“Okay, okay, enough of that,” Doug says, playfully swatting Fluttershy away. She blows him a kiss as she drags the waterlogged crate out of the water. A trail of ripples follow her as she flies to the bank; even the two at the center of the lake can hear her relieved grunt as she drops the crate next to Applejack. Doug swims over to Granny Smith and the sow to see how they are progressing.

“No,” Granny Smith explains again, her patience wearing thin. She demonstrates again, in a manner only an earth pony in Equestria could, how her foreleg can make a complete revolution and reach behind her back. “Like that, see?”

The sow, whose legs are restricted in a manner more consistent with biology, can barely touch her snout with her trotter, much less get it behind her head. Her other three limbs flail about, splashing and churning the water around her.

“No,” Granny Smith tries again. She reaches as high as she can, then yelps as a jolt of pain courses through her body. “Oh, that ain’t good,” she mutters just before she slips underwater.

Doug, right next to her, immediately hauls her out.

She waves him off with a hoof, sputtering a little and rotating her foreleg. “Ah’m fine, sonny. Just lost mah bearings for a second.”

“Sure,” Doug says, glancing at the sow. She grunts unhappily, opening her mouth wide. “Granny, I don’t think this is working.”

“Yeah,” Granny Smith admits. “Turns out, Ah don’t know how to make a pig do the backstroke.”

“I… don’t think they’re built that way.” Doug lets Granny Smith go, and she easily treads water. “We need to get her some food, and a way to relax.”

“Ah always liked relaxing on the beach with a cider,” Granny Smith says as Fluttershy returns.

The sow grunts happily at the mention of cider. Her movements start to slow, relying more on her bulk to keep her in the water, especially as a foot moves up to block the rising sun.

“I can get you some!” Fluttershy offers cheerfully. “And some shades?” The sow nods. “And a life preserver?” The sow nods again. She flies off, quickly conversing with Applejack before heading to the main farmhouse.

“This has been entirely too much work,” Doug remarks to Granny Smith. At least the water is nice, if a little chilly, but the constant swimming has made it tolerable.

“Apples never gave us this kinda trouble,” Granny Smith mutters back. “Unless they got the blight. Or there was fruit bats. Or the vampire fruit bats.”

“How are fruit bats different than vampire fruit bats?” Doug asks, dreading the answer.

“Fruit bats eat the fruit,” Granny Smith explains like she’s talking to a foal, “while vampire fruit bats drink the juice and leave the rest to rot on the tree.” She shudders, ripples spreading from her body. “Now, the blight is even worse, ‘cause with the bats at least you can tell ‘em to go someplace else. But the blight don’t listen. Ya gotta spray it, or once the limbs turn red cut ‘em off.”

“Nasty,” Doug says as Fluttershy returns.

She passes the sow a glass of cider, which gets drained in an instant, and a pair of swim goggles.“I didn’t think Rainbow would want me giving out her shades,” she says apologetically. A partially inflated orange ring dangles down. She drops it to Doug. “Um, if you don’t mind. Blowing isn’t my strong suit.”

“I don’t know about that,” Doug says with a wink as he takes the ring.

Fluttershy blushes sheepishly, a hoof covering her definitely closed muzzle.

Doug quickly inflates the life preserver the rest of the way. Rather than let the sow jump on it he swims down, barely able to push it underneath her bulk. It hardly seems to make a difference as far as buoying her up and yet she visibly relaxes, hooking the goggles around her head and leaning back, letting her legs rest. Doug, and to a lesser extent Fluttershy, push the reclining sow back to the shore.

“That,” Doug repeats to Applejack as he dons his heavy apron, the remaining pigs accounted for, “was entirely too much work.”

“Agreed, partner,” Applejack says, sighing heavily. “Ah sure hope this venture turns out alright.”

“Yeah,” Doug says with a nod. “Could you imagine what might have happened if we lost all the pigs? And they came to collect?” Doug whistles appreciably. “They could take your flanks!”

Applejack rears up, holding a hoof in the air and shouts, “They could take our flanks! But they could never take! Our! Farm!!”

“Until the farm went under, on account of not being able to get around,” Doug retorts.

Applejack stays rearing up, hoof beating against the air, “They could take our farm! But they could never take! Our! Freedom!!”

“And then we’re kicked out to the streets,” Doug continues with more melodrama than Rarity might muster. “We’d be forced to go to the Rich’s and beg!”

“They could take our Freedom!” Applejack says, barely able to hold back her laughter, “But they could never make us live in a mansion!”

“A mansion actually sounds pretty good,” Fluttershy comments, hoof covering her grin.

“The Rich’s don’t allow pets,” Applejack rebuts.

“Sweet Apple Acres Forever!!” Fluttershy shouts before leading the charge.

“Y’all heard her!” Applejack yells to the pigs as she drops back down. “Back to the pen! Food’ll be there!”

Fluttershy leads, Applejack in the middle and making sure all the pigs stay in line, while Doug takes the rear. Granny Smith plods along at her own pace, soon disappearing from sight.

“I’m blaming you,” Doug whispers to Applejack as they draw close, “when the violent uprising of the proletariat puts all of us on the chopping block.”

“Nuh’uh,” Applejack returns with a shake of her head. “We’re the ones at the bottom, and it’s our hard work that feeds everypony. If anypony leads a revolution of the dispossessed, it’s gonna be ponies from Ponyville leadin’ the charge.” She taps a hoof against her chest. “And Ah’m loyal to the Princess, so there ain’t gonna be no revolutions ‘round here.” She nods resolutely, though it turns quizzical as the pen comes into view.

The fenced in area, while still containing four pigs, has a bit of an unwelcome addition. The entirety is slick with mud, and a small stream flows along the pipes Doug set in place. The six pigs race to the mud filled pen, eager to play and roll and, hopefully, eat.

“Doug,” Applejack asks with the sort of bemused expression one gets when they know the answer and the other person isn’t going to like it, “where did ya get those pipes?”

“One of the storage barns,” Doug admits with a heavy sigh. “Let me guess.”

“These here are irrigation pipes,” Applejack explains with a stifled laugh. “That means they have holes in them.” She shakes her head from side to side. “Why didn’t ya just carry the water?”

“Well, we were looking for Granny Smith’s favorite pie tin. We started in the kitchen, but it wasn’t there.” As Doug tells the story he mimes looking around carefully. “Then we looked in the barn!” He looks at the wagon Applejack brought the pigs in. Stacked on the front are dozens of used tins, one of them far darker than the others. “Hey!” Doug exclaims, walking up and pulling it out of the stack. “I think this is it!”

Applejack gulps nervously. She paws at the ground as she looks to the pond, Granny Smith still a ways away. “Look, um, we all make mistakes. Best not to mention that Ah, uh, might’a used her favorite pie tin.”

“Why?” Doug says, closely inspecting it. It’s heavier by a fraction than the others, but otherwise seems the same.

“‘Cause Ah was in a hurry and it cooks the pies a whole seven seconds faster!” Applejack nods resolutely, as if that was reason enough.

“But you’re still waiting for the other dozens of pies to finish.” Doug shrugs as he walks up to the gate, sloshing through the mud. He, as slowly as he can, opens the gate. Everycreature tenses, waiting for that horrid sound.

It barely squeaks, but the single rusty note still sends shivers down everypony’s spines. A lone howl can be heard far to the south. The pigs nervously glance to each other, and Doug walks away to go grab some of their rejected apples. The pigs take the opportunity to file into the pen, happily rolling in the mud.

“Hey, Big Mac!” Doug greets as he carries a bucket full of pomace left over from making applesauce and three with hay. “Done with your delivery already?”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says, dropping his pie cart off next to Applejack’s. He grunts unhappily as he walks to the open gate.

Everypony comes to a stop as Applejack lets out a drawn out, “Noooo!!” She dives down, hooves reaching for ears as Big Mac shuts the gate with a single powerful buck.

It lets out a single horrendous wail that sends the pigs into a frenzy. They dash to the far end of the pen, burying themselves in the mud up to their ears.

“Huh,” Big Mac says, experimentally opening and shutting the gate. The resulting cacophony would be attributed not to a deaf composer but to a malevolent force fully aware of how horrendous a racket he is making. The howl from the south returns. Big Mac looks for Applejack, spotting her crumpled on the ground. “That sounds familiar.”

“I think,” Fluttershy says as she drops, “that it’s a timberwolf mating call.”

Big Mac’s eyes go wide as he steps away from the gate.

“How do you know what a timberwolf mating call sounds like?” Doug asks as he rubs at his ear. It sounds like the howling is getting closer.

“Well, I live next to the Everfree Forest,” Fluttershy says.

“I get that,” Doug nods, “but how do you know it’s a mating call specifically? I thought they were, like, animated sticks. How do they even mate?” He sighs as he holds a hand to his face. “Actually, never mind, don’t answer that. Do you just understand them like other animals?”

“N-not exactly,” Fluttershy stammers, her eyes going wide as she stares to the south.

“And it’s metal making that noise. That's...” Doug stops talking as loud snaps and wood crunching emanates from behind him.

Next Chapter: Ch. 105 - Bisco's Leash Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 36 Minutes