Enough to last til help comes. Firewood too. This ain’t the end of Gray Mare just yet, you hear?” I placed a hoof lightly on her cheek, turning her face so she was looking at mine. “You and I, we’re both gonna get through this.”

Her ear twitched as I spoke. For a while she was quiet and I almost thought she’d fallen asleep. But then, she lifted her head and turned her face to me. “I believe you,” she said, almost sounding surprised. “There’s a convenience store on the edge of town. It might not have much left, but if there are any supplies to be found, you will find some there. And … maybe some painkillers as well," she said with a hint of apology. I rubbed the back of my head, hoping she was right. "Go. And while you’re gone, I will try to remember.”

Satisfied, I left the ashen mare and ventured out into the silent cold. I must have been unconscious for a few hours because the sun was starting to drift behind the horizon. I wasn't excited about being out after dark, but I wasn't sleepy and every hour I wasted was an hour that Twilight was out here alone. 

I decided to check some of the houses on my way to the gas station, hoping to get a head start on my scavenging. The first house I came to was open, the door slightly ajar on its hinges. Wind had blown snow into the small living room. The dwindling light of dusk wasn't enough to do a thorough job of searching the house, so I just made a quick pass through the kitchen cupboards. There was no food to be found, but as I was groping around, I managed to stumble across a can opener. I happily stashed that in my saddlebag. Not that smashing cans open was too hard for me, but I always spilled some of the food when I did that. Plus, now I could keep some cans for cooking that weren't all dented and bent. 

It was eerie being in somepony’s home like that. I knew that in all likelihood, the owner of this house was buried in the scorched wreckage of the school. Their life was probably over. But everything they had was still here, waiting. Books and magazines were stacked by a sitting chair in front of a fireplace. One piece of wood leaned against the wall nearby. I picked that up and stashed it in my pack. In the small bedroom, I found the bed tidily made and another water bottle on the nightstand, this one actually filled. That I also took. By then, the waning light was struggling to push through the frosty windows, casting the interior into a deepening darkness. I groped around in a few drawers, but found nothing else of interest and decided it was time to move on.

I left the house wondering if anypony would ever sleep in that bed again or use the fireplace. Would ponies return to make Fillyton a home again? Or was I the last soul to walk these streets, fluttering from house to house like a carrion bird. 

The thought drew my attention to the ragged calls of crows echoing through the empty town. The last time I'd encountered crows, they had been hovering over the dead engineer pony. I shivered at the memory of flame-colored hair on a pale scalp. That was an experience I'd rather not repeat, but it sounded like the crow calls were coming from the edge of town, in the direction I expected to find the convenience store. I took a deep breath to steady the hammering in my chest, and reluctantly made my way through the rest of town. 

It was too dark now to do any proper scavenging from the houses. The moon had risen and was casting a ghostly light over the landscape, but as soon as I stepped inside, it would be darker than a groundhog's cellar. I would probably have to light a fire inside the convenience store just to see enough to loot.

As I was approaching the store, lamenting the need to burn good firewood just for light, I noticed an unnerving figure on the road. It was starkly black against the packed snow, but blended with the surrounding shadows into a formless mass. A halo of circling crows danced high above, calling excitedly into the cloudy night sky. They were anticipating something. Something to do with the strange figure on the road. The shape moved. My muscles tensed with anticipation and my limbs flooded with adrenaline as the wind carried to me the scent of blood and the soft sounds of teeth on flesh.

My body knew what I was looking at before I could make out the shaggy fur and lanky silhouette of a wolf. Growing up near the Everfree forest, I was used to timberwolves, the constructs of wood and brush animated by primal enchantments. The animal in front of me shared a similar form, but was clearly flesh and bone. This was a living creature, the likes of which would have stalked my ancestors in times forgotten by pony history but remembered all too well by my natural instinct. 

I froze, my ears, eyes, and nose focused intently on the wolf. He was eating something. It looked similar to the small bunny rabbits that Fluttershy would frequently have in her care, only bigger and skinnier. The wolf had torn out its innards and was greedily snapping them up when it noticed my presence, tilting yellow eyes up to gaze at me. 

Now, I've always known that ponies aint the top of the food chain. I've tangled with manticores and chimeras and hydras, all critters that will eat you as soon as talk to you. But those were all monsters, creatures of magic and malevolence. Well, the manticore was just angry on account of a thorn in his paw, but the rest of the hostile creatures I've run across seem like their whole purpose was to threaten ponykind.

But standing eye to eye with the wolf was different. There was no malice in his gaze, no hatred or even any aggression. There was nothing personal about our relationship. He was predator. I was prey. He would tear me apart and devour me down to my bones simply because that's what he did to survive. 

He licked his lips, regarding me. I knew I didn't have much time before he made his decision whether to pounce and make a meal of me. Every cell in my body wanted to run, to turn and flee as fast as I could. But I knew that he would want the exact same thing. He wouldn't be able to resist the chase, and frankly, I didn't like my chances while I was weighed down by my pack and winter clothing. I knew I only had one option. 

Moving as smoothly as I could, I reached into the bottom of my pack and drew out the sharp, metal shard I had taken from the train wreck, gripping it tightly in my teeth. The wolf tilted his head curiously. If he knew that I was holding a weapon, he didn't seem to care. Almost lazily, he began circling me, his enormous paws supporting his entire weight without sinking into the snow. I turned slowly, always keeping him in front of me. His black fur was dusted with shimmering snow, a testament to the quality of its insulation. As he came around, the reflective surface deep within his eyes caught the moonlight and flashed neon green. That was the moment he chose to lunge. 

He came in teeth first. Shining fangs, long as barn nails and just as sharp, aimed right at my throat. I couldn’t bring my makeshift knife to block without putting my face in his jaws, so I braced myself and thrust a foreleg up into his mouth. We collided in a puff of fur and snow, his weight slamming me backwards and nearly sending me sprawling. My hoof in his maw must have been unexpected as he made a gagging expression for a split second before snapping his mouth shut. I pulled my foreleg back, knowing that the razor teeth and leverage from his powerful jaw muscles would probably snip my hoof right off. With my sudden movement, I managed to avoid losing my limb, but couldn’t pull clear before his canine teeth sank into my flesh. 

I expected it to hurt, but all I felt at that moment was a squeezing pressure and a thrill of animal excitement. Having survived the initial charge, it was time to show this oversized lapdog that this pony had some teeth too. And mine was a few inches longer. I bunched my shoulders and plunged the knife into the dark hide. The impact rang a bell in my noggin and I lost the grip on my weapon. With a yelp, the wolf released my arm and darted away, stepping nimbly around to my flank. I tried to follow, keeping my eyes on him, but the moment I tried to put weight on my bitten leg, it gave out and I collapsed down to one knee.

Seeing his opening, the wolf leapt with a yapping growl, scrabbling onto my back. I felt his breath on my mane and I tucked my head forward to avoid the deadly bite. Instead of the delicate bones of my neck, his teeth sank into the fabric of my clothing. He pulled and worried at my blanket-coat and tore at it with frosty claws. I heard tearing, and his weight nearly made the rest of my knees buckle. But years of hard farm labor had turned my legs strong as tree trunks. I managed to keep my footing, but if I didn’t get the wolf off my back, it was only a matter of time before he overwhelmed me. Lucky for me, I had some experience with unwanted riders, and I was willing to bet that this varmint had never been to a rodeo.

It wouldn’t be easy with only a single good foreleg, but if there was one thing I was good at, it was bucking. With a roar of exertion, I reared back, nearly breaking the wolf’s balance, but he managed to hold on by his grip on my garments. Before he could recover, I lurched forward and kicked hard off the ground with my hind legs.The sudden jolt stunned my canine cowpoke and catapulted him forward. Even as I hurled him over my shoulders, he wouldn’t let go of my coat and it tore a large section from my shoulders. If I’d been in a wolf-tossing competition, I wager I’d have taken the blue ribbon as the furry critter soared nearly twenty feet away and bounced off a nearby cart. He hit the ground with a whining yap, hard enough to dislodge my makeshift knife. I stood, chest heaving with my labored breathing as I watched my opponent scrabble to his paws and limp away. I didn’t take my eyes off him until he disappeared into the moonlit night.

Once my body was convinced that I was alone, the adrenaline began to drain from my body and the shivers set in. I wasn’t sure if it was just the aftermath of the struggle or the chilly night air that was now pouring into my coat through the gaping hole left by the wolf’s jaws. Looking down, I also added blood loss to the list of possible causes for my tremors. Since that seemed like the more urgent possibility, I stumbled over to where my knife had fallen and used it to cut the scraps of fabric I’d found in the logging camp into improvised bandages. By the time I had them tied tightly around the wound on my foreleg, the pain was setting in. I was pretty sure those massive teeth had put a sizable notch in my leg bone. Hopefully Gray Mare was right about there being painkillers in the convenience store. 

The crow sounds from earlier were nearby, but it seemed they were leaving the area. It wasn’t long before they settled elsewhere though, seemingly finding another bit of carrion to hold their interest. I felt an urge to investigate what they had found, but the cold was gleefully probing the breach in my coat and I could feel it rapidly trying to work its way in to steal my warmth. I needed to get inside for a while, so I limped my way up to the store, feeling like I had just defeated Cerberus at the gates of Tartarus. A ‘CLOSED’ sign had frozen to the outside of the door and snow had piled up so high I had to dig a bit before I could get it open. Once inside, I was surprised to find it bathed in a warm firelight. Somepony had made a campfire back behind some empty shelves. It was encouraging to find I wasn’t alone, but I'd learned my lesson from bargain into Gray Mare's home and getting a wallop for my trouble. I approached the campfire cautiously. 

"Hello in there," I called as I came around the shelves, "I'm not here to cause any trouble, but there's a resident of this-here town who needs some supplies. Ya'll mind if I take a look around for any food that might be left?"

As I spoke, I came around the corner to get a better look. I was half expecting to find I'd been talking to myself, but there was actually somepony sitting in a rickety camping chair next to the small fire. He was an older stallion, but didn't seem to have any of the frailty that I was used to seeing in my elders. His bristly coat was a dark red with a gray mane and beard that still had hints of blond highlights. Thick spectacles with a spiderweb of cracks caught the flickering firelight, obscuring the stallion’s eyes. He wore a proper winter coat over a heavy knit sweater with a peculiar compass rose embroidered on the front. There was something familiar about that sigil, but it was like the memory of a memory and I couldn't place where I knew it from. 

He stirred as I came closer. "Another stranger," he said in a deep, melodic voice. His tone was achingly familiar, and somehow I'd known what he would sound like before he opened his mouth. A part of me felt a deep comfort in his presence, while another part had its hackles up like a barn cat at a dog park. "Tell me, youngster," he continued, "Did you escape the town?"

I stayed where I was, a few paces from the stallion’s campfire. It felt strange. The flames gave off a rich, warm light and the fragrance of burning pine, but didn't seem to produce much heat. I was torn between wanting to sit down near the flames and wanting to beeline it right out of there. 

"I … I just got here," I said lamely. I felt like a little school filly who didn't know the answer to a teacher's question. School filly. The image brought up a very unpleasant thought. "You … you're not talking about the burnt school are you? I reckon nopony escaped that," I said quietly. 

I couldn't decipher the expression he made, a sort of tensing of his face and lowering of his ears. It could have been sorrow, but without seeing his eyes, it was impossible to tell. 

"Hm. I reckon you're telling the truth," he replied with a nod, "A terrible tragedy."

His tone struck a note deep in my heart. It wasn't mournful or upset, just a flat statement. But the way he said it seemed to weigh the words down with the full reality of what had happened. When I'd seen it with my own eyes, I didn't feel the truth of what I was looking at. I couldn't, or I probably would have gone into shock. But now, with some distance from the discovery, I was starting to grasp the entire meaning of what I had seen. Ponies had gone into that building, thinking they would come out again. Thinking they would go home to their stacked magazines and cozy beds and waiting fireplaces. Instead, their stories came to a sudden, violent, painful, and fearful end. It was truly a Terrible Tragedy. 

I expected to feel sick, like after my encounter with the frozen engineer. Instead, I felt a deep, echoing sadness, like a scream of anguish in an enormous cavern. I closed my eyes against a well of tears. 

"You can cry," the mysterious stallion said with a firm but gentle insistence. 

I shook my head with a sniff. A few tears rolled down my cheek, but I didn't feel any sobs in my chest. Instead, I found myself taking a deep sigh and plopping down on my haunches. 

"Do you know what happened?" I asked, surprised at the steadiness of my voice. 

"I'm afraid I know about as much as you do," he said, "But I suspect you may know more than you think?"

I nodded. I'd been trying not to think about it. The scale of the pain and terror was just too much to process on top of everything else. But this stranger had a talent for drawing out what I knew to be the honest truth. 

"I talked to another resident. A mare who lives over by the school. She said she heard voices. And that other ponies had been there. Bad ones. The sort who threaten and make demands," I paused, not wanting to give the answer I knew was correct. 

"That school didn't burn down by accident. Somepony lit the fire. And whoever it was knew there were ponies inside." My voice broke on those words. I knew that bad ponies existed. Ponies who lied, stole, even killed. But crime was so rare in Equestria, I'd been mercifully insulated from such unpleasantness all my life. I couldn't understand it. 

"Why would anypony do that?" I said, trembling.

"Not everyone lives an easy life," came the stallion’s musical voice. "Violence comes naturally in hard circumstances."

"I don't think I could ever be that violent," I said.

"Oh? What about with that wolf you met outside?"

"That – that was different," I said, startled that he knew about my struggle with the vicious canine. It must have been louder than I thought. "I was fighting for my life. And I didn't even kill him."

"Oh? So you spared him?"

"Well … no," I said, beginning to feel a little frustrated. "My knife just didn't … go deep enough." I deflated under the glare of his gleaming spectacles, now feeling like a filly who was caught in a fib. "It's not the same as burning a whole town of ponies alive!" I protested, angry that this stranger was comparing my actions to such a monstrous crime. 

After a moment, he inclined his head. "No, I suppose it is not," he said, poking at the fire with a small tree branch. 

I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," I said, "I've had a rough few days. And I thought I'd find some help here, but instead it's the scene of a … of a murder. A massacre. And the emptiness here. It feels unnatural. Scary."

The old stallion nodded, stroking his beard. "No place is ever so quiet as one that didn't expect to become abandoned."

I stared into the fire and drew my knees up, wrapping my forelegs around them. "I don't know how you can be so calm about all this."

"Well when you've been around as long as I have, big changes stop seeming so big."

"I suppose. Seems like this island has seen more than its share of big changes. Have you lived here long?"

"Ah, no," he said with a slight chuckle, "This is not my home. I'm just a passing traveler, come to witness the end after the end."

I couldn't begin to understand what he meant by that. An end after an end? That was like exploding, then exploding again. Just doesn't happen. The wary part of me was frantically trying to get my attention, like a bunny thumping its foot against my hoof. 

"You mean you're not from here?" I asked slowly, trying not to sound accusatory, "Just who are you? You seem … like I should know you."

"Oh, I'm nopony," he replied with a slight drawl, "but you can call me Fidelius."

The name seemed fitting, but I couldn't tell you why. He still didn't feel quite right to me. Once when I was very young, before I had even gotten my cutie mark, I'd run away from home to try for a new life with my Aunt and Uncle Orange. They were high class ponies, real movers and shakers in their home city of Manehattan. I'd gotten the fool notion in my head that they could give me a more successful, more important life, but from the moment I got there I was missing my folks back in Ponyville. For a while, I was torn in two, one half of me wanting to rush back home, and the other feeling like I couldn't show my face there without sacrificing my pride. I wasn't able to bring myself to leave Manehattan until I got a truly spectacular sign in the form of a rainbow pointing back home. Later I'd learn that it had been Rainbow Dash herself who'd created that glorious display, and the event took on a whole new significance. But before that display of near divine intervention, I’d felt stuck in Manehattan. Like there was something keeping me from leaving even though I desperately wanted to.

That was kind of how I felt about this Fidelius. I wanted to trust him, but it was like I'd already made the decision not to. But there was tension to that reluctance, like at any moment the sky would explode in another sonic rainboom and Fidelius would suddenly make sense. Only this time, I wasn't sure if I’d be learning any valuable lessons. 

I decided I wouldn't spend any more time with this stallion than I had to. Just one more question.

"Alright, Fidelius. My name's Applejack. I guess you've probably figured out that I’m not from here either. I came here with a friend, but we got separated. Have you seen a lavender unicorn in the past few days?"

He shook his head. "I only arrived recently. I'm afraid I won't be much help in finding your friend. But you came here for a reason, didn't you? Supplies for the mare across town? I believe if you help her, she will send you in the right direction."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I said, getting back to my feet. His answer hadn’t surprised me, and I wasn’t sure I would trust his help anyway. Better to get back to Gray Mare as soon as I could.

"There's a lantern on the checkout counter," Fidelius said, pointing, "I think that might be of use to you."

I nodded my thanks and set about the task that had originally brought me to the store. Fidelius was right about the lantern. Even with the firelight, it was difficult to see in the shadowy edges of the store. But with the old, hissing storm lamp hung on my saddlebag, I could see nearly the entire room. 

The first thing I found was some extra fuel for the lamp, also on the counter. It was being used as a paper weight for a scrawled note. One word on the paper caught my eye: ‘wolves.’ I lifted my lamp to the counter so I could read the forgotten message. 

‘Merriweather said she spotted wolves right by the post office yesterday. It’s the third report of a sighting this week. I don’t know why they’re coming so far into town recently, but I’m starting to think we might need some way to drive them off if they don’t move on soon. My dad used to talk about using road flares to keep wolves away from his dog on sledding expeditions. It might be worth putting in an order for a few crates of flares for the store. I know I’d feel better taking the dog for a walk in the evening if I had some way of scaring off those critters without having to use my revolver.’

I left the note on the counter, mentally adding road flares to my shopping list and ventured onto the main floor. 

It was clear that the store had been closed for a while before the aurora. I searched the pharmacy aisle first, hoping to find medications to dull my lingering headache. I was also beginning to worry about my fresh wolf bite. The tight bandaging had staunched any bleeding, but the dressings I used were hardly sterile. Granny Smith always insisted on disinfecting even small cuts and scrapes. “Treat every wound like it’s trying to kill you,” she always said. She would have been sorely disappointed in this store’s supply of antiseptic. The shelves were completely empty. There wasn’t even a bottle of the old iodine that stung like a chemical burn. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any medical supplies at all. Only dusty, empty shelves. I left the aisle, trying to ignore the growing throb in my leg.

At least there was still a bit of food left in the store. Packets of dried fruit jerky and nuts were hanging sporadically on hooks and a few cans of soup stood haphazardly on some lower shelves, but for the most part the shelves were empty. I also found a few cans of soda in the silent fridges near the back wall. It wouldn’t be much of a feast, but for a single pony, it would last at least a few days. It wasn’t enough to satisfy me though. If I left Gray Mare without enough supplies, and she didn’t make it because of me – That just wasn’t something I was going to allow. 

I went into the back to see if there was a store room for extra stock. There was a small adjoining room, but it looked more like an office than storage. Whoever used to work there clearly skimmed some of the merchandise though. An entire box of energy bars and a full jar of peanut butter were sitting on a desk next to a typewriter. I happily stuffed both into my saddlebag, which was starting to get awfully heavy. It still wasn't quite enough to supply Gray Mare for as long as I wanted, but it would definitely help bring her back to health, hopefully enough to remember what she knew about Twilight. 

"Say,  Fidelius," I called, hauling my supplies back into the main storefront, "Do you think you'll need any of this food? I reckon I can find more in the houses around here, so I can spare some."

There was no answer. Frowning, I wound back through the shelves to Fidelis's fire. The stallion was nowhere to be seen and his campfire was nearly burnt down to embers. Now that he was gone and I had a proper light source, I spotted one more treasure hanging up on the wall behind the spot he had sat. A heavy knit sweater. 

I knew the garment must have been there for days at least, what with all the dust clinging to its wool yarn, but it almost felt as if Fidelius had left it as a gift. I shook my head at the thought and donned the sweater. With my improvised coat in tatters, the extra warmth might keep me from getting hypothermia on my way back to Gray Mare's house. It was certainly going to take me longer to make my return trip with all the added weight of the supplies I'd scavenged. 

And as it turned out, it would take even longer than I thought, because the moment I stepped outside I was greeted with a snarling growl. A wolf. Whether it was the same one I fought earlier, I couldn't tell because he was still a good distance away. Far enough I might be able to make a run for it. Only problem was that he was on the road, in the same direction I needed to go. I considered going around, but the agile carnivore was sure to intercept me. If there had been any road flares in the store, I could have used one to scare him off, but if the store pony had taken their friend’s advice, his stock must have already sold out and I'd had to leave without any new defenses. It was still just me and my knife. 

At the moment, it looked like he hadn't seen me, but he was sniffing the air and stalking in my direction. My best bet was to head down the road away from him and see if there was another route to double back. I set out as fast and as quiet as I could. The road soon led me out of town. There was nothing but an open field to my right and a steep hill to my left. The deep snow of the field would slow me down, but it might be my only option to get around the beast that was stalking me. Glancing over my shoulder I could still see the distant form of the wolf prowling along behind me. He must have caught my scent. My pace kept me ahead of him, but I was starting to get tired and the cold was beginning to work its greedy claws until me. If I didn't find another way back soon, I'd have to risk the snowy field. Up ahead, I could see that the road disappeared into a tunnel through the hills. If I was lucky, the road might curve back around on the other side. 

Sadly, I was unlucky, and instead of an alternate route, the tunnel was a dead end. A rock slide had blocked the entrance and crushed the front half of a bus that was even less lucky than I was. I could hear the wolf approaching. The rear door of the bus was open, and it looked like there was enough room for me inside. I considered the field. If I went trudging through there, I'd be slower than a foal pushing one of the big plows on Winter Wrap Up day. I'd be caught, and fighting in the snow with a full pack of supplies was a losing proposition. If I couldn't get through the bus, at least I'd be able to prepare myself to take on the predator. I climbed inside and swung the door shut behind me. 

I huddled there for a minute, trying to ignore the biting cold of the metal floor on my rump. The cabin soon filled with the fog of my own breath, obscuring my view through the frosty window. I slipped my saddlebags off, carefully pushing them against one wall and retrieving my little shard of a knife. The crude implement was beginning to feel too familiar between my teeth, and no more comfortable than the first time I tried to wrench it out of my hoof. I had to hold my chapped lips in a frozen grimace to keep them from freezing to the cold metal. After another minute of waiting, I spat out the oversized toothpick. 

“That fleabag is certainly taking his sweet time,” I muttered, rubbing my aching jaw. I winced at a sharp spike of pain in my leg. The bite I’d suffered in my first struggle was beginning to swell. I scowled. Another tussle with a wolf would probably leave me looking like a puppy’s chew toy. I could probably salvage more cloth for bandages from my ruined blanket, but without any way to disinfect the wounds, I might as well just let them bleed. 

I curled in on myself, trying to huddle as deep into my new sweater as I could. The brisk hike from the store with my heavy pack had thoroughly exhausted me. I leaned my head on my saddlebag, letting my eyelids droop. I knew this was no place to let sleep catch me unawares, but I couldn’t help but relax for a short rest, letting my mind wander from the darkness and danger into memories of a brighter, warmer place.

* * * * *

I remembered home and the feeling of relief after a long absence. I remembered the time I almost left Ponyville for good. It was a terrible choice, made for a silly reason. At the time it seemed like my only option, but in the end my friends set me straight and brought me home. But one friend in particular wound up teaching me an extra lesson that day.

“Oh, uh. Applejack?” 

I turned to Twilight’s voice as we were leaving the train platform. She was looking down the track with a nervous expression. She was watching a hand car pull into the station carrying some familiar ponies. A disheveled Rarity hopped off and stalked past us muttering something about doing something uncomfortable to Rainbow Dash. The other pony was a frosting-pink earth pony with a cotton candy mane. 

“She was pretty mad when you broke your Pinkie Promise. You might want to start thinking of how to apologize.”

I frowned. Pinkie Pie was a singular pony. She was probably the silliest pony I knew, constantly joking around, even in the direst circumstances. Even when she was being genuine, she would overact and ham up her reactions to a commercial degree. It was always hard to tell when she was really being serious. But promises were something she never joked about. When you made Pinkie a promise, especially a Pinkie Promise, you best keep it. 

"Heeeey Applejack!" She called merrily. For a moment, her cheerful demeanor made me think she'd forgotten about the promise I'd broken. But I knew Pinkie Pie. She was excitable as a bucket of weasels and grasshoppers. You never knew quite how she'd act on any given day, and it was impossible to tell what was going on under her frizzy mane, sometimes literally. 

There was only one constant when it came to Pinkie. She was always thinking of her friends. Whether she was planning a surprise, thinking of a gift, or even worrying about their opinions of her, the ponies she loved were always in the neon spotlight of her thoughts. Her friendship seemed so intense when I first met her, it was almost intimidating, but I quickly came to see that it was fragile too. I saw that now, in her blue eyes. Her eyes held the echo of the one time she lost faith in her friends. The one time she thought we had discarded her friendship. When Pinkie lost faith in her friends, she was barely even Pinkie Pie at all. For now, she was smiling, but I could tell that something had shaken her. And I knew it was my fault. 

"Are you ready to give me a real apology?" She said. 

"O' course, Pinkie. I never should've run off to Dodge Junction, and I should have told you that I didn't win the prize money from the rodeo, like I said I would. And I'm powerful sorry I broke a Pinkie Promise to try and cover it all up. I feel right terrible about it."

I must have said the right thing, cause I could practically watch Pinkie's mane inflating like a balloon. It was a beautiful sight. Most folk took Pinkie's friendship for granted. It was understandable seeing as she offered it to just about everyone she ever met. But for me, and for the rest of her closest friends, our relationship was like a budding tree. If you nurtured and maintained it, it would grow strong. And when it bloomed, the joy that radiated from her was better than any of the parties or sweets that Pinkie loved to share. 

And sometimes, she even surprised you by revealing something you didn't even know about yourself. 

"Whew!" The pink pony exclaimed, making a show of wiping her brow, "I was really worried for you there. You haven't been that dishonest since Discord turned you into Anti-Applejack."

Huh? I knew I'd broken a Pinkie Promise. I'd told her that I would explain everything about why I'd run away "at breakfast", but then I'd simply skipped our next breakfast. Since Pinkie didn't know I was planning on running away again, it seemed to her like I'd gone back on my word. 

"Well, I dunno if I'd say it was that dishonest. Technically what I said was true."

"Duh!" Pinkie groaned, sticking out her tongue, "And technically true is the WORST kind of true. It's the kind of true that makes ponies believe things that aren't true. Telling a lie is bad, but using the truth to trick your friends? That's like inviting somepony to a party just to make fun of them. It's just … just wrong."

I was stunned. She was right, of course. I had abused my trustworthy nature to fool the ponies who cared most about me. It was a perversion of honesty, an insult to the Element of Harmony that I was supposed to represent. 

"Well heck, I hadn't thought of it that way. I'm sorry, Pinkie. That was a terrible thing to do to my friends. I swear I'll never use the truth to tell a lie ever again. And that's a Pinkie Promise!"

My eccentric friend beamed, instantly melting away my lingering guilt and replacing it with a comforting resolve. "Apology accepted!" she shouted with a gleeful bounce for emphasis. 

"Applejack! Are you coming?" It was Twilight’s voice, drifting from the distance. I turned looking to see where she was, but the town was deserted. Just like Fillyton. A spike of fear shot through me and I whirled to grab hold of Pinkie Pie, but where my friend had stood a moment ago, a wolf was crouching, his snarling jaws ready to tear the flesh from my bones. I staggered back as he lunged, his fangs closing on my throat, ensuring I would never tell another lie again. 

* * * * *

My eyes shot open. It felt like waking from a dream, but I knew I hadn't been all the way asleep. I had kept just enough consciousness to be aware of my environment. A flicker of movement outside the bus's rear window had drawn my attention. 

The wolf had finally arrived, yellow eyes glowing with reflected moonlight. My body tried to summon the adrenaline rush from my first fight and I scrambled for my knife. As I groped for the slippery tool, my nose bumped into something that I hadn’t seen in the darkness, a small cylinder that rolled away from my touch to bump against the wall. I squinted at it in the darkness, making out the shape of a road flare. With a smile, I left my weapon where it lay and reached for the little, red device instead.

“Alright you mangy, overgrown poodle! Let’s see how you like this!” I shouted, slamming open the door and striking the flare. It roared to life with a chemical hiss and an eruption of red sparks. It was like I was in an old projector movie, only instead of grayscale, the world was rendered in black and red. The motion of the wolf became jerky and flickering in the sputter of flare-light and I caught a clear glimpse of the surprise on his face as he skittered backwards. Seeing the deadly predator falling back gave me a surge of courage and I bellowed a challenge as I leapt from the bus. 

It was too much for the wolf. He turned tail and scampered into the darkness with a startled whine. I listened to his retreating footsteps until all I could hear was the spitting of the flare. 

"And don't you come back!" I hollered into the night, dropping the flare at my hooves. With a snort I returned to the bus to retrieve my bags and knife.

That's when I saw the message. I’d missed it in the dark, but with the flare illuminating the interior, I could clearly make out the letters scrawled on the wall. And it looked like they were addressed to me. 

'AJ - DEFIANCE'

"What in sam hill…" I muttered, reading the word a few times. I looked around the interior of the vehicle, trying to find anything that might provide some context to the cryptic message. All I could see at first was the rocky debris of the cave-in that had buried the bus. I unhooked my new lantern from my saddlebags, lighting it. 

In the steady, white light I caught a glimpse of a familiar color amidst the gravel. Twilight’s scarf. With a burst of terror, I dropped the lantern and began digging at the rockslide, but after heaving a few chunks of stone out of the way, it was apparent that there was no neck to go with the scarf. It looked like the garment had been snagged and pulled off. There was a narrow gap in the rock pile through which I could just see the front section of the bus. There was no other sign of my friend. She must have squeezed through just before the roof gave way and dumped the rocky avalanche into the aisle. At that moment I would have given my left hind leg to be a diamond dog, with powerful, digging paws that could tunnel through after my friend. But there was too much sand and gravel for a single pony to have any chance of shifting by herself. 

I wavered on the edge of triumph and despair. I couldn't see any way of squeezing through the tunnel to follow Twilight. But this was still the best lead I'd found so far. My friend had come through this town, so I was on the right track. And maybe Gray Mare knew another way around the highway tunnel. I picked up my lantern and went to grab my other belongings. 

To my horror, the clear light revealed the wall message in a new and gruesome detail. 

'AJ - DEFIANCE'

The crude letters were smudged into the metal wall, standing out in a stark, bright red. Twilight had written them in blood.
> CHAPTER 4: Lost and Found
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Friendship isn’t always easy. But there’s no doubt, it’s worth fighting for.”

CHAPTER 4: Lost and Found

* * * * *

“We are gathered here today –”

Celestia. Princess of the sun. Her voice rang through the resonant chamber of the throne room. Hundreds of ponies were gathered in audience behind me, and Equestria’s benevolent ruler stood before me in radiant splendor. She was a vision of regal dignity and authority, a gleaming symbol of gentle guidance and supreme power. And I’d just winked at her.

Honestly I don’t know what I’d been thinking. I guess I just got caught up in the excitement of the ceremony. A pony can be forgiven for feeling a little giddy under these kinds of circumstances, right? It was a big day! We were receiving heroes’ honors, in front of all of Canterlot, my friends and I. Twilight gave me an encouraging nod, so at least she didn’t seem to think I’d made any sort of gaff. She stood proudly in the lead. My best friend. My fearless leader. 

“We are gathered here today, to once again honor the heroism of these Six friends, who stood up to the villain, Discord, and saved Equestria from eternal Chaos.”

Six friends. It was true, every one of us, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, we’d all been instrumental in defeating the embodied spirit of chaos, one of the most powerful and dangerous enemies Equestria had ever seen. But it had been Twilight who had really saved the day. In truth, she’d rescued each of us and led us to victory over Discord. I loved each of my friends more than every tree in my orchard (though I’d never tell them that), but it was Twilight who made us more than any other group of pony friends. Without her, I’d just be a face in the crowd. A background pony. 

But as long as we had Twilight, we could save the world …

* * * * *

I woke up for the second time in Gray Mare’s house. She had been soundly asleep in her rocking chair when I’d finally came in from the town last night so I'd gone to bed in the same room I'd used before. I slept long enough that the room was illuminated with the pale light of morning, and even though I was still a little tired, my body wouldn't let me drop back to sleep. Years of waking up at the crack of dawn had conditioned me so thoroughly, even the strange and horrible experience of the past few days wasn't enough to shake the old routine. I rolled out of the bed and stretched, taking in the room now that I could see better in the daylight. There was another old photo in a frame on the side table. It had been too dark to see the last time I had been there, but it was the same mare I’d seen in the photographs in the stairwell, only this time she was alone, smiling sweetly at the camera. It was covered in dust. 

Downstairs, I found Gray Mare right where I’d left her and I was relieved to find her awake. I’d have hated having to disturb her from a sound sleep.

“Good morning,” I greeted her.

“You’re wounded,” came her reply.

I looked ruefully at my wolf-bitten leg. The swelling had gotten worse and the bandages needed changing. “You can tell? I mean, I didn’t expect … on account of … well you know.”

“You think just because I’m blind I can’t see you?” she said with a steel edge.

“Yeah, well ... Wolf got me pretty good over by the convenience store,” I dodged.

“And you didn’t treat it?” she said flatly.

“Ah, well. There were no medical supplies in the store.”

The elderly mare leaned back, rocking in her chair. “No medical supplies. There were no medical supplies,” she said wistfully.

“Uh huh,” I nodded, “I figure maybe I can find some in one of the buildings around here? I still need to get a bit more food to last you a good long time.”

Gray Mare started as if I’d poked her. “Food, you brought food. For me?”

“I said I would.”

She contemplated me through her blindfold, frowning. “Hmm. You need medical supplies.” She emphasized *you*, as if there was anypony else to talk to. 

“Uh. Eeyup. Else I figure this here bite is gonna fester. Not sure how long I’ll last if that happens.”

“Not long,” she said flatly. I got the feeling she knew what she was talking about. The firelight danced across her face, highlighting the deep creases around her mouth and brow. Weighed down by bad memories. I knew the feeling. I could still feel the same weight pulling at my own heart every time I tried to sleep. I suddenly had a stark premonition, seeing myself sitting in an old rocking chair, wearing that same, heavy expression. I reached out to touch her hoof. She didn’t flinch.

“You need Rosinante’s Beard,” she said.

“I need who’s what now?”

“Rosinante’s Beard,” she said again, “It’s a hanging moss that grows on dead tree limbs. You can use it to make a poultice to cleanse your wound.”

I scratched my head. “Moss huh? I ain’t never heard of using a plant as a disinfectant.” 

Gray Mare snorted out a bemused whinny. “Mainlanders,” she said, “Even the country folk can’t remember the old ways.”

“Old ways? Like ancient pony secrets?”

“Not secrets, child. Knowledge,” she said. There was a touch of sadness in her words, tinged with pity. “Ponies have spent so much time shaping the world into the way they want it to be that they’ve forgotten how to live in it.”

I looked around at the darkened lamps and light fixtures. “Well, I reckon without magic or technology, having someone who knows the old ways is gonna be pretty important.” Gray Mare raised an eyebrow, glaring through her blind fold, “Not that it weren’t important before,” I said placatingly, “If it’ll keep my leg from falling off, I’m happy to learn right now. So, uh, this moss. Roci-whatchamacallit. Where can I find some?”

Gray Mare rubbed her chin with a weathered hoof. “Neighbor, two houses down,” she said, pointing over her shoulder, “He was always lazy. Never cleared the deadwood around his house. I’m sure you’ll find some moss on the trees around there. When you have enough to cover your wound three times, bring it back here and I will show you how to make the poultice.” 

I nodded and stood to leave.

“Applejack,” the old mare said, making me pause in the doorway. Looking back at her, she seemed hesitant. Almost confused. “Thank you.” she said, “Thank you for helping.”

“Shucks, it ain’t nothing,” I said, putting on my best humble grin. If I’d had my proper cowpony hat, I’d have tilted it down over my eyes. The wooly touque didn’t provide the same effect. “And I reckon you’re about to pay me back by helping me with this here flea-bite,” I said, waving my injured hoof. Gray Mare smiled. It was a small, fragile smile, but it was enough to prop up her wrinkles.

The sun was shining as I stepped outside, and I had to hold a hoof up to block some of the glare from the snow. With my new sweater and the other garments I’d collected, I was almost comfortable. Now that I had the right supplies to handle the cold, it felt less like an ever-present monster, stalking my every step. But I knew it was a fool's comfort. 

When you work on a farm, you learn real early about routine dangers. The kind that are easy to avoid, but deadly if you let your guard down. More than one Apple had been lost to a falling hay bail that was stacked too high, or buried in a grain silo that wasn't sealed properly. Heck, I was pretty sure the reason Granny Smith was so persnickety about disinfecting wounds was on account of witnessing one of her relatives get gangrene. 

And of course, there was always frostbite to worry about. Work didn't stop for winter, and spending all day toiling in the outdoors without proper coverings was a sure fire way to lose some skin. I huddled my muzzle down into my sweater's tall neck, happy that I'd made it this far without freezing off the tip of my nose. It was honestly a miracle I hadn't gotten frostbite the first night after the train wreck. Thinking back, it felt like I'd been laying in the snow a long time, but I suppose I must have actually gotten up pretty quick, otherwise I'd have died of hypothermia before I ever got frostbite. 

I remembered the lights. It had felt like I'd spent an eternity staring up at them. I'd never seen anything quite so beautiful. Or eerie. The night sky always made me feel a little uneasy. Being an earth pony, I was always most comfortable with my hooves firmly on the ground. Looking up into the black, star-filled void, thinking about being up there, untethered and floating, always gave me the shivers. And then to see that light. The aurora shimmering up there, larger and stranger than anything my earthly existence had seen. It was awe inspiring, in the oldest sense of the word. The kind of awe reserved for unknowable gods. I shivered. And not just from the cold. 

It was too much to dwell on, so I decided it was a better idea to focus on the task at hoof. Gray Mare had been right. There were plentiful amounts of a dull, hanging moss growing from the tree limbs a few houses down. I set to work gathering as much as I could. It was more than I needed, but there was a good chance I'd need more if I ran into that wolf again. With my moss safely tucked into my pack, I headed back to my elderly friend. 

An achingly familiar aroma greeted me as I stepped inside. It was the rich smell of vegetables and beans spiced with summer herbs.

"Is that some of the soup I got at the convenience store?" I said as I limped over to the fireplace. A pot of delicious-smelling food was simmering close to the fire. "Ya'll must have had a fancy schmancy food critic living in town if they kept this kind of gourmet in stock."

"It's just soup," Gray Mare replied, "I added a few things from my kitchen, but I haven't cooked for anypony for a long time. Good to know I still can."

"I'll say. This looks even better than the soup my Granny makes."

There was genuine warmth in her smile as the blind mare gestured for me to fill a nearby bowl. "Eat," she said, "And I will show you how to use that moss to treat your wound."

I was more than happy to take the load off of my aching leg and sit down by the warm fire. There were two clean bowls stacked to one side. Stirring the pot with a ladle released a pleasant steam that soothed my parched nose and carried the comforting and cozy smells of a home cooked meal.

"Watch," Gray Mare commanded once I was settled with my soup. I dutifully observed as she began tearing the moss into small shreds. I took a sip from my bowl, relaxing just enough to start enjoying the break from the harsh outdoors. But the silence and firelight put me in mind of my conversation with Fidelius, how we'd talked about the school fire. That night must have been horrible. I couldn't imagine Gray Mare hadn't noticed anything. And if Twilight had been there, she would have done something. Probably something loud. Now that Gray Mare was properly fed, maybe she would remember hearing what had happened. 

I broke the silence. "First time we met, you mentioned something about the 'bad ones.' Ponies who came through town, yelling and making demands?"

Her hooves slowed in her task. "The bad ones. Strangers. Came from the tunnel."

I frowned into my soup. "The tunnel huh? The one through the mountain just outside town? It's all caved in. There's a bus trapped inside, buried in the rubble. I think my friend went through there, but it must have shifted since then and I can't get through. Do you know any other way around to that side of the mountain?"

Gray Mare started piling the shreds of Rosinante’s Beard on her lap. The scraps of foliage made a rustling sound that reminded me of autumn leaves. 

"No. The tunnel is the only way back. They took her through the tunnel. Dark. Cold." She took a hoof-full of moss and began flattening it into a pad. 

My eyes widened. Was she talking about Twilight? "Who did they take through the tunnel? Do you remember what happened to her?"

Gray Mare pounded at the moss, grinding it flat with a relentless beat. "I remember them. Strangers. Mainlanders. I told them about her." I glanced at her face in alarm. Her expression was slack and distant. Could be that she was having another flash back. Or maybe it was trauma from more recent memories. 

"Told them about who?" I asked, "Are you talking about Twilight? Was she here when the bad ones burned the school?"

"She was here. By the school. So much shouting. I told them. They didn't listen. Hurt her. Took her to the tunnel."

I stood, my soup and injured leg equally forgotten. "They hurt Twilight? That blood…" The grizzly message on the wall of the bus had taken a lot of blood to write. Had there been more on the ground? "Gray Mare, there has to be another way past the mountain," I said with growing panic,  "I have to go help her. Is there a way through?"

The moss she held let out a pungent, earthy smell as she crushed it. "Another way. Not through the tunnel. A secret way. Can't…remember." 

I reared up, placing my hooves on the arms of her chair. "Gray Mare, listen. My friend went through that tunnel. I need to go after her. If you know another way around, I need you to tell me."

Her nostrils flared and she turned her head toward my bitten foreleg. "Blood." I glanced at my wound. There was indeed fresh blood soaking my improvised bandages. Gray Mare seemed to deflate as she held up the pad of mashed moss. 

"Applejack" she said, dropping my name like an anchor. "This is for you."

"Wha– We were talking about the tunnel. I need to get past the tunnel," I sputtered. 

"I'm sorry, it's difficult to remember. Everything mixes together. I just need to remember…"

"You're not making any sense!" I growled, snatching the poultice from her hooves and roughly dragging the spent bandage off of my leg. "I thought if I brought you food, you'd be able to remember."

 "You're helping me. Helping me remember," she said, slowly tilting her head. 

"That's what I thought too," I sighed through gritted teeth as I pressed the moss poultice to my swelling wolf bite. It hurt, but I didn't think that was why tears were stinging my eyes. 

"Yes. I feel better," she said, "But there's still something I need. Something nearby ... The farm. You need to go to the farm."

"I need to get through the tunnel. I can't stay here much longer. My friend is hurt and I need to get to her!"

"Yes!" The old mare shouted, "that's what I keep remembering! But I can't remember what happened! I can't remember where to go to get past the tunnel! If you want my help, go to the farm. Find the box. It will help me remember."

The poultice felt good against my tattered skin. It had already stopped the new bleeding and the throbbing was beginning to ebb. Even so, the deep pain where the tooth had grazed my bone ached under the pressure. 

I considered leaving, going back to the tunnel and trying to find my own way through. Twilight was so close, and she was injured. But I still hadn't gathered enough food for Gray Mare to survive until help came. I pressed the moss harder against my wound, the pain building alongside my frustration.

But I had to let that go. With a sigh, I eased my grip on the poultice. I couldn't abandon one pony to help another. Twilight could take care of herself. She'd taken care of herself so many times, even when she had to do it on her own. And I probably wouldn't find my way to her without Gray Mare's help anyway. 

"Fine. Where's the farm? And what's this box I'm looking for?"

"There's only one farm. Out on the edge of town. If you've been to the tunnel, you walked right past it," she pulled a small first aid kit from behind her chair as she spoke. "There's a box there. An old one. With a lock. Buried out back. Find it and bring it back to me.”

"Am I just supposed to dig holes all over till I find the box? I ain't a diamond dog you know."

The old mare paused for a moment, turning her head as if looking out through the walls. “Next to an old cottonwood tree, marked with a painted rock,” she said, plopping the first aid kit on her lap. “Oh, and you'll need the key. It'll be somewhere in the farm house."

“Aright. Locked box and key. I think I can do that.”

The first aid kit popped open with a clatter and the old mare pulled a pair of fresh bandages from inside.

"Did you have pain killers in there this whole time?" I asked. 

"No," she said, lifting my leg to wrap the bandages tightly around the moss poultice. "No medicines. But I always keep bandages on hoof."

I flexed my newly-dressed leg, testing its flexibility. Gray Mare had done a bang up job. Better than some nurses I'd seen. I'd be right as rain in just a few days. That is, so long as I didn't get any more nibbles from the local wildlife. 

"Hmm. No medicine huh. You don't happen to have any other emergency supplies though, do you? A road flare for instance?"

* * * * *

“I hope I never see you again!”

“Me too!”

“Fine!”

“FINE!”

The angry voices of my friends rang through my head, one after another. 

“That’s it. This is the end. Go home, Applejack,” Twilight’s words struck like arrows through my chest, just like they always did.

It was a bad memory. An invasive memory, concocted and forced into my mind by the chaotic villain, Discord. In his attempt to overthrow the elements of Harmony, he'd shown me a false vision and convinced me it was true. I had truly believed my friends would abandon one another. That they would abandon me. And in my despair, I rejected truth altogether, turning to falsehoods because it was just easier to live a lie than accept that horrible truth. 

The memories of that day still crop up from time to time. It used to be that they always concluded with relief and triumph. With Twilight’s happy memories and love pouring into my mind, burning away the false truth with the bright flame of our friendship. In that moment, I was sure that we would all be together forever and that nothing, not even the demon king of chaos could tear us apart. 

I couldn't conjure that resolve anymore. I knew none of those words were real. None except the last. But that was all it  took to shatter my illusions. The happiness and safety from the time before was just as false as Discord's vision. I still reached for it, like a drowning pony reaching for the surface. I could almost remember what it felt like. But then I heard Twilight’s voice, as clear as if she was standing right in front of me, and it all slipped away, leaving me to sink down into the abyss of the hard, real, truth. 

The truth that, even though our friendships might never end, we could still be torn apart. 

* * * * *

I shook my head to clear the painful memories. The long walk to the farm was too peaceful. It let me slip into daydreams. The sort I usually had to quiet with apple brandy. But seeing as there wasn't a drop of alcohol to be found (and frankly, it'd probably just give me hypothermia anyway), I trudged on and tried to focus on my surroundings. 

It was cloudier now than it had been this morning, and a little windy. Another blizzard might be on the brew, but for now it was pleasant enough. The derelict town crawled by as I walked. The layout was familiar now that I'd been through most of the houses, but the silence still set my hair on end under my warm sweater. 

No. It wasn't just the quiet that was unnerving. The regular sounds of life in a town were gone. That wasn't eerie in itself. I'd been on plenty of camping trips far from any civilization, where the only sound was the music of nature. But an abandoned town didn't sound like nature. It was all creaking metal and rattling chains. Loose roof slats stuttered in the wind and windows clattered in their frames. There was no real silence at all. It was a cacophony of emptiness.

And of course, I knew it wasn't safe. My mind might have been wandering, but my ears were perked up and listening for hostile wildlife. That wolf could be around any corner, and every rustle of snow across the frozen pavement sounded like rasping claws. I patted the flap of my saddlebag, feeling the single road flare tucked inside. The only one Gray Mare had. Hopefully I wouldn't need it, but it was nice to have something other than my makeshift knife to protect me. 

I paused as I came to the deep, snowy field that marked the boundary of the farm. I hadn't seen it in the dark the night before, but the field was actually an orchard. Solemn, gray apple trees stood like naked, emaciated ghosts, up to their knees in snow. It reminded me of home, but as a strange, distorted imitation. The trees weren't healthy. It looked like nopony had tended them for years. In the distance I could see an old windmill, creaking with rust as the blustery day blew through its crooked blades. The abandoned town was creepy, but it hadn't really bothered me on a fundamental level. But this. This bothered me. From where I stood, I could see at least four things that needed repairs or maintenance. And the poor trees. They must have been standing untended for years to be weighed down with so much dead wood. I didn't even want to think of the layers of fallen apples that must have accumulated over the years, rotted to dirt beneath the snow. I had half a mind to get right to work sorting out this sorry operation. 

At least the terrible condition of the orchard fence allowed for easy access to the property. Probably let in all kinds of vermin too. I huffed as I trudged across the wide field, resisting the urge to stop and examine every tree. This wasn't my farm. I knew it wasn't. But if the owner was anywhere around, I knew I'd be giving them a proper scolding for letting such a promising orchard go to waste. 

I couldn't help but mutter my distaste as I pushed my way through the deep snow. A proper farm would at least have a path cleared for regular field inspections. As it was, my chest was plowing a small furrow across the clean, white drifts. 

I was about half way across the field when I heard him. The low growl of anticipation set my heart racing like a jack rabbit on a hot frying pan. I turned slowly, careful not to stumble over my heavy boots as I dragged them through the packed snow bank. 

The wolf had chosen his moment. His wide, furry paws were like snowshoes, sinking only a few inches into the snow. He could walk right up to me and there was just about buck-all I could do about it. Triumph danced in his yellow eyes. 

It's strange. In the movies, whenever you see a pony in a crisis, they're always so frantic. If they're running from something, they always trip. And if they're holding something, they always fumble and drop it. But in that moment of helplessness, I didn't feel frantic or clumsy. Everything was clear and easy. 

I needed the flare. Gray Mare had gas one to spare and now it was right at the top of my pack. So I simply reached over, nudged my nose under the flap, and took it. In a single motion, I pulled off the cap and struck the flare to life. Just like last time, the world was lit with fiery sparks and the wolf fell back with a yelp of surprise. I was hoping he would run, but he must have gotten a little braver since the first time he'd encountered a road flare. Still, he didn't come within the circle of red light that flicked in the snow around me. 

I glanced at the flare. I knew it wouldn't last long, but I guessed it would probably get me to the farm house. At least I hoped so. Best I didn't waste any time. It took a force of will to turn away from the wolf, but I knew my only chance now was to get to safety before the flare died. 

I plowed on, shoving my body through the snow, ignoring how it melted into my sweater. Damp clothes could be a major problem, but that was something I could worry about when I was safe. Right now, my whole world was the snow, the flare in my mouth, and the quiet footsteps of the wild canine as he trotted along behind me. 

I spared a few glances back at him as I cut my path toward the farmhouse. His massive paws were built for winer in the wilderness, letting him glide over the deep snow with ease. He followed a meandering path, ranging out to one side or the other, always just outside the ring of flare light, testing to see if there were any gaps. 

I pressed on. The muscles of my legs started to burn and my lungs worked like bellows to keep a steady pace. I reckoned I was only a hundred yards from the farm house, but even at my best pace, I was barely making a yard every two seconds. The flare was still going strong and I tried to figure how long it had been since I lit it. Judging by how soaked my sweater was, it must have been a while. 

The fact that this had been my only flare nagged at the back of my mind. If this wolf decided to hang around the farm, I might be stuck inside for a long time. And even if he left there was no telling if I'd run into him again on my way back. There was a good chance I'd have to fight him again. I tried to put the thought out of my mind, but it was difficult to shake. 

Fifty yards to go. I was almost there.

Fzzt fztfztfzt fzzt

The flare sputtered and for a heart-stopping moment I thought it was about to fail. But after the brief spout of irregular sparks, the stream of red light resumed its steady flow. Though, it seemed like it was a bit fainter. I took another look at the wolf. He had retreated a few paces at the sudden noise, but was already resuming his persistent stalking. 

I tried to force just a bit more speed from my aching legs. Thirty yards.

Fzzzz fzzt fzzt fzzzztfzt

Another sputter and this time the flare was noticeably getting weaker. My protective ring of light contacted by a few inches and the wolf closed in a step. My breath was coming out as enormous puffs of cloudy vapor that were instantly whisked away in the breeze. I was winded, but I knew my own stamina. Even after hours of hard labor, I would always have the energy left to race Big Mac back to the house. And I usually won. If I could just get out of this snow I could break into a sprint and cover the last of the distance in the space of a couple seconds. 

It was only fifteen more yards. 

Fzzzzzz FZT FZT

The flare was struggling now. It would sputter out at any moment. I tried to leap into a run. I knew it was of little use. Any speed I gained from the leap would be wasted as I plunged back into the fluffy snow. But as I jumped, I got a better look at the area directly in front of the farmhouse's entrance. There was a driveway, mostly clear of snow, that stretched toward me from the front porch. What I had thought was another ten yards of deep snow was really only three. 

With just a few more steps to go, I hurled myself forward and burst from the snowbank like a fish breaching water. 

Fzt fzt fzt fzzzzzzzzz

The flare gave out on its final gasp, fading into a burnt out husk. Before the last spark touched the ground I was already flying across the driveway. Without missing a beat, the wolf launched itself after me and I heard its long claws clicking against the pavement as he gave chase. 

That final burst of desperate action took barely three seconds. I leapt every step on the porch, clearing it in a single bound. Thudding into the door with my shoulder, I used the rebound of the impact to twist myself around and flung the spent flare directly at the charging wolf's face.

I knew it wouldn't really hurt him, but the sudden distraction of a plastic cylinder slapping his nose was enough to stun the wolf for just a moment. It was all I needed to throw the door open and stumble inside. 

I kicked the door shut, and slumped down against it, heaving out a sigh of relief and exhaustion.

“I could win … a race against Rainbow Dash … No mangy mutt … is gonna outrun me,” I gasped between rasping breaths. A loud howl from the other side of the door set my mane on end and I whirled around, a fresh rush of adrenaline causing my vision to narrow. The wolf let out a few barks and scratched at the door for a moment. Instinctively I reached up and set the latch. I didn’t think he could work a door knob, but I figured it was better safe than sorry.

After a minute, I heard him huff out a growl and retreat from the door, giving up for now. I sank to the floor in relief. 

The small interior of the old farm house materialized around me as my eyes adjusted to the dim environment. The windows were dingy, filtering the daylight and tinting it slightly brown. It made me feel like I was inside an old sepia tone photograph. That impression was even stronger for how completely still everything was, like the whole room had been frozen in time. There was a blanket crumpled on a beat up old couch. A small plate sat on the nearby side table along with some bits of paper. Household clutter was gathered on the counters of an adjoining kitchen. It wasn't quite messy, but gave the impression that it was inhabited. Except for the fact that every surface was covered in a layer of dust so thick it resembled the snowbank I'd just escaped from. 

Ordinarily I'd be mighty creeped out by the eerie atmosphere of an abandoned house, but with all I'd been through in the past few days, I was thinking more about whether there would be any warm clothing in the bedroom or preserved food in the pantry. I shook my head at my own callousness, but couldn't muster even a twinge of shame. How long had it been since the train crash? Scarcely a week by my reckoning. Just a few days of desperation and now I was accustomed to pilfering other ponies' property like it was a trip to the market. 

I ventured further into the house. There was a small bedroom off the main area. I could see a tantalizing trunk inside along with a large dresser. Across from the bedroom doorway was a small alcove occupied by a broad desk with a typewriter and a filing cabinet to one side. And beyond that, the kitchen with its many cabinets. 

It was a veritable jackpot of untouched supplies and equipment. And it looked like no pony had missed any of it for a long time. And I was still in a survival situation. But … how much did I really need? 

I scratched my chin, considering the question. I could still use a proper coat. My current ensemble was sufficient for a walk on a breezy, sunny day, but if I had to weather another blizzard I'd want  something a little more waterproof than this sweater. And I still needed a bit more food to fill Gray Mare's larder, as well as provisions for myself. 

I nodded, determined to show at least a little restraint in looting this latest trove of forgotten pony property. Besides, I was here for a reason. The key and the lockbox. I probably wouldn't have even come in here if Grey Mare hadn't sent me on this errand. So. First thing first. If I were keeping a key to a lockbox, I'd have it somewhere in my bedroom. 

Shuddering window panes greeted me as I entered the quiet little room. It reminded me uncomfortably of my own bedroom back at Sweet Apple Acres. The chest I'dl seen from the living room took up most of the wall space next to a compact fireplace. A bed with a simple, but cozy-looking quilt. One dresser with three rows of drawers. Nothing but necessary storage and sleeping space. It was a quiet retreat for a single pony who spent most of their time out and about.

Still, there were plenty of places to hide something as small as a key. I checked the obvious places first: the chest and dresser. There was no sign of anything hiding amidst the few articles of light clothing. There wasn't even anything worth taking for myself. Next I checked the fireplace for any loose bricks. As a filly, I'd stashed my diary in the section of our chimney shaft that extended into my room. There had been a gap in the mortar that made a perfect hiding spot. But there were no such chinks in this sturdy little fireplace. I moved on to the bed. 

It was cliche, but I had to look under the pillow. It was a terrible hiding place, but for something important, something you want to keep close, the instinct to keep it near while you slept might be too hard to resist. The pillow was stiff like a dead fish as I lifted it. And I almost dropped it in surprise at what I found underneath. 

"We-he-hell. Looky what we got here," I said.

The metal barrel of a six-shooter revolver gleamed, even in the sparse sunlight. I carefully picked it up and slid the drum out to check if it was loaded. It was. With a flick of my hoof, I flipped the drum closed and considered the weapon with a frown. 

A gun hadn't exactly been on my list of needed supplies and equipment. But it might be just what I needed if I ran into my canine friend again. The thought of actually shooting the wolf made me a bit queasy. Granny Smith told a few stories about how her pa had used a firearm to protect the family from some of the smaller critters that used to range out of the Everfree Forest, but it had been a long time since anypony in Ponyville had felt the need to own a gun.

Still, I knew the basics of how to use it. One of my great uncles had taught all the youngsters at one family reunion. I'd been a pretty good shot, though I never got used to how loud the little things were.

I fastened the pistol above my fetlock by its sturdy strap and tested its fit by holding it up in a ready position. The small wooden stock was simple, but rested comfortably against my foreleg and kept the gun steady as I looked down the sights. For an earth pony like me, the gun would require both my forelegs to fire. One to aim, one to press the trigger lever. That meant I wouldn't be able to move and shoot at the same time, but I reasoned that keeping still would be better for my marksmanship anyway. 

With the revolver secured to my leg, I left the bedroom to continue my search. I figured that the next most likely place to find a lockbox key would be the office, but allowed myself a small detour to the kitchen. Any preserved food in this house would probably do more good in Gray Mare's pantry than just sitting here gathering dust. 

The kitchen echoed the bedroom in its efficient use of space. I was beginning to wonder who used to live here. It was obvious that the house had been abandoned long before the aurora, but it still felt lived-in. As if the owner might pop in at any moment. A sauce pan was sitting on the stove with the telltale, mineral film of boiled water and a stained cutting board jutted from the sink. Just like the bedroom, this kitchen reminded me of my own at Sweet Apple Acres. I even instinctively knew to look in the little corner alcove for canned goods. It made it hard to ignore the growing feeling that I was stealing from somepony. 

A whole case of canned peaches were sitting on a shelf in the pantry, smiling down at me with their sunny logos. I frowned back at them. 

"My friend needs this food," I said to the empty house. "I don't expect nopony else is gonna be using it, so I'm gonna take this now."

There was no answer. I sighed. Even if the ghosts of this old home had explicitly forbade it, I probably would have taken the peaches anyway. They were too good of a resource to leave behind. I tried to muster a sense of guilt as I crammed the case into my emptiest pack.

As I walked back past the stove I paused, considering the small pot. 

"Aw heck with it," I muttered, taking the old cookware and hooking it on one of my pack's buckles. 

With one of my major quests fulfilled, I returned to the hunt for the key. The office area wasn't even a room unto itself. Just a desk sectioning off a quarter of the living room. Even so, it was obvious the owner had spent plenty of time here. Papers littered the desk, with some pinned up on a pegboard to the side. Most of them were bills, it looked like. 

I set to rustling through the drawers, trying not to disturb the mess. Mostly they were filled with office tools. A stapler. Pencil sharpener. A quill with some old ink, totally dried out. Nothing useful or interesting, until I opened the small, center drawer of the desk. There, I found more papers, but these had been gathered into a strangely neat stack, and they were regular notebook paper with hoof-written messages.

I read the top one without moving it:


Hey Paint,

I know you’re in town. Joe Bighorn told me. Don’t be mad at him, it just sort of slipped out while we were chatting over the mail. 

Listen. I know we haven’t talked in a while. And that our last conversation didn’t end so well. I wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things I did. Everything has been changing so fast since you been gone. Looks like something went wrong up north and the Princess sent some guard ponies to “ensure our safety.” Bunch of thug mainlanders as far as I’m concerned.

I’m starting to think you had the right idea, leaving like you did. I certainly can’t blame you for it. Not anymore. I understand if you hate me and don’t want to talk. But I’d really like to see you before you head out again. I’m still up in the old house. 

Maybe now’s a good time to open that old time capsule. Remember the good times. I’ve still got my half of the key. 



Gracy



My ears perked at the note’s mention of a key, wondering if it was the same one I was here to find. But what did it mean “half”  of the key? I gently slid the note aside so I could read the ones underneath. 


Paint,

Doctor says the cast has to stay on for another two weeks and that I can’t travel. I told him the leg was feeling a lot better but he was having none of it. If he weren’t the only doctor in town, I’d just ignore him and come with you anyway. And I guess he has a point about being careful not to re-break the bone. If I had to put up with another month of being cooped up in the house I think I’d go crazy. Still hoping I can get one more climb in before the snow starts, but who knows. Wouldn’t be the same without you and your camera. Come by and see me before you go!




Gracy



Paint,

Joe told me there’s a bad rope on our southern cliff. I looked at it yesterday and it seemed fine to me. I’m gonna do a climb this afternoon, come find me there when you get back from the store, will you? I want to take a picture from the top to show Joe that he’s just being a worry-wart. 



Gracy


Paint,

The colors on the west slope are starting to turn! This weekend will be your best bet to get those autumn references you wanted so bad. That big birch grove near the resort will be perfect. I’ll climb back down tomorrow (hope this gets to you before then, Joe said he’s been having trouble with his truck). See you soon!




Gracy



They went on like that as I dug deeper into the stack of papers, all addressed to somepony named ‘Paint,’ from another pony named ‘Gracy,’ with frequent mentions of rock climbing and photography. But none of the others had any mention of a lock box or key. I placed all the papers as a neat stack back in the drawer and sat down with a sigh.

I cast a forlorn glance around the small house. There were no other obvious places to look for a key. If it was here, it was well hidden, and I wasn’t interested in tearing the whole place apart. I knew where the box itself was supposed to be. Maybe finding the box would be enough. And if getting at its contents was so important, maybe I could just break it open. 

With my mind made up, I went to the door and cautiously peaked out into the driveway. There were scuffs and pawprints in the snow where the wolf had paced a bit, but other than that, there was no sign of the furry predator. I ventured out, keeping my ears sharp for any hint of other living creatures in the area. Everything was silent. Going around back, I quickly spotted the tree that Gray Mare had mentioned. My expertise might be in apple trees, but I had enough experience to know what a cottonwood looked like. Now all I needed was a shovel. 

There was an old garden shed in the corner of the yard, up against a line of birch trees. The door was hanging off its hinges, so I let myself in to take a look. Sure enough, there was a shovel leaning against one wall. As I grabbed it, the handle caught on something heavy on the floor. It was a hatchet, rusted from exposure to the weather, but still serviceable. With that, getting more firewood would only be a matter of spending time and calories to chop up any of the various limbs strewn around the wooded areas. After only a moment's hesitation, I picked that up too and slid its haft through a loop on my saddlebag. 

I tensed as something outside hissed as it moved across the snow. Was that the wolf? I slowly crept from the shed, shovel- first, but I couldn't see any indication of another living animal and there were no obvious tracks apart from my own. The wind rose in another gust, blowing some late-fallen leaves over the snow.

"Spooked by the wind? Heh. Must be losing my nerve," I muttered to myself, trying hard to believe it actually had been just the wind. I resisted the urge to shiver as I walked back to the tree and started my excavation.

I started by dusting the snow off the rock that was wedged against the cottonwood trunk. It was painted, just like Gray Mare said, but I hadn't expected it to be so pretty. A broad, stylised heart took up most of the rock's flat surface, with intricate spirals in colors that would have made a vibrant rainbow before the erosion of windy years. And right at the center, lay what looked like half of a locket. 

It was corroded, looking like it had been out here for as long as the house had been abandoned, but its sturdy construction still protected whatever it held inside. Curious, I picked it up. It was hefty for such a small bauble, weighing in my hoof like it was filled with lead. It looked like it was half of a broken heart and there was a small hinge on the top, but no visible mechanism for releasing the lock. With a shrug, I set it back down on the rock and got to digging. 

The shovel rasped against the frozen ground loudly, setting my teeth on edge and filling me with paranoia. Nothing like multiple encounters with a predator to awaken your prey-animal’s urge to stay quiet. Nothing I could do but try to drag up as much earth as I could with each stab I made into the rigid flesh of the earth. The pistol strapped to my fetlock made each motion awkward. I considered taking it off while I dug, but decided I’d want it handy in case the wolf surprised me.

It was strange how comforting the weapon was. I’d never imagined a gun would bring me comfort. The thought of killing had already crossed my mind the previous night, when I was preparing to confront the wolf outside the entombed bus. But that seemed different now. It had been the desperate thoughts of a mare who, if she was being honest, didn’t think she stood a chance. The determination to kill is easy to conjure when you don’t really think you’ll succeed. But I knew I could do it with a gun. If my target was close enough, there was no way I could miss. And even though I’d never seen a gunshot wound, I’ve seen what a bullet could do to a watermelon. The thought of red splattering across the white snow flashed through my mind. Watermelon. But not watermelon. 

Was that really something I was willing to do? Even to a wolf? The twinge in my wounded leg reminded me that the wolf would enthusiastically do worse to me. And I’d already tried to use my knife. A bullet wouldn’t be any more violent than a blade, right? And it would give me a better chance of getting through another tussle with all my limbs and extremities intact. And, if anything, dying from a gunshot would probably be quicker and less painful than being stabbed to death, right?

The shovel slipped in my grip and smacked me painfully in the jaw.

“Landsakes, Applejack,” I growled, rubbing my face. “That’s what you deserve for lying to yourself.” I went back to my excavation with a frown.

I knew there was no amount of justification that would explain why I felt so much better now that I had the means to kill. So what was the truth? Even dwelling on the bloody consequences of shooting another animal wasn’t causing the sort of revulsion that I would have expected. Was I a murderer now as well as a thief? Or maybe this callousness had always been a part of me… This wasn’t even the first time it had come out. Discord had been the first to show me the cold-heated pony that lurked under my colorful exterior. 

“I better go too. I got new, BETTER friends waiting for me at the farm”

Why had I said that? I knew it wasn’t true. But what else could I do? This was how it had to be. I’d seen what would happen if we tried to stay friends. I knew it was destined to end in heartbreak, so better to get it over with now. Discord had shown me.

I was just doing what had to be done.

The loud clang of metal on metal echoed through the yard and scared me out of my reminiscing before I could finish the memory. Sure that the noise would attract any predator nearby, I cast a few furtive glances around as my heart rate came back to normal. I was still alone in the yard. With a sigh, I leaned down to inspect the small pit I’d formed. Brushing away some loose soil, I could definitely see some kind of metal surface. A few more shovel-fulls of dirt and I could clearly make out the top of a metallic box.

I leaned down and brushed away enough dirt to see the box clearly. It looked like an old lunch box. It was stuck in the solid ground like a tick on a dog’s ear, but after a minute of prying, I finally had what I’d come for. It looked like I probably wouldn’t need a key to get into this hunk of metal. The sides were pretty flimsy, with years of corrosion clinging to it like moss. I took a close look at the lock, hoping it might even be completely rusted away, but it wasn’t a regular key hole. Instead, there was a small space with a familiar shape.

“Huh. Well that’s interesting.” My muttered words were carried away by the wind as I reached over to the stone that had marked my digging spot and picked up the heart pendant. It fit perfectly, but only filled half the slot.

“Well what the hay am I supposed to do now?” I said in frustration.

“I’d suggest holding real still.” The new voice sent a spike of cold adrenaline through my chest. There was a strange buzz to it that set every hair in my mane on end. Very slowly, I turned my head so I could see the pony with the unsettling voice. He looked . . . very normal. He was a brown unicorn with a lighter mane wearing a tidy-looking jacket and a green scarf. There shouldn’t have been anything different about this meeting compared to Gray Mare or Fidelius. Heck, Gray Mare was arguably more hostile what with bashing me over the head with a pan. Best I could tell, there was nothing sinister about this stranger, but I couldn’t shake a deep mistrust for him.

“Can I help you pardner?” I asked, trying to keep my voice civil.

“Maybe,” there was definitely something wrong with his voice, “You come from the train wreck? Few miles back up the mountain trail?”

I narrowed my eyes. Something was telling me that I did not want this kind of attention from this particular feller. Still, he wasn’t threatening me. He’d told me to hold still, but he wasn’t holding any weapons and didn’t seem to be prepared to attack me. The weight of my new pistol drew my attention again. If he tried to hurt me, I could fight back. I pushed down the thought of red splatters on white snow that tried to rise up in my mind again.

“I came from that direction,” I said. It felt like a pathetic attempt to be cagey. Guess it was just against my nature.

“You one of Twilight Sparkle’s friends?”

My heart leapt at her name, and instantly sank with dread. What did this buck want with Twilight? I had a hard time convincing myself that he was interested in helping us. “You know where she is?”

An ugly little smile curled the stranger’s lip. “I’m gonna need you to come with me, miss,” he said with his strange voice.

I instinctively shifted my weight, planting my hooves more firmly in the snow. “Sorry, friend,” I said, “I’m a little busy right now. Why don’t you wait right here, and I’ll be back to talk later.”

The stallion sighed and shook his head, but the unsettling little smile never left his face. Before I could react, he made a strange motion with his shoulder and a long spear suddenly thrust out of his jacket, pointing right at my face. “I wasn’t asking,” he said smoothly, “You need to come with me, right now.”

Welp. I didn’t want to go with him before, and waving a spear at me didn’t exactly improve that disposition. Before I knew it, I’d raised my gun, mirroring his threatening gesture. He froze, glancing at the barrel that was now squarely pointed right between his eyes. For just a moment, his smirk faltered, but he recovered, locking his eyes with mine.

“Well, well. My little pony has some tricks up her sleeve.” He shrugged, but kept his gaze on me without so much as a blink. “You’re one of them aren’t you? The special ones that used to tag along with Sparkle.” Rage began to bubble up inside me at his sneering tone. “I guess you're not the shy little weakling. Still, none of you were ever much for fighting. All about solving your problems with friendship and redemption, right?”

“I don’t take so kindly to that kinda talk about my friends,” I growled. A slight tremble was creeping into my foreleg. If I really was going to shoot this buck, I would probably have to make that decision soon. I brought my other hoof to rest against the trigger and steady my arm, silently praying that the threat alone would be enough to scare the stranger away. To my dismay, the stallion seemed to be ignoring the weapon I was pointing at him. 

“Oh, that’s right,” he drawled, giving the tip of his spear a little twirl, “Your friends aren’t around anymore are they? I remember hearing something about that.”

The chill of the dry air was starting to burn the inside of my nose as the stiff breeze blew into my nostrils. The tremble in my leg was getting worse. Or, was my whole body trembling now?

“Six of you went out on a mission for the Princess.”

My whole body was shaking and I had to strain just to keep my gun pointed at the buck with the strange voice. The wind was building, kicking up snow into a white veil surrounding me and the stranger. Clouds were rolling in to cover the sun. A storm was coming. A blizzard, dark and cold. Just like the start of our last adventure. I remembered getting off the train with all of my friends. And not just the ponies.

“Seven,” I said through gritted teeth. “There were seven of us.”

The stranger cocked an eyebrow and gave a dismissive shrug. “Well, however many went out, I do remember one thing for sure. Only two came back."

Every muscle in my body tensed as memories that I’d kept buried for years clawed their way to the surface like zombie ponies in an old horror movie. Flashes of darkness and light. The horrified expressions of my friends as they were washed away in a flood of black and purple. Twilight’s soft weeping and the warmth of her tears on my shoulder. It had taken years and gallons of alcohol to dull those images and sensations. The sudden flash of the past was enough to paralyze me.

I didn’t even feel the blow that knocked my gun away. The spear that had been poised a few feet away was suddenly inches from my throat. 

The stranger’s laugh was an odd, rattling sound as he sauntered toward me. “Too easy, little pony. Now stop trying to play tough and come quietly.”

I glared at the stranger, still shivering with old rage and grief. The pain I was feeling wasn’t unfamiliar. I’d dealt with it. Gotten over it. Let it heal into a twisted scar on my heart, a permanent wound, but one that was closed. And this stranger had managed to rip it open with just a few callous words, letting the agony bubble up to choke and immobilize me.

Defeated, I let my forelegs drop back to the ground. A warmth was spreading over my right leg. I glanced down to see a small cut weeping blood that was slowly soaking into my sweater where the pistol strap had been. The buck must have used his weapon to cut it away and nicked my skin. It wasn’t a bad wound, not compared to the bite on the other leg, but I distantly noted that I should still make sure to disinfect it. The small gun had fallen through the snow right in front of me, leaving a pit in the pristine, white bank. I tried to summon the will to care, tried to convince myself to look for some way to fight back, to hurt this brutish pony the way he’d hurt me. But I couldn’t even lift my eyes to look at him again.

 “Where’s Twilight?” I was surprised by my own voice. I’d wanted to say something savage and defiant. Wanted to show the stranger that he wouldn’t beat me. But as the weight of my own misery bore down on me, all I could think of was my friend. I needed Twilight. She could save me. Just like she always did.

The stranger snorted. He was only a few steps away now. “We’ll have her soon enough. Now that we have you. That insufferable hero complex will get her eventually. Almost had her last time, and there’s no way she got far. Not with those wounds.”

My ears perked. “You hurt Twilight?” I said. Suddenly I could feel the heat of my cut leg and I was able to lift my chin and look at the strange buck again. He was wearing an expression of pure, condescending derision. It reminded me of the look I’d occasionally get from the fancy Canterlot aristocracy, only with an added glint of venomous malice. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to hurt a pony more than I did at that moment. I had a feeling I wasn’t doing a good job of hiding it too, because he pressed the spear’s point a bit more firmly under my chin.

He smiled his ugly little smile and said, “Just something to keep her from running. Of course, I wasn’t counting on that teleportation spell. None of us other unicorns can get so much as a levitation spell to work since the light show.”

He shook his head in mock admiration, “That mare has some tricks up her sleeve. Up and vanished. Left all those poor villagers trapped in the school. Even after she went on and on about helping everypony. But I don’t think she’ll be able to abandon one of her closest friends so easily.”

What did he say? Twilight left the ponies trapped in the school? The school that burned down? That didn’t make any sense. Twi would never do such a thing, would she?

“You’re a filthy liar!” I growled. The snow was swirling thick around us now and between the rising wind and the blood hammering in my ears, it was getting difficult to hear. I was starting to consider whether I would last long enough to kick this slimy buck into paste even after he cut my throat. 

“Well if you don’t believe me you can ask her. Just as soon as we –” he froze, and for the first time since we’d met, he looked away from me, off toward the treeline. 

It all happened in a fraction of a second. I ducked my head, turning and tucking my chin to avoid the blade of the spear and surged forward into a shoulder tackle. At the same time, I used both hooves to snatch the fallen pistol from the snow as I barreled into the stranger’s knees. We tangled together for just a moment and I did my best to bring the barrel up into his ribs.

Then a wall of shaggy black fur slammed into us, knocking the stallion away and sending me sprawling sideways. I clung to my pistol for dear life and used my elbows to sit up and point the weapon only to realize that I had two targets. The wolf was back, and it had its jaws firmly locked on the stranger’s jacket, yanking him back and forth and pummeling him into the frozen ground. The stallion was reaching for his spear that was lying on a patch of clear ground a few feet away. As I watched, the wolf released the fabric of the buck’s jacket and instead sank its fangs into his shoulder. He let out a gurgling scream.

I lowered the gun. Its strap was severed and useless, so I picked it up into my mouth and got up to my hooves. The wolf was still savaging the stranger, who was striking back with one hoof. I could already tell it wasn’t a fight he would win. 

With a few cautious steps, I approached. The wolf paid me no mind, intent on worrying his captured prey like a rawhide strip. I freed up my mouth by dropping my pistol into my saddlebag so I could pick up the lock box and broken-heart pendant from where they’d fallen. The stranger looked at me. “Help me!” he snarled.

I snorted and tucked the box and necklace into my saddle bag. The world around me was turning gray as the blizzard closed in. “Serves you right,” I said, turning away. He’d die for sure, and I knew I was killing him. I had a gun. And if I really needed it, I could probably use that spear too. Fighting off the wolf would have been easy. Chances were good a warning shot would be enough to scare it off. But I was just walking away. After this, I’d be a murderer. But what did it matter? I was already a thief. I could pretend all I wanted, but I didn’t save ponies. And if what the buck had said was true, it didn’t look like Twilight saved ponies either. 

Maybe I was fooling myself trying so hard to find her. After all, had she even bothered to look for me? Whatever she was here for, she probably thought that was more important. She’d said she needed my help, but when it came time to help me, she was nowhere to be found. We didn’t help ponies. Not really. Not when it mattered. 

I should just go back to Gray Mare. Or maybe just leave. Find my own way home. I’d probably need to keep the peaches. That would mean Gray Mare was less likely to make it through the winter, but what did it matter? If the world was really so broken after the aurora, did she really stand a chance. Did I really think I was helping her? Even before this, I had been planning to leave her just like I was leaving this stranger. Just like Twilight left the ponies trapped in the school. The truth was that we were never heroes. The truth was that when the danger came, we left other ponies behind, even our best friends. The truth was that I was a thief and a killer and a coward. And I was leaving.

Everything was gray.

*

*

* 

Applejack!

Her voice rang in my memory as clearly as when I’d first heard it on the edge of Sweet Apple Acres, stopping me in my tracks. That time, I’d been under an enchantment, bewitched by Discord’s magic. He’d drawn out my fear of losing my friends and used it to make me give up on everything I was. And now? This was different, wasn’t it? My friends were gone and I was on my own. What had she said to me?

This isn’t you! You’re not a liar!

The truth. The truth was that I had accepted a lie because it was easier than facing the truth. The truth that I couldn’t control everything that happened. The truth that I still had a responsibility to do the right thing, even if it wasn’t my fault. And the truth that I was a good pony, and sometimes, being a good pony was hard.

I was lying to myself. It would be easier to walk away. I didn’t want to hear what that horrible stallion had to say about Twilight. About what she did, about what he’d done to her. It would be easier to believe that my friend had failed. Again. It would be easier to believe that we were both bad ponies and I could just let go of my morals and just take whatever I wanted from this broken world, give up on finding Twilight and just survive, day after day, alone. I wouldn’t have to remember the happy times that were gone forever, or think about what it would take to have a future again. It would be so much easier to just give up. 

But I wasn’t a liar. I could tell myself that I wanted to take the easy way out, but I knew that was wrong. I wanted to be a good pony. I wanted to make my family proud, and show Equestria the value of the Apple family. And I wasn’t a thief. The things I took belonged to the dead, and when I met a pony who needed them, I’d shared. And I wasn’t a killer. Despite all the terrible things the stranger had said, despite what he’d done to Twilight, despite wanting to punch his stupid smile into his muzzle … I didn’t want him to die. 

I sucked in a gasping breath, the same as when I woke from a bad dream. The blizzard wasn’t gray. It was blinding white and shimmering. I had only taken a few steps. The sound of the stranger struggling with the wolf came to me clearly over the wind.

“Consarnit,” I muttered, whirling about and reaching into my saddlebag to retrieve the pistol. It was difficult to aim without the strap, but I wasn’t trying to hit anything anyway. I braced the weapon against one foreleg and used the other to press the trigger lever. The sound of the shot exploded in the small clearing, reverberating off the farm house and setting my ears ringing. The bullet cracked into a tree, sending bark and splinters flying over the wolf and its pinned prey. The animal yelped, leaping away from me on the other side of the prone and bleeding pony. I fired again, aiming wide to avoid hitting the stranger. That was enough for the wolf, and it turned tail and disappeared into the woods, leaving me alone with a badly wounded pony wheezing on the ground.

I hastily stowed the pistol again and trotted over to where the stranger was struggling to sit up. His jacket was destroyed, its red-stained stuffing strewn about him. I couldn’t get a good look at his shoulder and I was glad for that. Blood was already starting to seep out onto his green scarf. His breathing was ragged, but steady.

“Well,” he gasped, looking up at me balefully as I came to stand over him, “What now?”

I reached down and pulled him onto my back. I’ll admit, I wasn’t as gentle as I could have been, and he let out a moan of pain.

“Now,” I said, “You’re going to tell me who you are,” I heaved my way back over to the farm house porch and opened the door. “You’re going to tell me why you’re after Twilight,” I dumped him onto the floor. “And,” I kicked the door shut, “You’re going to tell me what really happened at the School.”