"Are you sure that's the right decision?" Spitfire asked incredulously as Rainbow Dash stared her down.

"You lied to me about Soarin's wing, just so you could get a better flyer!" The rainbow-maned mare replied, gesturing to Soarin with her hoof, who stood grimacing at his team mates with his forelimbs crossed over his chest. "You may be a winning team, but you're not the kind of winning team I want to be a part of."

Spitfire looked to be deep in thought before she removed her glasses and gave Rainbow Dash an appraising look. "Rainbow Dash, you are something — saw it at the academy, seeing it again here; we could learn a lot from a competitor like you." The fiery-maned captain smiled before turning a remorseful gaze to Soarin. "You ready to fly?"

Soarin had to think about her offer. Part of him wanted to say "really?!" as if nothing had just happened, but This wasn't the first time they had done this to him. It was always through some convenient 'mishap' or 'miscommunication' that he always ended up missing the Wonderbolts derbies. On several different occasions he had been 'accidentally' replaced in their roster with Wave Chill or Rapidfire when he was due to perform at major shows, which would end up with him being forced to watch the show from the stands where he was stuck signing autographs and being accosted by fans. Soarin wasn't an idiot. He knew what was going on. The Wonderbolt had decided that he had had enough. Soarin knew that he was the weakest flyer among them, but he was sick of his team mates making him feel left out. He wasn't sure at that point who he should be more angry with. Himself, or them.

"Well?" Spitfire repeated. "You ready to fly, or not?"

Soarin decided to start with them. He would have plenty of time to deprecate himself later. "No."

Spitfire smiled and turned around, but she quickly turned to him again in a double take. "Excuse me?"

"I said no." Soarin repeated while pointing an accusing hoof at her. "This is the fifth time you have done this to me, and I'm sick of it. You always seem to take advantage of every opportunity you can to ditch me! Why didn't you just bring Rapidfire instead of me?"

"That's what I originally suggested," Fleetfoot answered with a callous shrug. "Spitfire thought it would be more politically correct if we had at least one male in our group, but since you were injured from being distracted by those cheer fillies bouncing around, I'd say that was a mistake."

"Fleetfoot!" Spitfire hissed in cautioning tone.

"You see that?" Soarin pointed out. "I'm glad Fleetfoot is here, because I can at least hear the truth from someone. Why am I even a part of this team if I'm just going to be treated like unwanted baggage?"

Spitfire approached her irate team mate and placed a hoof on on his chest. "Soarin, this isn't the time or place for an outburst. I really wish you would have just told me you've been feeling this way sooner."

Soarin swatted her hoof away. "Look, I'm sick of being treated like a third wheel in this team. I'd rather not be a part of it if I'm just going to hold you all back."

"You have no one to blame but yourself, Soarin!" Fleetfoot interjected. "You have had plenty of opportunities to train and improve yourself, but you didn't take them, and that's why you are our weakest link. That's why we were forced to switch you out of the roster so many times! I would have told you straight to your face that we switched the roster on you, but Spitfire wanted to spare your feelings. It was she who came up with all the bogus excuses as to why you couldn't attend all those events. If you're going to be mad at anyone, be mad at her."

"I knew it," Soarin said with a disgusted sneer.

"Fleetfoot, you are out of line!" Spitfire shouted.

"No, no she's not, Captain. As harsh as she sounds, she's telling me everything I need to know. And now that my suspicions have been confirmed, I have made a decision."

"Decision?" The captain asked, her expression fearful yet inquisitive as she turned her head slightly in a stern sideways glance.

"I quit."

"Quit? As in — quit the Equestria games?"

Soarin turned away from her and remained silent, thinking and mulling over his decision before voicing it. "I quite the games. The team. The Wonderbolts. I want out."

Soarin raised from his haunches and immediately made his way toward the train station, when Rainbow Dash suddenly landed in front of him and barred his path."You can't quit the Wonderbolts!"

"I just did."

"Soarin!" Spitfire joined Rainbow Dash by her side. "Think about what you're throwing away!"

"I had plenty of time to think about this decision when I was in the hospital. No one came to visit me, so I had ample time to reflect on my life."

"But where will you go? What will you do? You reside in the living quarters at the Wonderbolts academy when you're not on tour with us. Where will you live? The board wont provide housing for you if you're not on the team!"

"Spitfire, one of the perks to being a Wonderbolt was that it paid well. I have plenty of funds in my account to survive comfortably until I figure out what my next move will be. Another good thing is that I don't even have anything to my name back in my living quarters. I was too busy touring to purchase luxuries to furnish my home, and even when I'm at the academy, I have to assist with instructing the cadets, so I have nothing to send for. It's almost like... There was nothing here for me in the first place." And with that, Soarin flapped his wings and gracefully arched over the two mares before continuing his path to the train station. As he continued his brisk stride the last conversation he heard between Spitfire and Fleetfoot was that of them arguing among each other.

"Fleetfoot, say something! Do something!"

"I am! I'm sending an express letter to Rapidfire in Los Pegasus."

"Fleetfoot!"

"What? We need a third member to qualify for the games!"

---

The beams of morning light shining through the curtains of the cheap hotel room's window assaulted Soarin's senses as his blood shot eyes slowly opened. It was always bright and sunny in Cloudsdale, making it the worst place in the world to have a hangover. With a dry mouth and pounding head he looked around and rose with a pained groan, the metallic sound of empty beer cans scattered on the bed from drowning his sorrows the night before cutting a path of sharp pain through his ears and into his skull like nails on a chalk board. He shuffled weakly and clumsily out of his bed and kept a hoof against the wall for balance as he made his way to the bathroom, where he'd swear he must have vomited up every meal he had eaten for the whole week, and perhaps a few organs. He flushed the toilet and fell backwards against the wall with his head in his hooves. "What was I thinking, drinking that much..?"

After laying there for what felt like hours, he shambled to his hooves and left his room, remembering to check out on his way and — not envying the poor cleaning pony who had to sanitize that room upon his departure. After checking out and purchasing a newspaper from the clerk behind the counter of the hotel lobby, he trotted across the cloudy road to a small diner with his news paper in mouth.

"Welcome, sir!" An enthusiastic mare behind the bar greeted. "Sit anywhere you like."

Without acknowledging the girl's friendly greeting, he took his seat at the bar and placed his newspaper down on the counter.

"Hangover?" The mare guessed.

Soarin grumbled as he opened the paper and spread it across the counter top in front of him.

"Coffee?" The waitress guessed again.

"Please," He replied, rubbing his temples in circular motions with his hooves. "Lots of it... And an ice pick..."

"An ice pick, sir?"

"Yes, maybe if I poke a few holes in my skull it will relieve some of the pressure..."

The waitress giggled. "Funny AND cute! you're making me glad I didn't play hooky from work today."

Soarin couldn't help but smile, despite the throbbing pain in his head.

"Can I bring you something with that coffee, sir? My omelettes are to die for."

"I would like that, thank you." Soarin replied as his eyes scanned the want ads.

"Coming right up!" The waitress was gone in a flash and the sounds of sizzling and pots and pans clanking filled the kitchen behind the window across from the bar. She left the kitchen only once to set a mug of scalding hot black coffee in front of him. "Would you like cream, sir?"

"No, thank you." Soarin took several deep gulps of the hot and bitter beverage before returning to the want ads. "Construction ponies needed..." Soarin could do that. He was good with his hooves. "Preferably a Pegusus who can work from high places... Check... Must have experience... crap..." Soarin rolled his eyes before moving on to the next ad. "Apprentice baker needed at Sugarcube corner in Ponyville." Soarin felt as if he could certainly do that. He loved sweets. He continued to read the list of requirements, which were becoming more and more asinine by the second. "Must love to have fun... okay, that's strange... But who doesn't like to have fun? Must...know how to juggle? Must know how to operate a cannon... Must have experience applying clown makeup... Must love alligators. Must know what the fox says? Who the hell wrote this add? Pass." He continued to scroll down the list of jobs he was either under-qualified for, lacked the experience required, or just refused for his dignity's sake. "Sign waving. No thanks. Next. Security guard? Put that in the maybe section. Fry cook. No. Taxi pony. Maybe. Male escort service?" Soarin slowly looked left, then he looked right. Then he turned his gaze back to the ad. "Maybe..."

"Your omelet, sir."

Soarin looked up from the ads and saw the mare standing across the counter, balancing a tray and plate on her back upon which laid the largest omelet he had ever seen. He took the tray from her and set it down near his paper. "Thank you, miss."

"Not a problem, sir. If you'll be needing me, just call. My name is Ruby Dusk."

"Beautiful name," Soarin commented. "I'll let you know if I need anything else."

The waitress batted a flirty wink at him before leaving him to his breakfast.

"That girl knows how to earn a tip," Soarin chuckled to himself before taking another sip from his cup. He cut a large piece of the omelet and stuffed it in his mouth when an ad suddenly caught his eye.

Farm hand needed at Sweet Apple Acres. No experience required. Job comes with benefits: Room and board provided. Consult Applejack for further details

Soarin's cheeks bulged from the massive hunk of omelet in his mouth as he mumbled the words in the ad out loud. A job with benefits? Room and board? That would certainly alleviate the headache of trying to find an apartment. Working out doors in the fresh air? Physically challenging labor? Soarin smiled before rolling his paper up. He emptied his coffee cup with two generous gulps and stuffed the remaining half of the omelet down his throat with one hard swallow. "Miss Dusk, check, please."

"You only had the omelet and the coffee, correct? That comes out to eight bits," came Ruby Dusk's voice from somewhere in the kitchen. "I could get you a receipt if you'd like, but you'll have to be patient, I'm terribly busy back here."

"That won't be necessary. I'll leave the money here on the tray."

"Okay, thank you, sir. Come by and see me again, okay?"

Soarin felt charitable as he remembered how the girl made him smile when he first took his seat at the diner. Making him, Soarin, Smile while hungover? It was a feat that many had tried, and many had failed before her. This charming lass deserved something for her efforts. Soarin set the eight bits down on the tray along with a munificent tip of twenty bits. "You put a smile on this stallion's face, now he's going to return the favor."

"What was that, sir?"

"Nothing, your money's on the tray." Soarin replied as he pushed the glass door of the diner open and exited with an optimistic feeling he didn't have when he entered only moments ago.

---

The orchards of Sweet Apple Acres - it was like an ocean of green from Soarin's point of view. He stood there perched upon his cloud and peered down at the seemingly vacant ocean of green before noticing the red two story house that sat atop a hill and overlooked the whole of the Apple family property like a lighthouse standing erect at the base of a crashing shore of an apple-scented sea. He took a moment to appreciate the view before diving and setting a rapid course toward the lone homestead on the hill. "Consult Applejack for further details... Applejack... Where have I heard that name before?"

The intricacies and structures of the property became more and more visible to the winged stallion as he closed the distance between himself and the farm. He could now make out the three rung horse fence that surrounding the home and enclosed it with several pens filled with livestock. He also took notice of the large dilapidated barn at the far corner of the fencing. At the enclosure's opening, directly across from the two story home's front doors, he could see a wrought iron arch wrapped in leaves that marked the entrance for a long and narrow path through the thick vegetation of the orchards. He attempted to trace the path to it's end, but he could not. The long and straight path seemed to lead all the way down through the sprawling green canopy and to the snow-capped mountains far, far off in the distance. The more he could see of the property and it's beautiful, untouched, natural surroundings, the more he could see himself enjoying working there.

A young red-headed filly lazily laying about on the porch with her legs tucked under her was the first pony to come into view. He descended, landing softly and soundlessly on the patchy ground in front of the large wooden stoop. "Excuse me, miss?" He said. "I'm answering the add in the paper. Could you please direct me to this Applejack I'm suppose to speak to?"

She perked her little head up and sleepily blinked her amber eyes a few times as if she had just been roused from a nap. "What the, huh? You what?"

"The job," Soarin repeated as he approached the porch. "I'm here for the job specified in the paper."

"Oh, the job," the filly yawned. She stretched her legs out before raising to her hooves. "Come inside, I'll interview ya."

"Wait, so, you're Applejack?"

The filly's red mane swung around as she turned to answer him with a mischievous smile. "No, Ah ain't, but Ah'm a member of the Apple family, which would still make me yer boss, if Ah decide to hire ya that is. Now, step into mah office, won't ya please?" With a flick of her mane she continued to saunter her way into the home, pulling the bottom dutch door open and letting it close behind her on it's rusty hinges. "Oh, and if ya DO get the job, yer first chore is going to be oiling that freakin' door." Her voice resounded from inside the home.

Soarin was more or less amused by the filly's behavior. He decided to go along with this little game of hers, curious to see where it would lead. He followed her path through the dutch door, opening both the top and bottom sections and entering through the doorway to find him self standing in a large living room. He noticed a stair case to his left that led to the second tier of the house, and a pair of swinging doors to his right where the filly waited for him. He noted the wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room and a corridor on the far right corner that led to another section of the house. It more than likely led to a den. He began to wonder if that's where he would be residing if he got the job. He jumped when the dutch doors suddenly creaked and slammed behind him with a loud thump.

The little red head giggled amusedly before gesturing with a turn of her head to follow her through the batwing doors, which presumably lead to 'her office.' Soarin noted with amusement that the little filly was barely tall enough for the bow in her mane to just slightly brush by the bottom of the swinging doors as she entered. He followed her, pushing the doors aside, and looking around to find himself now standing in the kitchen.

"Have a seat," The filly said, gesturing to a chair at the table before pulling out a stool for herself.

"Alright..." Soarin pulled a flimsy wooden chair out from under the able and sat. He listened uneasily as the chair creaked in protest, feeling as if it might give out under his weight at any moment.

The two just stared at each other from across the table. The awkward silence was becoming more than the ex-Wonderbolt could bare. "So," he said, "nice place. I could really see myself enjoying living here."

"It's been in the family for three generations now." The filly stated proudly. "A lot of ponies wouldn't understand, but we're all mighty proud of our little farm here; It's our home and it's our coffin... Hope that don't sound too morbid for ya."

"Not at all. It sounds nice. You really sound like you know where you belong in life; that's amazing at such a young age. To tell you the truth, I still don't know where I belong. I envy you." Soarin couldn't help but feel a sudden twinge of melancholy. The little red head looked as if she felt sympathy for him, which only exacerbated Soarin's emotional wound. "I sometime feel like I'm a burden to others. My former co-workers - I sometimes feel like they would have been better off if I had never came into their lives. It's hard to know what your goals and priorities are when you can't even find a paved road that leads you there. I'm sorry if that sounds weird, but knowing where you belong in life is truly a blessing in of itself."

"If the road to a goal is paved for ya, there ain't no point in travelin' it," came a thick southern-accented voice from behind. Soarin whipped his head around and noticed a golden earth pony digging through a cupboard. The stranger selected a large glass bottle filled with a tangy amber fluid before sauntering to the table and taking a seat next to him.

"So, pardner," he began while pouring the fluid into a glass, the intermingled sour yet sweet aroma of whisky and apples instantly permeating the room. "What's do Ah call ya?" he pushed the glass and slid it across the table to Soarin before taking a generous pull from the mouth of the bottle for himself.

The filly placed her forelimbs over her chest and puffed out her cheeks with a pouting frown. "Ah, Come on Braeburn, Ah was gonna interview him!"

"Now, little darlin', it was yer sister who done put me in charge of the interviewin' process. Why dontcha go'n play with them little paladin friends'o yers?"

"Crusaders," the filly corrected.

The cowboy removed his hat and tussled his mane before setting a heavy hind hoof on the table. "Yeah, yeah, crusaders. Sorry 'bout that, cuz. Why don't y'all go 'n see a movie?"

Soarin noticed instantly that this Braeburn character didn't look at all like how he sounded. His deep southern drawl was so thick that he was barely able to understand what the guy was saying. He had the stride and mannerisms of the classic tough guy cowboy you'd see in the old western flicks, but his angelic face, golden mane and perfectly sculpted body made him look more like a model than a cowboy.

"I'd really like to do that, but we used up all our bits when we bought a pie cannon for the club house. We can't afford to go see no movie."

"That so?" The cowboy dug into his vest and dropped a small burlap bag on the edge of the table, which made a metallic jingling noise as it landed. He again leaned back in his chair with a laid back smile. "That should be enough for the three of ya, Ah think."

The filly hopped on to the table and undid the lace with a light tug. She opened the bag and surveyed its contents before her eyes lit up with an exuberant smile. "Thank you, cuz!" She squealed before leaping across the table and embracing the stallion around his neck in an affectionate hug.

"Ain't no thang, sweetheart," he chuckled. "Go on, now. The big ponies need ta' talk."

"Kay, thanks, bye!" The redhead said excitedly before taking the bag of bits in her mouth and leaping down from the table. She nodded to Soarin as if to wish him luck in getting the job before skipping away happily and bumping her head on the bottom of the batwing doors at the kitchen's entrance."Celestia buckin' pony feathers!"

"Watch yer mouth, sweetheart," The cowboy chided in a mild tone.

"Sorry," came the filly's voice from the living room before the creaking dutch door could be heard opening then slamming.

"Now, then," the cowboy said, "that just leaves us. Ah hope ya came ready ta' work."

Soarin looked down at the pungent amber liquid in his glass. He then slowly lifted the rim to his lips and took a cautionary sip. The sourness and power of the beverage instantly overwhelmed his senses and scorched his esophagus as if it were liquid fire, but he tried his hardest not to show it in front of the cowboy, worried that he may be offended by his reaction. Being the horrible liar that he was, he decided to change the subject before the stallion asked him his opinion on the foul liquor."So, you're just going to hire me? No interview? No questions? You're not even asking for a resume?" he choked out through his sour whisky-drenched throat.

Braeburn once again put the mouth of the bottle to his lips and chugged down two deep gulps as if the unpalatable fluid was water. He then set the half-empty container down on the wooden table with a dull thud and said, "Mister, let me tell ya a little somethin' about us Apple family kin: 'round here, we use our actions to speak for us. Ah could ask ya a million questions, an' you could have an answer for every single one, but Ah'd still know nothin' about ya. Ah gotta see ya in action before Ah can know what yer truly worth to us."

Strangely enough, the cowboy's words made more sense to Soarin than anything he had ever heard in his life. He smiled, feeling a slight sense of admiration for this Apple family wisdom."If only politics worked the same way."

The boisterous cowboy let out a hearty laugh in response and gave Soarin a friendly punch in the leg that numbed his nerve endings all the way to the bone. "Hell, Ah like you, pardner! Now come on, we got work to do." He sprang energetically from his seat and pushed open the swinging doors. "Comin'?"

"Yeah... I'm coming." Soarin rubbed his arm and cursed under his breath before getting up and hobbling his way through the kitchen's exit.

---

*THWACK*

Soarin bucked the unyielding tree with all his might and watched with discouragement as only two apples fell from it's branches. "Seriousy? I put everything I had into that kick!"

"Already told ya, it ain't about power: It's about precision and technique. Here, let me show ya again." Braeburn approached the tree, turned away from it, and kicked it with a perfectly executed buck. Every apple in the tree rained down around the cowboy in a downpour of golden delicious while Soarin could only watch in dismay.

"Witchcraft!" He said accusingly. "There is no other explanation as to how you can do this!"

"Ah ain't usin' no fancy unicorn parlor tricks."

"Performance enhancing drugs then! You're on the moon sugar, aren't you?"

Braeburn threw his head head back and laughed. "You are a hoot!"

Soarin's eyes narrowed in irritation before approaching another tree. He crouched his hind legs in preparation for another kick before the cowboy intervened. "Make sure to bring yer legs in closer 'fore ya buck em out, and remember to throw yer weight into the direction of yer kick. Try not to lock yer elbows when you spring up with your hind legs. And remember, eighty percent of your power comes from your flanks and yer hind quarters. Think about all that while ya kick; the more ya do it, the more yer muscle memory will take over for ya."

Soarin sprang his hind legs upward and bent his knees as close to his belly as he could get them, then he let his hooves return to the ground. He practiced this a few times, making sure his form would be exact to his tutor's instruction.

"Nice," the cowboy critiqued with an approving nod. "Ya got the technique down, now let's see ya apply it."

With a deep breath, Soarin sprang his hind legs from the earth, brought his legs in, shifted his weight toward the tree, and kicked as hard as he could. The impact resonated through the tree's base with a loud thump as it's branches surrendered their fruit to him.

"Very nice!" Braeburn cheered.

Soarin watched the fruit fall and hit the ground all around him with a proud smile, but when he looked up he grimaced when he noticed how many apples still clung defiantly from the branches above, swinging and swaying, but not falling, almost as if they were mocking him. The irritated stallion kicked the tree again, knocking even more apples from the tree. Then he kicked again, and again, and again until every piece of rebellious fruit lay defeated on the ground before him. Soarin sat back on his haunches to catch his breath while he surveyed the bare tree. "This kind of work is surprisingly therapeutic."

Braeburn gave Soarin an approving nod. "Yep. There's nothin' on Celestia's earth that cleanses the body, mind, and soul like a hard day's work. Now, let's get these apples in the cart and move on. We still have a few dozen barrels we gotta fill before lunch."

Soarin's eyes widened. "Did you say a dozen barrels? Before lunch? That sounds like more than an entire day's work." He looked back at his legs that were already beginning to burn.

"Nope," the cowboy corrected. "Ah said a couple dozen. Maybe we can call it a day after that. Ah don't wanna burn you out on your first day. Besides, Applejack is gonna want to meet you. In the end, she'll be the one who ultimately decides if you stay or go. Ah'm only here to show you the ropes. Ah hope you ain't steppin' into anything yer not sure you can handle, partner. Today is child's play compared to what a full day 'round here on your own will be like."

"Well, what's a full day like?" Soarin asked, dreading in anticipation for the cowboy's response.

"Well, the roosters'll wake ya up around five... Or four... depends on the season."

Soarin cringed. "...Uh huh... Go on..."

"When ya wake up, you can head in to the house for some grub before ya start yer day. Granny Smith makes the best cornbread'n gravy you've ever had."

"Head in to the house? I won't be sleeping in the house?"

"Nah, they got you yer own place to bed down at. It's the old barn at the far corner of the horse fence enclosure. It's the one not too far from the Apple family house. They don't use that old thing anymore, it's been around since Granny Smith was a little filly. They decided to go ahead and use it as the quarters for the farmhand - that's you. It ain't a bad place to stay in, though. Replace the broken windows, spray it for vermin, fix the floor boards, add a fresh coat of paint, sweep it out, fix the hole in the roof, call a Celestian to perform a blessing on it and it'll be good as new. Heck, Ah'm sure you'll love it once you move all your stuff in to it. Ah'll help ya with that, if you'd like."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait... Did you say call a Celestian?"

"Apple Bloom thinks it might be haunted," Braeburn replied with a nonchalant shrug. "You can shrug that stuff off as superstition if you'd like, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Great, so I get to wake up at four in the morning after sleeping in the Amityville barn house..." Soarin muttered.

"After breakfast," Braeburn continued, "you'll be tendin' to the livestock: Feedin' em, shovelin' out their pens, that sort of thing - then you'll pretty much be buckin' apples for the rest of the day. You'll have lunch, then it's back to work. At the end of the work day, you'll be takin' the barrels filled with all the apples ya harvested, and yer gonna be storin' em in the cellar. Them barrels'r pretty heavy, so you'll be carryin' em down one-by-one. You'll probably be makin' about twenty four to thirty trips up and down them stairs - dependin' on how many barrels you was able to fill, of course. After all that's done, you'll be reportin' to Applejack to receive your pay for the day. She'll also be giving you additional assignments if there's anything else 'round here that need's doin' or fixin'."

Soarin tried with all his might to not openly express his displeasure at everything the cowboy had just listed to him: having to sleep in a destitute, worn down shanty, waking up at four in the morning every day, spending his entire day kicking trees, then having to haul that cart around that he swore must have weighed at least a metric ton. The thought to go crawling back to his former team mates crossed his mind, but only for a moment. He pictured that smug smirk on Fleetfoot's face as Spitfire gave her that 'I told you so' grin. That was probably what they expected him to do. His team knew that he had never been very resilient when it came to changes in his life, nor was he good at sticking to his decisions if they were to ultimately lead down a difficult path, but he refused to go back on this one. The very thought of doing so, the very notion that he would consider groveling to Spitfire after that big scene he had made in Cloudsdale enraged him. This job wasn't really that bad considering everything he used to have to put up with.

"I'm not going back!" Soarin blurted as if he were speaking to his former captain.

"D'you say somethin', pardner?" Braeburn's voice suddenly brought Soarin back to the present.

Soarin's eyes flashed with renewed vigor and a sense of complacency suddenly took him. "Nah, just thinking out loud," he responded. "What do you say we get back to work? These apples aren't gonna buck themselves."

"Ah like yer attitude!" Braeburn replied in an upbeat, encouraging tone. "Ah think we found our new farmhand. AJ is the one that still makes that decision, but with a go-get-em attitude like that, yer gonna be a shoo-in."

Soarin absolutely refused to go crawling back to Spitfire. This was obviously a trial of his fortitude, and he refused to let it beat him. He paused to take one more breath and appreciate his natural surroundings before approaching his second tree of the day. "I'm ready for anything. No matter how hard or rough the terrain may be, no matter how many bumps I hit or holes I stumble in to on my way, there is nothing that will stop me from this day on. I chose this path for myself, and though it may not be paved for me to simply stroll along it, I'm going to see it all the way through!"

---

"I quit... I... I can't do this anymore..." Every muscle in Soarin's body burned as if his veins had been pumping acid. He laid on the ground and foamed from his mouth as he found himself drifting in and out of consciousness, his chest rapidly expanding and contracting with his labored breaths. "So tired... Can barely breathe..."

"Yeah, Ah'd say it's about lunch time." Braeburn mused before removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow. "Ah guess a half day will be fine until you're completely caught up to snuff with things 'round here. You know what? Ah know it's up to AJ to do the hirin', but Ah'll do what it takes to convince her to hire ya on. Why don't ya relax for the rest of the day? Maybe we can move some of yer things into yer new place?"

Soarin let out a raspy cough before responding. "I don't own anything. I have nothing to my name — and I don't think I can get up. I think you should tell Applejack that she'll need to wait a little while longer before somepony more suited to this kind of work comes along," he said as a feeling of hopelessness washed over him. Every time he tried to compensate or comfort himself with the poor excuse that he was a Pegasus and not an earth pony, that he just simply wasn't built for this kind of labor, one word would end up popping back in his mind. 'Quitter.' Soarin was a quitter. He knew it, and there was no way he could delude himself from that fact. He quit the Wonderbolts over a petty spat that lead to hurt feelings, and he was quitting this.

Braeburn looked down sadly at the broken stallion who laid before him. "That's too bad, partner. Is there anyway Ah could get you to reconsider?"

"No... I'm sorry to have wasted your time. Tell your cousin that it didn't work out. Tell her that I'm sorry."

"Ah think you can tell her yourself. She usually takes her lunch at the house. Why don't ya go on down and see her? Ah'll go ahead and get these barrels to the cellar for ya."

"Fine... Thanks for everything." Soarin muttered weakly before shambling to his hooves. He nodded a farewell to the cowboy, who silently nodded back before he focused himself on his task of hitching the wagon. Thankfully the house wasn't too far from where they were. He could see it through the clearing of the trees in the distance, but his legs still burned like blazes. He decided to fly the short way back to the house.

He landed softly on the patchy dirt in front of the home and looked around for her. He figured that since her name sounded familiar she'd be easy for him to recognize once he saw her. He suddenly heard a trickling noise coming from the side of the house. "Miss Applejack?" he called out

"Whose that?" a female voice called out. "Ah'm over here near the well pump."

Soarin winced with every step as he made his way to the side of the house. The moment he saw her standing near the pump, memories of her came fleeting back to him. She was indeed familiar to him - the hat was an instant tip. It was the mare who sold him those sinfully delicious pies at the gala. He even recalled that she was in that small group that watched him as he chewed his former captain out the other day. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty for forgetting her so easily, but his chaotic and busy life as a Wonderbolt made it much too difficult to be bothered with remembering a mare he had only seen maybe twice a year. "Miss Applejack?" He called out to her again.

"Ah'll be with ya in a minute, sugar cube." She removed her hat, set it on the ground, and undid the band around her golden ponytail. Upon its liberation from its bind her hair fell and swayed all around her head and neck like a disorganized mess of honey-colored silk strands.

Soarin didn't know if it was simply the fact that he was a Wonderbolt and simply never had the time to notice her beauty up close in her natural environment, or if maybe the dress she had always worn at the gala kept her assets hidden away from him. The only thing he could now think of at that moment is how hot she was. Hot... Was that the appropriate word?

She lifted the wooden bucket and spilled its contents over her, letting the grime of her labor roll off of her back. Her sopping wet coat clung to her feminine frame and revealed every dip and curve of her body to Soarin, who suddenly found himself studying her in a way she may perceive as offensive if discovered. She whipped her sopping wet mane around to one side and turned to look at him with the warmest smile anyone had ever given him. "You the new guy? Welcome to Sweet Apple Acr— Wait, don't Ah know you? What are you doin' here?"

Hot. Yes. Searing. Blazing. Burning. Even Soarin himself started to feel a little hot around his cheeks and ears as she eyed him... "Hello~ farmer's daughter..."

"What's that, now?" She asked, tilting her head to the side with a cocked eyebrow.

Soarin no longer felt his muscles aching or burning. He forgot all about his pain, emotional, and physical. It was as if all the negativity he felt burned up in the wave of heat that was now searing his cheeks red. He smiled and said, "Yes, I am the new guy. Soarin is my name." Maybe sticking it out and working here for a little while longer wouldn't be so bad after all...