Caramel was pacing.

This was not, in itself, an uncommon occurrence. Caramel was a thoughtful stallion (his words) and a slightly frenetic one (everypony else’s). When faced with a dilemma, as the excitable little stallion often was, pacing back and forth helped him to clear his thoughts. It also, as was currently the case, allowed him to procrastinate doing anything about said thoughts.

“Oh, geeze. Oh, geeze. Oh—“ Caramel had made his way across the length of the Apple family barn three times now, and he was starting to leave a visible trail in the hay. He couldn’t help it. He was excited. No. Not quite excited. Scared? No.

Okay, yes. Scared.

This was the right decision, he told himself. He was doing the both of them a favor, he said. And he couldn’t keep it inside forever but oh Celestia why was even thinking of saying it aloud a torture in itself?

The problem was simple. There was a stallion outside—on his way in now, for all Caramel knew—who the tan little stallion had something rather...personal to tell. Something a little bit intimate, maybe. And something that, no matter how many times he tried to say aloud, he just couldn’t get past his darned lips.

But! The resolve in his eyes cut through the blush on his cheeks. Today was going to be different. Today, he was going to speak his piece! Today, he was going to march right up to that big, sexy stallion and tell him exactly what he thought of -

“Hey there, Caramel.”

Caramel almost jumped out of his skin. “Mac!” he squeaked. He whirled, his long, almost feminine mane whipping around his neck. “I mean—Macintosh. You finished?”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac shrugged the heavy plow off of his shoulders and let the harness crash to the floor. “Them fields’re all done. We shouldn’t be havin’ a problem with the potato crop this year.” He brushed his sweaty, dirt-flecked mane out of his eyes, then refocused his gaze on the stiff-standing stallion. “You alright, Caramel?”

“Fine. Just fine.”

Big Mac nodded. “You still here?”

“Oh. Yes.” Caramel couldn’t keep himself from shaking. Mac’s rich, earthy tones at once both excited and intimidated him. Big Mac sounded so calm, so in control. Each syllable of Mac’s tones set his hooves trembling; he could practically feel the thrum of Mac’s voice in his chest. Oh, surely he didn’t want to be bothered by something like this now. “I just, ah, had something I wanted to ask you.”

“Well, shoot.” Mac regarded him with a level gaze. His eyes were so...intense. Those deep, earthy greens, almost like the fields around the farms—it would be so easy to drown in those depths. He nearly slapped himself for thinking that. Don’t monologue in romantic cliches, you stupid sap!

Romantic—oh, yes. Oh, Celestia. Caramel steeled his jaw. Right. He’d stuck around to say this, and he was going to say it, whether he liked it or not. Caramel squeezed his eyes shut. “I—“

Big Mac leaned slightly closer. He seemed to loom even larger in Caramel’s eyes. He already towered above Caramel’s shorter figure by more than a head, but that extra bit of closeness just magnified his already overwhelming presence. Caramel twitched. With nary a word, or even a harsh look, Mac so lazily, so easily dominated the space around him. He almost felt faint.

“I—“ What was going on? Why couldn’t he force the words out? Just a few little words: “I think I might like you.” How d’you mean? Big Macintosh would ask. Oh, nothing, really, Caramel would reply. I just really like you—I mean, in a more-than-like way, I guess. I just think you’re so handsome, and kind, and gentle, and every night I fantasize about you rutting me like the subby little mare I am—

No! Absolutely not. This was not helping. Caramel’s knees shook, his muzzle scrunching up even tighter. Come on. Mac was waiting for him. He had to say it.

“I—“ Caramel swallowed. “I think we should try letting the eastern field go fallow instead of the west field this year.”

Silence. Absolute, soul-crushing silence.

Caramel could have kicked himself.

Mac said nothing at first, just chewed at the bit of straw in his mouth. Finally, though, he spoke. “Dunno why,” he said slowly, carefully. Oh, Caramel loved when he did that—choosing his words so preciously, as though each one could have been worth a million bits. “West field’s been used five years. East only four.”

Caramel frantically racked his brains for a response. In his chest, though, he felt like he was dying. His cheeks were burning, his forehead beading with sweat. “Well...yes,” he said. “But, ah, the beans in the east field were a lot more nutrient-heavy last summer. I think we might want to consider, uh, switching it up a bit.”

Mac regarded him evenly. He didn’t even blink.

“Maybe,” he finally drawled. “I’ll think on it.” A nod. “Thanks.”

Thanks. Not even a Thanks, Caramel. Or Thanks, ‘Mel. Oh, if Big Mac called him ‘Mel, he would just die—but he was already dying, because he’d missed his chance and damn him for being such an absolute coward—

“Hey, Big Mac! Big Mac!”

Big Mac turned to glance over his shoulder. A warm smile spread across his muzzle. “Apple Bloom!” he rumbled. “You home from Zecora’s?”

“Yup!” The little filly went flying, jumping up and tackling her big brother in a bear hug. Being four times her weight, Mac didn’t even budge, Caramel noted enviously. He did, though, grab her in a one-hoofed hug, chuckling, then ruffled her mane when she slid back down him.

“I made a whole buncha new potions today!” Apple Bloom said. “Zecora said they’re some real good ones, too! All sortsa flower stuff.” She wrinkled her nose, then turned to nuzzle through the saddlebags clamped to her sides. “Red-Hot Rosemary, Shrinkin’ Violet, Double-Time Daisies…”

“Those her names?”

“Naw. I came up with some of ‘em myself.” Apple Bloom turned and gave Caramel a little wave. “Oh, hi ‘Mel!”

He waved back shyly. Somehow, he didn’t really think he had the voice to say it aloud.

“Alright, Bloom,” Mac said. “Let’s go wash up for supper. You can leave your bag out here till tomorrow.” Bloom nodded, then dashed inside, babbling excitedly at what Caramel could only assume to be Applejack.

Caramel thought that Macintosh had forgotten about him—at least until the big stallion turned to give him a nod. “Thanks for helpin’ today, Caramel,” Mac said. “And I’ll think about those fields.”

“Oh, no need,” Caramel said quickly. He’d already flubbed it; damage control, damage control. “It was a silly idea anyway.”

Big Mac didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Instead, he just regarded Caramel for a minute before nodding. “See you tomorrow,” he finally drawled, and turned to head inside. The second the door slammed shut, Caramel slumped to the ground.

“I’m hopeless,” he mumbled, hay crinkling under his flanks. “A complete moron.” He glanced down between his legs and winced.

His heart was racing, his chest feeling like it was about to burst. His crotch was stiffness—concealed beneath his belly, his dick was throbbing, small drops of liquid arousal beading on his tip. Caramel took a deep breath, his whole body shuddering with an unfulfilled sense of want, of need. Big Mac’s presence did a lot more to him than just stop his mouth working. He’d tried, but just couldn’t get the words out. Oh, how he wished Big Mac could have just read his mind, that he could have stepped forward, seen his physical interest, laid a hoof on him and—

Caramel worked his tongue across his lips. They felt dry, cracked. But Big Macintosh wasn’t a mind reader. And that opportunity—that hope for more—could have been his. That only made it all the more frustrating that he’d failed to take his chance at all.

He’d blown it. Absolutely blown it. What kind of stallion couldn’t say those three little words? “I like you.” But not as a friend—or maybe, yes, as a friend, but maybe something more—

Not that they’d be anything more than friends, Caramel reflected glumly. He would’ve kicked something if he’d been able to muster up the willpower. Not with his habit of clamming up just before saying anything that mattered.

“Fields,” he scoffed, kicking at some hay. “Fields. Really, Caramel?”

He would have sat there feeling sorry for himself for a little while longer. However, he was awkwardly fearful of Applejack, Granny Smith, or...him popping their heads out into the barn and seeing him still there. So, with a heavy sigh, he popped up onto his hooves, his heart feeling like lead in his chest.

And then stopped. Something had caught his eye: Apple Bloom’s bag, strewn carelessly before the step. Caramel stepped toward it, then hesitated. He shouldn’t really—but one of the names she’d mentioned had piqued his interest. Surely, he told himself, it wouldn’t hurt to check…

Nosing through her bags mere seconds later, he found what he’d been looking for. “Shrinking Violet,” Caramel muttered to himself, turning the bright green bottle over in his hooves. There was an inscription across the label:

For those who see themselves as small

Or feel as though they can't stand tall.

“See themselves as small, huh?” Caramel hefted the bottle, watching the liquid slosh inside. Yeah, he felt pretty small—not to mention pretty crummy.

A shrinking violet was somepony who tended to keep their mouth shut, and their eyes down. Just like him, actually. Caramel chuckled bitterly. What he wouldn’t give to “stand tall.” Maybe then he could finally tell Macintosh how he felt.

Rule Forty-Eight for any savvy Ponyvillian was relatively straightforward: Do not drink strange potions. But, as Caramel lifted the bottle to the light, eyeing its contents thoughtfully, he couldn’t help but feel his heart beat a little faster in his chest. If this potion could help him speak his mind—if it could help him admit his feelings to Big Mac, he’d be a fool not to take it. And if it worked… Well. A little confidence never hurt anypony.

And besides. He severely doubted that even a hermit like Zecora would let a filly like Apple Bloom bring anything dangerous home.

Feeling fairly crummy, quite downcast, and entirely at the end of his rope, Caramel watched the potion sparkle for another few seconds. Then, he shrugged, grabbed the cork between his teeth, and yanked it out with a pop. A beat later, and he was pouring the potion down his throat.

Gulp. Swallow. Gasp. Caramel inhaled deeply before tossing the potion bottle aside. It landed in a pile of hay with a dull thump. He waited, his pulse pounding in his ears. One second. Three seconds. Five. And...nothing.

Feeling slightly disappointed, Caramel raised a hoof to his mouth to wipe his lips. What a fool he’d been, thinking that a filly’s potion-brewing could save his love-life. Where did he get off on that, anyway? He nearly scoffed at himself—and then stopped.

Was his hoof...blurring? He stared at it for a moment, wondering briefly why he had two left hooves. And why was the floor...spinning?

A wave of nausea swept through him. Caramel hiccuped, then hiccuped again. He felt like he was falling—like the walls were getting further away—like the floor was rushing toward him.

But wait: The floor was rushing toward him. The walls were getting further away. Caramel glanced around frantically, and watched in horror as the plow harness grew until it towered over him. No—it wasn’t growing. He was shrinking.

He tried to move—to run—but his hooves only covered half the distance he was used to. He stumbled, and landed on his nose with a grunt. He was already the size of a foal, and still shrinking. Muscles—not bulging ones, but toned from years of farmwork—receded, lightening as their owner grew smaller and smaller by the second. The world was getting bigger, and Caramel was getting left behind. His nostrils flared, his gaze whipping around as he tried to struggle once more to his hooves. He tried to cry out, but his words died in his throat—not for lack of will this time, but for simple lack of volume.

And then it was done. Caramel didn’t realize it at first. Truth be told, he’d nearly passed out halfway before the process was even done. Now, he groaned, blinking stupidly up at a ceiling that seemed more like a sky: rough, red, and stretching from horizon to horizon. Glancing over his shoulder, Caramel found himself staring at a small pile of straw twice as long as he was tall. The bottle he’d cast aside loomed over him. He’d tossed it aside easily before, but now it dominated his view. He’d tossed it away, but now, it was bigger than even he was.

“B-b-but,” the poor stallion stammered. He backed up, his pupils dilating. “That’s not—that’s not possible.”

Shrinking Violet. Oh, what an absolute idiot he was! How in Tartarus had he ever thought that—

His flank bumped up against something large and soft and warm. Caramel jumped, and squealed, his voice now as tinny and high-pitched as a train whistle.

He whirled, breathing frantically—and froze. A beast stared down up at him, its mouth slightly agape. It was the size of a timberwolf, its furred head coming up just to his shoulder. Caramel stared, his mouth struggling to work and instead just locking shut. His limbs froze, his legs locking down. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—move.

The mouse squeaked, shrugged its shoulders, and bounced away. Evidently, it wasn’t interested in live prey today. Caramel was left shuddering, his lungs heaving in his chest, and sweat dripping down his forehead as he pondered just how small he really was.

This was—this was not okay. He’d been stupid. Absolutely stupid. Owning up to that somehow made him feel better. Caramel glanced around the barn, his hooves still shaking. He had to fix this—had to find Apple Bloom. Or Applejack or Big Mac, or somepony. He was—oh goodness, he was in danger, he was tiny, he was small, he was absolutely miniscule. Even a passing cat would have been big enough to stomp him.

He started pacing, the unconscious reflex coming to his hooves with nary a thought. Now, though, the floor beneath him seemed to stretch on forever. Strange objects loomed in his peripheral vision: the handle of a trowel, a hoof-ball, a bundle of hay. Once, he’d barely even noticed them, but now, they were the giants of his world.

Every sound made him flinch; even the slightest wisp of air made him jump. And still, Caramel continued to pace. His heart thudded in his chest. He couldn’t stay out here. He was in danger—exposed. His racing thoughts coalesced into a single, driving goal.

Get into the house. Now.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite that easy. Before he’d shrunk, the barn door had been scarcely five steps away. But now, at a size his rational mind (tucked away safely in a corner where it could gibber to itself in peace) estimated at around a single inch tall, that same distance felt like the length of a hoofball field. And those steps—at his height, they looked more like walls. A single, feeble jump was a good starting attempt, but his hooves were barely able to reach even the halfway point. Steps that even tiny little Apple Bloom could bound up with ease were far too big for him to manage.

Caramel inhaled sharply. This wasn’t going to work. He glanced to the side. Beside him, a pile of hay towered above his tiny figure, reaching nearly to the top. It had barely come up to his knee once, but now it was like a forest. Even the thinnest straw were the size of tree branches too him. He clambered up onto it, trying to ignore the overpowering smell of dried grass, old hay, and—

His nostrils flared, and his stallionhood throbbed again in want. Caramel winced. Oh, dear. Was that Big Mac he smelled…?

He slipped once, and nearly fell in another time. But he made it up, fighting for every inch. His chest heaving, and his mane matted with sweat, Caramel heaved himself to the top step, panting. Then, he swallowed, stared up at the seemingly fifty-foot door, and slipped through the crack beneath it.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: New Perspectives Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 25 Minutes