The four figures stopped their hike abruptly when the one at the front raised a fist. She guided them to a swell in the land and, then nodded her head east through the sparse woodlands they were in.

“In there,” she said quietly, looking over the mound of earth towards the entrance of a cave a stone’s throw away from their position. Its jagged frame a rising decoration in an otherwise flat stretch of land that went on for miles. The others could tell she was excited; all day she had been leading the group in a hurried pace, pacing back and forth whenever they paused their hike for any reason. Even now her golden, hawk-like eyes were wide open and jumping erratically in their sockets, soaking up details that the others could only dream of.

The only man of the group stepped forward to her, the dry, dead autumn leaves crunching underneath his boots. Sparing the woman only a glance, he turned his focus on the cave. His gaze was cautious, but relaxed: a dogcatcher cornering a feral. Strapped to his waist were two identical axes, and he rested both hands on the haft of the left one as he looked at the cave. It was an easy pose, almost an arrogant one, but also one ready to snap into action the instant that the ordinary became something more.

“Are you sure?” he finally asked.

“You think I’m stupid enough to miss something like that?” the woman snapped, her golden eyes turning away for just a moment to stare up at the Norfolk man before returning to the cave’s entrance.

“Relax, Gilda. He didn’t mean it like that,” the shortest one of the group, a sky-folk, quietly said. She took off her helmet and held it in her hand, the gauntlet she wore clanking quietly against her head guard, and gave a small brush of her multichromatic hair, tucking a few errant strands behind her ears and brushing off the sweat at her brow from the heat of the heavy plate mail she wore.

“Isabelle, I—”

“What sorta thing we lookin’ at anyway, Will?” The fourth member of the group asked. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with heavily bronzed skin, and an obvious and deep scar running from the corner of her mouth and stopping a few meager inches before her earlobe, unintentionally giving her something that resembled a garish smirk despite her obvious unease. She took a breath and licked her dry lips, squinting at the mouth of the cave and into it, beyond it, as if trying to see through its depths.

“Ain’t that the mystery of it, Apple,” the man replied. There were deep lines in his ebony face and they danced and creased deeper when he spoke, showcasing his age. The full, almost oversized muscles protruding from his bare chest, however, indicated that he was still near his prime. He raised a brow to the woman. “Jack. Think about what it’s done so far and what people say it looks like.”

“Quiet. Wisp-like,” the tall earth-folk answered, counting off the examples they had heard from the villagers on her fingers.. “Shadow-man?”

“Interacted with things. Can’t be a shadow-man,” he reminded. “Keep going. You’ll need to know this stuff, otherwise your life’ll be rough” He looked towards Isabelle and Gilda. “That goes for you two as well.”

“Had a physical appearance, so no phantom…” Jack put her hands on her hips, staring at the ground in thought.

“Night-hag?” Isabelle offered. Though it was a rare occurrence for something smart to come out of her mouth, when she did decide to dust off her brain and chime in on ideas, the girl could match their brainy friend Twila from time to time.

“Sounds kinda like one, from what the town’s saying,” Gilda agreed. The griffon-folk pulled back the string on her wrist mounted crossbow, checking the device over, before adjusting her sleeve to hide the weapon. She moved on to her larger model, unstrapping it from a loop of leather at her hip. Giving a small rotation to a crank at its side, she chambered in a bolt. “So the ugly shit’s not gonna be a problem, really. They’re dream invaders. Must’ve just brought the kids here to enhance its area of influence.”

“So the best way to hurt ‘em…” Jack hummed. She reached into her satchel, pulling out a book and thumbing through it with a furrowed brow. A few pages in, she looked up at Gilda.. “Rosemary oil on yer bolts,” she instructed. Replacing the book, she took to rummaging one of the smaller compartments at the front of the satchel until she pulled out a small vial, popping the cork open with her teeth. In a practiced motion, she reached behind her to grasp the hilt of her sword, giving it a pull. The sword didn’t budge. Nearly swearing in embarrassment, she snaked her hand farther down and unclasped the snap over the guard of the weapon, then, with a pull, lifted the greatsword free of its half-scabbard. Tilting the vial over the thick, oversized blade, she gave the edge of the weapon a small coat of the brown liquid.

“Heads up, Dash,” she said, corking the vial and tossing it to Isabelle.

The woman caught it in one hand easily, and wordlessly applied it to her short sword—her silence a miracle if there ever was one—before handing it to Gilda.

“You gonna let us do all the work again?” Dash asked the archer with a cocky, easy smirk.Just like that, the miracle died.

“You gonna move your ass out of the way when I ask you to?” Gilda snapped back and flashed her teeth at the woman in a gesture that was not a smile. “I mean, I could shoot through you if you’d like.” Done with applying the oil on the last of her bolts, she corked the empty vial and tossed it back to Jack.

“Cut the talkin’,” Jack replied, gesturing towards the cave. “Let’s go.”

They crept low towards the entrance, leaves and twigs crunching underfoot to join the sound of Isabelle’s platemail gently clanging together. Jack lead and the others followed wordlessly behind. Dash, then Gilda, and lastly Will, whose experienced eyes soaked up every detail to their approach. He judged their distance from one-another, their speed, the positions of their hands, the soft autumn wind and the draft it could potentially create in the cave—everything. Everything and anything that could mean life or death or maiming.

He was already planning exactly what they needed to improve on. It was a list that was growing shorter every day as he assured them with pride, but it was still a list.

Finally reaching the wide mouth, Jack stopped dead in her tracks, not taking her eyes off the entrance. Its dark shadows dug into her, pushed her back. One foot took a half step hesitation before before her mind caught up to the action and she grinded it into the ground. Every breath beside the gaping maw was a struggle. Ignoring her feeling of dread, Jack rattled off orders, as she was wont to do with the group.

“Usual. I’m on ground. Dash, wings high. Gilda, to my right, over shoulder. Will…”

“Help out anybody that needs it. I know,” the man in question agreed. “Easy enough, Apple.”

She held out a palm and counted down from three with her fingers. When all she had was a tightly clenched fist, she lunged forward, her larger frame doing nothing to stall her fast movement as the others approached behind her, forming a defensive wall at her back.

They passed through the darkness that hung like a veil over the entrance, the effect no mere trick of light, but rather an actual result of the malignant taint the creature held. Entering through that aura of decay and desecration, the earth-folk froze, looking dumbly at the scene before her. Gilda and Dash nearly plowed into her back.

“What the hell?!” Dash exclaimed, shaking her head. “Hayseed! What’s gotten into—” Looking past Jack, the woman went slack-jawed as she absorbed every detail of the single room of the cave. Every splatter of blood, every crackle of burning meat popping over a fire, the medley-scent of sweat, urine, and, the most obvious, fear.

“Oh my God.” Dash stood as frozen as Jack, overwhelmed at the carnage.

“Girls! Focus!” Will called out, disgust evident on his face, but refusing to react to it at the moment. “Apple! Get behind me!”

She ignored him, gritting her teeth so hard her jaw popped. Her hands trembled. Quaked. All she could hear was her own heartbeat racing and pumping blood. Her breath, hot, ragged. Her eyes twitched frantically in their sockets, every jerk etching more and more of the horror before her into her mind; and, at the far wall of the cave, staring at them, the creature responsible for it. Unable to control herself she shouted and lunged forward.

“Apple! Get back here!” Will barked. She paid him no mind, clearing the distance before he could even finish his sentence. She rose her sword up, the blade catching light from the sputtering, fat-fueled fire and giving it all the deadly promise of an executioner’s axe.

“Apple!”

Jack drew in a breath, jerking awake.

Looking up at the familiar worn wooden ceiling of her room, she relaxed a bit, though her heart remained pounding in her chest. Finally, once her body got over her flight-or-fight instincts and her heart dulled down to a steady thump against her ribs she shifted, throwing her legs off the bed and rising to a sit at the edge. She rubbed her dark brow with a hand, stood, then walked a few slow steps towards the wall, leaning against the frame of the room's window and staring out at the red sun overlooking the wheat fields blowing behind a wooden fence line.

“Bad dream?” came the mumbled voice of her partner. Jack glanced over to the bed, where a woman with pale skin and violet hair lay on her side, not even facing Jack.

“Somethin' like that,” Jack agreed, turning to look out the window once more.

“Mmm.”

She was silent for a moment, unsure if they needed to continue to talk, or if silence was the right thing to do. Finally, Jack gave a small run of her fingernail across the border of the window and shrugged.

“I wake ya?” Jack questioned, changing the subject.

“You were mumbling in your sleep.” Reaching up to her sleeping mask, the pale woman took it off and tossed it onto a side-table. Jack saw how red her eyes were and frowned.

“Sorry, Rarity. Go on back ta sleep now.”

Rarity ignored her words. “What was it about?”

“We can talk 'bout it later.”

Rarity yawned, the late night she had earlier obvious by her normally vibrant face being sunken-in and her eyes unfocused.

“Or we can talk about it now and save us both a large amount of pointless prodding. Seems like the wisest course at this Godforsaken hour.”

Jack let out a small exhale, giving a quick, wry smile to the woman.

“Alright, alright.” Hanging her head down, she broke her gaze away from Rarity. “What else could the dream be 'bout? Last outin'.”

The woman took Jack’s words in and, after a moment, nodded. “That was not your fault, Jack. Honestly, we discussed that as soon as you arrived home. There was nothing you could have done different.”

Jack's expression fell further; she looked down at the wooden floors. “I know, but...”

Rarity shifted a bit, rising to a sit. “But nothing, Jack. You did everything you could.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. I did everythin’ right, an’ it still turned out like that. Was supposed ta help that town out, not leave ‘em with more heartache.”

Jack moved towards the dresser and rummaged through a drawer. She caught sight of the image of three apples on the back of her right hand and frowned, ignoring it to quickly grab a set of clothes and tucked them under her arm.

“Guess it’s a bit earlier than normal, but I reckon I’ll hit the shower an’ get started on the day.”

Rarity watched her leave, a thoughtful expression on her face as Jack stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind her.

Finished with her shower, Jack tromped down the stairs and found Rarity sitting at the dining room table, sipping at a black coffee and reading the newspaper, a not-uncommon practice for the soul-folk. The uncommon aspect, however, came in the form of her apparel choice. A set of overalls and a plain shirt underneath rolled up to her elbows.

“What are ya doin’?” Jack asked. She noticed a cup of coffee on the placemat beside Rarity’s and sat down in front of it, taking a slow sip of the beverage.

Rarity folded the paper up and set it aside neatly. “If you have so much to do that you’re leaving this early, it’s only natural I give a hand, oui? No need to tackle the load when I’m perfectly serviceable.”

Jack let out a small snort, finally starting to distance herself from her rude awakening.

“Guess I owe ya one. Know ya ain’t a fan-a it.”

“One, seven. Frankly, who has time to keep track of favors nowadays?” Rarity commented with a casual wave of her hand. “I’ll expect something nice for our anniversary, that’s all.”

That finally got a tired smile from Jack. “How ‘bout we finally get yer shop paid off? Seems like a good use fer what bits come our way.”

Rarity gave a long pause, sipping at her drink again. “The gift that keeps on giving. An excellent choice, Jack Apple. There may be hope for you yet.”

Jack took in a breath, the scent of the coffee steering her towards something resembling her normal attitude. She rested a cheek on her fist and looked at Rarity with a faint smile; after a beat, Rarity dropped her aloof act, smiling warmly in return.

“So, what’s on the ol' agenda?” Jack drawled out.

“Well, after I put you in a better position than you are now, a bubble bath and painting my nails. Eventually I need to plan out a dress—I should be capable of doing that here, I’m simply planning a design to execute, so I have no need to visit the shop today.”

“That’s good.” Jack took another sip of her coffee. “I hear there’s a new act at the club tonight. What ya say ‘bout us hoofin’ it over there after yer done an’ I got my stuff squared away?”

“It is blues night, isn’t it?” Rarity remarked, putting a hand to her chin and leaning on the table, her long hair dropping its tips into her coffee. Jack reached forward, cupping Rarity’s cheek and tucking the woman’s hair behind an ear before Rarity could realize her own mistake and start whining.

“Eyup. Figure ya might like that.”

“It does sound wonderful, but, I wonder if you recall our obligations today?”

She cocked her head; Rarity took that instantly as a ‘no’.

Rarity blew on her coffee and took another drink. “Diane and Spike are coming to our humble abode and staying the night.”

“Hell, I did forget,” Jack said, rubbing the top of her head. After a beat she paused, realizing she was missing something. She rose to a proper sit, looking left and right; Rarity seemed to read her mind and, after a beat, the tailor lifted a hand, which took on a blue illumination, sparking like a dull flame enveloping her palm. Another moment and down the stairs, levitating and enveloped in the same aura Rarity channeled within her hand, came a beaten and worn Stetson, which flew over Jack’s outstretched hand and landed askance on top of her head, covering her eyes with its wide brim.

“Very funny,” Jack dryly remarked, pushing the hat back with a fingertip.

“I thought so,” Rarity agreed, not bothering to hide a playful smile that stretched all the way to a design of three diamonds upon her cheek.

“Soul-folk, I swear,” Jack muttered, then continued in a more normal tone. “So when they comin’ by?”

“Around noon, I would imagine. Can never tell with trains.” With a backward tilt of her head, she finished her coffee and stood. “That said, I suppose it’s best we get this miserable morning out of the way before they arrive.”

Jack followed suit, finishing off her own drink and rising to a stand. “Alright, sug.”

As they prepared to head outside, Rarity stopped, putting a hand on Jack’s own.

“Are you sure you’re alright, darling?”

Jack’s thoughts turned back to her sleep, back to how she had been feeling ever since she had arrived back home and, after a beat, she gave a slow nod.

“Ain’t perfect,” she openly admitted, looking into Rarity's eyes. A small smile quirked to life. “But what is, yeah? I’ll get better, don’t give up on me yet.”

“You’re the last person I’d ever give up on.” She took Jack’s hand. “Now, really, why are we still here simply talking when there’s work to be done? I swear, you have to be one of the biggest sloths I know.”

Jack snorted, letting Rarity guide her out into the sunny morning.

The clatter of plates and bowls filled the air as lunchtime on the farm commenced. Mac left the kitchen and rounded the corner leading to the dining room, a platter of food in each hand as he went towards the table. The giant man sat both down and sniffed the air, silently appreciating the aroma of pork chops before he turned around, nearly crashing into an ebony-skinned woman wearing a loose-fitting robe.

“Sorry, Zecora,” he mumbled out, giving the woman an apologetic pat on her shoulder. Zecora shook her head, tilting it upwards to give him a small peck on his collarbone.

“I’m easy to miss, I don’t mind at all,” Zecora replied cheerfully. The herbalist winked, then continued, her rhyming tongue dancing and playing over the words she spoke. “It’s what I expected, joining into family that’s tall.”

“That’s quite the truth,” Rarity remarked from her seat, her cultured, posh accent contrasting sharply from the others in the room almost as much as the well-pressed summer dress she wore. Giving an absentminded tap at the table with a finger, her red nails shining elegantly, she continued her thought. “I have a feeling one day your sister will be just as tall as me, if not more towards Jack’s height.”

“Don’t tell her that. She might get a big head,” Mac drawled out, heading back into the kitchen. Zecora laughed, following behind her husband.

Rarity smiled, then looked over at the two other occupants in the dining room. “I’m sure Jack will be inside in a moment, she’s simply tending to a few of the cattle. One had a hard birth from what she told me this morning.” Furrowing her brow in thought, she shrugged towards their guests. “I’m not well-versed in regards to farming, but I assume it will not be too much longer for her.”

Diane nodded, her pink, curly hair bouncing at the gesture. “Don’t worry! I’m pretty good at waiting! I make it a game! Like the quiet game, only I don’t lose it as often as I do the quiet game, I’m pretty sure people cheat when they play that with me; I’m all winning, then suddenly my mouth is like ‘nuh-uh, sistah!’ and then the next thing I know I lose.”

Spike looked first to the woman, then to Rarity, whose perplexed expression matched his own. “What she said. Mostly. I think?” he stammered out, looking to fill the brief quiet with any type of words.

The screen door creaked open and a few sure, booted steps came from the entryway, followed by the sound of two thumps. A few seconds later, Jack came plodding in, wearing her socks and a weary look on her face. She forced the best smile she could muster on seeing their guests, moving over to the table to give a slap to Diane’s shoulder and a casual tousle to Spike’s green hair. He glared at her, brushing it back with a palm as soon as she stopped.

“Howdy, you two.”

“Hi Jackie!” Diane chimed out, grinning so fully her dimples winked. “How you doing?!”

Jack gave a slow bounce of her head. “Alive. Ya know how it goes.”

“Totally,” Spike agreed with a nod.

Rarity looked towards Jack, seeming to want to say something. After a beat, though, she simply held out her hand to the empty chair beside her and Jack dropped heavily into it, clasping Rarity’s hand.

Once Mac and Zecora returned and they divided up the meal, Rarity leaned forward onto the table, beginning the conversation once more as she rested her head on a hand.

“How fares the boutique in St. Charles, Spike?”

“Doing good,” he replied enthusiastically. “I mean, of course it’s closed for a few days while Diane and I are on vacation and your sister’s there, but it’s been steady. I was gonna send you a restock list when Pinkie and I got back to the shop.”

“And you’re still enjoying it?” Rarity asked. “Because, while we’re not well-to-do in the strictest sense—unless I ask for money from my father—I can easily hire someone to watch over the store.”

He took a drink of water to wash down a bite of his meal. “I’m still having fun with it. Between doing that and acting as a secretary for Twila, I’ve been pretty busy.”

“If you ever need some time off, inform me. We can always redirect fashion emergencies to Mansfield, after all. I’m not afraid of a workload!” Rarity cut into her porkchop, popped a piece into her mouth, and let out an unladylike grunt of approval, obviously pleased with Mac’s handiwork. Once she swallowed and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, she looked towards the pink-haired woman. “And Diane, we see one-another fairly often, despite my occasional departure from school, but how has life been the past few weeks? Have you been enjoying the visit with your family? How did they like meeting Spike?”

Pinkie’s smile stretched across her face. “Oh they loved meeting him! I think he got along really well with them.” Reaching over, she took to ruffling Spike’s hair amid small protests from him. “And it was nice to catch up with the family, y’know?”

“I understand completely, dear.”

Rarity glanced to a glass of water and quickly took a mouthful. Looking to the cup for a long, long moment, she frowned, staring at the ripples her interference created.

“Somethin' up, Rare?” Jack asked.

The woman looked up to her partner, breaking away from her trance. “Nothing, honestly. Was simply thinking of Stephanie. Hopefully her and your sister are not wrecking the shop.”

“Aw, what’s the worst they could do?” Jack paused immediately after asking the question. She quickly added on, “I-I mean, ya got yer high-end stuff at the shop here now, anyway.”

“I swear, if I have to call the fire department one more time…” Rarity muttered out, taking another bite of the meal. Zecora offered a bit of a smirk at that as she polished off her drink.

There was a lull in the conversation , before Diane turned to a new subject.

“Kickin’ Will’s butt yet, Jackie?” she excitedly asked, looking with a bit of adoration towards the farmer.

Jack paused, both of her cheeks full of food. Struggling to chew her mouthful, she finally swallowed. “That ol’ warhorse? Good damn luck, might as well be fightin’ Luna.” Her humbleness faded after a moment and she added, “Sparrin’ the fella is a lot less one-sided. Still got a way ta go.”

“It must be such a rush though. Fighting, I mean,” Pinkie added.

“It’s…” Jack shifted uncomfortably on her seat. “Sparrin’ ain’t too bad. Started likin’ it quite a bit lately. But fightin’ fightin’? Life or death? It’s somethin’ else.”

“Oh… I guess it would be.”

Mac spared his sister a sympathetic glance but, like the man was prone to do, said nothing, instead frowning and wiping at his mouth with a sleeve.

Before the situation could become awkward, Rarity rose up. “I believe we're due for some tea,” she announced, running a finger along Jack's shoulders on her way to the kitchen. Jack reached out, giving a brief squeeze of the soul-folk's hand as she walked off.

The room grew quiet. Jack absently picked at her food and stared at the table. Pinkie watched the woman’s actions until she couldn’t stand the heavy silence any longer.

“Hey, Jack. You alright?” she asked.

“Hangin’ in there,” Jack automatically parroted, a hair annoyed at how often that question seemed to be popping up as of late. Then she looked towards the ceiling in thought. “Well, I’ll be alright after I clean up shop a bit more. Hear frost is headin’ in next week or so, an’ I wanna make sure the garden’s ready fer it, on top of doin’ some more with the cattle. Ain’t no rest fer the wicked.”

Pinkie grinned. “Praise it, sista. But at least you can have some home cooked meals during what little downtime you get!”

“Things like that never hurt to eat,” Spike said with a grin. Pinkie nodded in instant agreement.

“A man after my own heart!” she chirped, putting a hand on top of his head and squeezing it.

Jack smiled at their antics , but it was a tired, distracted thing—fatigued, just like the rest of her. Despite several hours still to go within the day. This time when Spike looked at her, his concern was obvious.

“Are… are you sure you’re ok, Jack?” he questioned. After a long, considering moment, the earth-folk nodded.

“Alive, at least. It’s…” She shook her head. “Rough. It’s been rough.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Pinkie asked, tilting her head, her expression gaining a mature edge to it, an uncommon sight from the girl.

“It’s jus’ nightmares gettin me a bit down. Ain’t the first time. I’m usually better at hidin’ ‘em.”

“Why hide them?” Spike asked. Jack’s answer never came; right then Rarity returned, a tray full of drinks.

“Remind me to get more teabags,” Rarity remarked, putting the tray down and taking her seat.

“Eyup,” Jack agreed, her hand gladly wrapping around one mug of ‘no-further-discussion’. She sipped at the warm beverage, keeping her mouth occupied.

Spike considered trying to get an answer from Jack but relented, instead focusing on his own drink.

The talk turned idle, relaxed, and laughter filled the room throughout the end of the meal. Finally, Pinkie scooted back from the table, giving a pat at her stomach.

“I never thought I’d say it, but I’m stuffed!” she exclaimed. “You know how to make food that keeps with you.”

“Yeah. I won’t need to eat for a while. At least until dinnertime at this rate,” Spike grinned, showcasing the pronounced canines of the dragon-folk.

“Ain’t that jus’ a miracle,” Jack drawled out, tossing her fork onto her plate and wiping at her mouth with a sleeve. “Guess I should get back to it, gotta check the fence-line.”

“I’ll come with,” Spike offered. “I’m sure Diane and Rarity have some stuff to catch up on.”

Pinkie gasped. “He’s a mind reader!” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her cheek in shock. “I got some hot scoops on the gossip scene at St. Charles.”

“I would imagine more along the lines of drama, dear. You know how a university town is.” Rarity stood, giving one more wipe to her mouth with a napkin.

“I’ll hit the bathroom and we’ll hop to it!”

“Very well, I’ll be out at the back-deck when you’re ready.”

When Pinkie came to the deck, she was surprised to see Rarity focused over a sketchbook, looking towards the rolling hills in the distance, then down at her handiwork. Diane craned her neck over the tailor’s shoulder and looked at the image on the sketch pad.

Rather than the sweeping golden fields of wheat, or the small herd of cattle in the distance, she was instead greeted by a woman and an elegant, pinched-in dress. Rarity lifted her pencil from her work, looked once more towards the horizon, and the faintest flash of magic enveloped her finger, changing the carbon point of the pencil from a soft brown to an off-blue, which she used to color in the trimmings on the dress.

“Wow,” Diane marveled. “That’s neat.”

Rarity proudly smiled. “Jack thought the same, the first time I did it in front of her,” she answered with a chuckle, continuing her sketch. “Granted, the revelation came after she bought me a set of colored pencils as a gift.”

“So you’re using some of the colors on that?” Pinkie asked as she pointed to Rarity’s sketch.

“Yes.” She nodded. “The way the land lays here can complement and contrast very well with the weather. It is far more effective than one would think at first glance.”

“Weather makes that much of a difference?”

“Naturally.” She gestured towards the distant hills. “From here I can see the transience of nature alongside its unchanging tendencies in the same way a lady wearing different garments retains the same figure.”

“So the hills are like boobies and the weather and things on the hills are like a bra,” Pinkie said, nodding sagely. “I get it.”

Rarity seemed ready to correct her, then sighed. “Close enough,” she dryly agreed. She blindly gestured behind her with a magically-illuminated hand and a squat door opened to Pinkie’s side. A mini-fridge sat there, within it several bottles and cans.

“A bit early for spirits, would you like a root beer instead?” Rarity questioned, not looking towards the woman as her aura focused around two cans on the bottom shelf.

“Sure!” Pinkie enthusiastically replied. The blue aura lifted two cans out of the fridge and shut the door; the cans lazily swam through the air, one coming to a small table next to Rarity, the other landing gently into Pinkie's waiting hands. Wasting no time, she cracked open the can and took a long drink, the carbonation tickling her nose enough that it crinkled on reflex. “Thanks.” Her grin widened. “Now if I can just get some ice cream to go with this, I'll be set!”

“I’m sure we can make some homemade ice cream before you and Spikie depart tomorrow,” Rarity offered.

“That’d be great! Nothing beats homemade food.” She moved to a chair next to Rarity's own and plopped down, staring towards the horizon. “The Cakes say it's because you put love in 'em. So I make sure to put a little bit of my lovin’ into everything that goes in my oven!”

“Love and too many calories,” Rarity remarked, giving her stomach a small squeeze through her shirt.

For the first time since she arrived, Diane took stock of Rarity’s body. The tailor still had a quintessential hourglass and womanly frame, with wide, seductive hips and a pair of breasts that more than complemented her. Only now, however, there was a bit more. A sort of leanness to her Diane could tell from the simple way Rarity carried herself around, not to mention the muscle that would occasionally twitch to life as she used her magic to alter, change and erase the beginnings of an attractive high-end piece.

“I’m fortunate I’m working more physically than I had previously, otherwise I’d be traveling to the chunky side,” the tailor admitted.

“Chunky? You?” Pinkie gasped in disbelief. “Never. Ever. Couldn’t happen. It’d be like if the apples stopped growing on all the trees here.”

“Well, minding my figure was far easier when I was able to simply eat a salad or such. Now that I’m surrounded by people with far larger appetites...” She gave a small rise and fall of the fingers at her stomach, as if to say ‘it is what it is.’

“Think of it like a challenge!” Pinkie beamed at her, her pearly whites almost glinting in the sunlight.

“I suppose I've never balked in regards to a challenge. After all, I married one,” Rarity remarked, intending it to be a joke, but bordering a bit close to truth.

Pinkie craned her neck, measuring the woman. “Is everything alright between you two?”

Rarity was silent for a moment. “As alright as it can be,” she finally said. “I love her and I love what surrounds her, her family, our home. Though I never expected a farm would suffice for me, I've grown to love it, too. Tranquility and a place away from the public eye are hard things to find.” Her delicate face twitched into a frown. “Though I worry for her when she's out on the road. Only natural, I suppose, but... I've grown competent in protecting myself. I wish I could do the same for her, offer some restitution to the times she guarded me.”

“She didn't do it expecting favors back, Rarity,” Pinkie countered with a rise and fall of her arms. “I wouldn't worry about it.”

Rarity wryly smiled. “Oh, you know me, darling. If I see a loose thread on a garment I feel compelled to work it. I'm simply finding a thing that leaves me incontinent. Other than her traveling—which I am proud of her for, I might add, despite my complaints—we are quite alright.”

“Ok,” Diane replied, trusting Rarity's word. She didn't have much experience in long-term relationships, so she decided that well enough was going to be the best answer she received. “Never would have guessed you'd enjoy the farm, though.”

“That makes two of us. I suppose I still detest the nitty-gritty, to borrow an expression from Jack. Unless I'm specifically requested into helping with the... physical labors of her job, I prefer being an observer, you see. It's hell on my nails,” she then added under her breath, “I suppose sparring with Macintosh and Zecora house the same issues, but at least I'm gaining a necessary skill that way.”

“Sparring. Now that is something I never expected to hear Rarity say,” Pinkie said, giving a little belch from the drink.

“She would never have considered it, until Dmitri nearly ruined my life.”

Pinkie deflated. “Oh, yeah. I'm sorry about...”

The soul-folk gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Don't worry about it, darling. It's the past. Sometimes my thoughts turn to it, but I suppose that's true of any moment in your life that held impact.” Suppressing a yawn, she looked over at Diane. “And how are things with Spike? I meant to ask you that when we first stepped out here, my manners must have left my thoughts, I'm ashamed.”

“We're ok,” Pinkie stated, then looked down at the ground. “Well, except for one tiny issue.”

“Oh?”

Pinkie nodded to herself. “Yeah. Lately he's been wanting to get a little,” she giggled, “frisky.”

“That seems to be an area of expertise to you, darling. Not to say that you're a woman of ill reputation, mind,” Rarity quickly added.

“No. I get you.” She rubbed at her nose. “It's just... Spike's pretty young. I don't want us to get ahead of ourselves.”

“It isn’t something you should rush,” Rarity agreed with a slow nod. “But… If I may share a secret?” she asked.

Diane had already performed the gestures. “Pinkie Promise,” she said, nodding seriously.

“Mmm.” She looked at the design of the deckchair for a second, before continuing. “I actually had my first about three years earlier than Spike’s age now, and considering he's of-age by most of the standards of the world...” She raised her brow towards Pinkie. “That is, I’m assuming Spike’s still a…?”

“Completely. He told me he's never done anything like that.” She let out a breath of air, turning and righting herself on the wicker chair. “I just have a hard time I guess. I see him and I'm reminded of all the stuff I do with kids and you know I don't wanna think about that trying to get in the mood. I think he's ready, well maybe not quite ready ready, but close to ready ready, you know?”

“I think?” Rarity said, the words leaning more towards a question rather than a concrete answer.

“And I don't wanna make him wait too long. That's not fair for him either, since he's been really super-duper patient with me, like 'Spike having to write out an itinerary for Twila before a diplomatic meeting' patient.” Defeated with her words, she sighed. “This stuff's kinda hard, Rarity. I think I remember why I like hookups better sometimes.”

“Perhaps you are aware more about dragon-folk than I would, but their anatomy ages differently than our own, if I recall correctly from Twila’s, er, spirited discussion of his race. His appearance might be as you see it for a long, long time.”

Rarity turned to look dead-on at Pinkie. “Telling Spike why you two can’t with a reasonable explanation would solve a lot of your woes.”

“I guess.” With a sigh of defeat, she let her head limply hang down, her curly hair forming a pool of pink on the ground. “I just dunno anymore, Rarity. I thought I’d be way better than this, instead I’m just flailing about, with barely a clue...”

“That’s what love is,” Rarity said. She rose to a sit and leaned over, putting a hand on Pinkie’s leg in a comforting gesture. “Flailing about, then flailing about some more.”

“Thanks—it’s felt like I’ve screwed up a lot lately.” Pinkie blinked her red eyes a few times, taking a deep breath. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” Calm again, she rolled onto her side, glancing at Rarity.

“You only think you’ve screwed up, darling. I am personally my own worst enemy in that regard.”

A warm smile appeared on Pinkie's face. “You know what? I think I'm the same way. Maybe tonight we should try something. Maybe not all the way, but…”

“Something is usually better than nothing,” Rarity agreed. “Either way I'm sure he'll appreciate the step.”

Satisfied with her conclusion, Pinkie finally snapped up to a stand. “I think I'm gonna go swimming!” she cheerfully exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly.

Rarity raised a brow, then looked back to her sketchbook. “Well, you enjoy yourself out there, darling. I think I’ll take a raincheck regarding the pond,” she promptly replied.

“Aww, laaame,” Pinkie whined, pouting. “Swimming alone is so boring and the pond’s really pretty and clean.”

She shrugged, returning her focus more to her work. “You could ask Jack to join you. I’m simply too tired to swim today. “

Pinkie leaned forward, patting Rarity’s head. The soul-folk wasn't sure if she should smile at the act of affection, or scream at how her hair might get frizzed up. She decided on a middle ground and instead just paused.

“Thanks for the talk.”

“Naturally, dear. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Spike walked alongside Jack as she wandered the fence line surrounding the fields.

It was a beautiful autumn day, warm despite being early October. Jack said weather like this during these kinda months were called ‘Norfolk Summers’ by northern Cabello. Iron Will had told Jack it was a bit of a joke among the tribe of giant people in the frozen lands, considering pioneers from Europe, inexperienced with the newland’s weather, would routinely underestimate the harsh, wet winters, and suffer for it.

Joke or not, Spike was grateful for the warmth. Being a dragonblood had a lot of benefits. The affinity he shared with full-blood dragons when it came to colder weather was not one of them.

The ‘hmm’ Jack muttered out was enough to draw his attention away from his thoughts and pull his gaze from the apple orchard in the distance, the crop looking bountiful to his untrained eye.

“What?” Spike asked. Jack approached a fencepost and squatted by it, running a hand over an object embedded into the stout wooden pole. A rounded, palm-sized bone-white stone with a strange, intricate white marking over it.

“Ward’s on its last legs,” she answered, running a finger over the dull markings.

Spike waited for an answer. Being offered none, he raised a brow. “Meaning?” he asked.

“Meanin’ it’s a good thing I brought spares.” Reaching into the back of her jean pockets she pulled out a stone, one with the same sort of design and markings gracing it. She then brought a knife from a sheath at her side and pried out the dull stone embedded into the wooden post, then quickly hammered the spare in with the pommel of her blade. Spike felt a brief vibration in his hands and feet—the same sort of feeling that soul-folk gave him when they channeled powerful magic. Before his eyes the stone sparked, the white symbols turning a silvery-blue.

Nodding at the job, Jack pocketed the used-up trinket and sheathed her knife. She looked to Spike, then pointed to a thick patch of woods no more than a stone’s throw in the distance.

“Keeps most things away from the cattle an’ crops. Zecora made ‘em.”

“Things? Oh! Like coyotes?” he asked, putting a fist to his palm at the realization.

Jack snorted. “I wish. Coyotes, wolves, damn rabbits, deer, they still run the place.” She rolled her eyes, but still carried a small, good natured smile as she complained. “That gal talks ‘bout the natural order more than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Then…?”

“Stops the unnatural order, as it were. Timberwolves. Drop Bears. Skunk Apes. That kinda deal. We don’t get anythin’ that major compared ta the horror stories ya hear ‘bout Everfree or what cousin Braeburn says he gets at the Everlost desert out west, but it never hurts ta be safe.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Spike admitted, looking between the stone and the densely packed woods. “Surprised more places don’t do that. Would be a ton better than what we do at Camelot, I bet.”

“Then what would yer soul-folk do fer jobs? Get their hands dirty farmin’?” She smiled, walking back to Spike and giving a rub of his hair. “Kiddin’. Soul-folk got their jobs. I got mine. Ta answer ya, though, barrier spells like what yer talkin’ ‘bout work a lot better fer a city that big. Zecora knows all the nitty-gritty, I don’t, but way she describes it—” She suddenly paused, moving down the fenceline. A broken wire caught her eye and without even a slight flinch, she took the two ends of the split wire and twisted them together, turning them with the ease of winding an old-fashioned alarm clock. Spike knew earth-folk could be tougher than the other tribes of folk, but it always seemed like the Apple clan took it to the next level. Mac was like a four-hundred pound gorilla that towered over everyone but the race of Norfolk, and Jack was much the same, built out of hard muscles and stubborn streaks that made mules look agreeable.

“What was I sayin’?” Jack asked herself. “Ah yeah. That ward wouldn’t really work. Guess it worked fine havin’ jus’ one at the shack Zecora lived in back in her hermit days, but we need five by the forest jus’ because we have more people an' animals.”

She continued down the line, Spike following after her.

“Plus, I think ain’t many sure how ta make ‘em. Zecora says that there are a few tribes in Africa an’ Madagascar that still practice brewin’, but it’s a dyin’ trade. Lot more medicine an’ doctors around ta treat things, less havin’ ta work the land for potions.”

“That sucks,” Spike said. Jack rubbed the back of her head, giving a small glance to the boy as they walked.

“Sometimes. But ya gotta understand, sometimes somethin’ better comes outta it. Zecora says most-a modern medicine comes from her kin. Their shaman do a… pilgrimage or somethin’—a rite of passage fer ‘em—an’ they seem ta walk all over the place. It’s because of them shaman that we have it so good now. Knowin’ that her tribe helped most-a the modern world? I figure Zecora would see that as somethin’ ta be proud of.”

“I never thought of it like that,” he admitted. Looking up, he noticed Jack was already several paces in front of him so he sighed and widened his steps in an attempt to keep up.

“Hope some day people like me an’ Will get outdated too.” She ducked under the branches of a willow, chuckling a bit as it snagged her hat and she put it back on her head. “Not the farmin’, mind. That ain’t somethin’ I’d ever want outta style.” Giving a gaze Spike would call ‘guarded’ if it came from anyone not as open as Jack, she asked: “think that’ll ever happen?”

“There’s always going to be monsters, I think.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Just some of them aren’t as easy to spot or solve.”

She sighed, a bit disappointed in the answer, but deep down knowing at least the boy was being honest.

“Ya got that right. An’ dealin’ with those kind…”

“Not all progress is good. There’s something to be said about the old ways sometimes,” Spike added as an afterthought. “Tried and tested, you know? Your way works.”

“An’ here I was thinkin’ I’d be givin’ you words of wisdom.” Jack did her best to smile at the boy. “Hell, kid, yer somethin’ else. Ya an’ that girl make a great pair.”

“I’m not a kid,” he countered, frowning. “But, thanks.”

“Treat her right,” Jack said, slowing down to let him catch up. She slapped his back, making Spike stumble a hair. “It’s how ya keep ‘em. That means sometimes doin’ things ya ain’t thrilled by,” she rolled her eyes and added under her breath, “like goin’ ta damn fashion shows.”

“I don’t like cupcakes,” Spike blurted out, looking seriously at Jack, “and she always makes a ton…”

“Things we put up with.” Jack shook her head in mock disgust.

“You said it.”

“Come on, Spike,” she said, continuing down the way. “I’ll tell ya ‘bout a few hunts I did with the girls and Will while we’re movin’.”