It would be nice if she could make up her mind. Doug sighs to himself as he gets up, inspecting the broken boards. They don’t look salvageable, at least as rails, so he picks them up along with his equipment. The rest of the walk passes uneventfully, and he drops the kindling off on the eastern edge of the farm before making his way towards Ponyville.

A spectacular sunrise graces the sky, the dissipating storm clouds scattering the oranges and reds even as they reflect the glowing yellow. A dozen suns crest the horizon, or hang in midair, banishing the darkest blues and blacks and tiny pinpricks of gold. The brightest of the suns looms behind the lonely mountain on the other side of Ponyville, the silhouette of a massive city lit in stark whites and shadowed blacks against the golden yellow.

Doug watches until the sun becomes too bright to casually stare at, thankful for the long shadows he can hide behind as he continues his trek to Rarity’s Boutique. He puts on a little more speed, taking what feels like the shortest route even though it cuts through the marketplace. Wouldn’t want to be late, even though she didn’t exactly give me a time or place to meet up. He slinks from one building to the next, avoiding as many of the early morning ponies as he can.

He spots Applejack at one of the few manned (ponned?) stalls. It’s a wooden shack, covered and topped by a colorful green apple slice. She’s finished setting up the various apple products on the shelves behind her, baskets of loose apples on the counter in front, and scans the crowd for any prospective buyers with a wide smile. A few ponies come up to her, mostly purchasing apples, though their muzzles scrunch up. Applejack cheerfully explains, noticing Doug at some point. She stands up on the counter to wave to him, getting one in return, and goes back to her customers with a hopeful smile. All of them follow Applejack’s wave; a few look quite unhappy at the prospect, but the majority smile back, congratulating the new lead mare.

I wish I was as eager to share the news as Applejack. Ugh, just need to man up. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion, right? Doug stands up straight, balancing shovel and spade on his shoulder, smiling and waving with his free hand. Most ponies return the wave, others smile back, but several merely glance between him and Applejack, trading confused and curious looks back and forth.

Doug arrives at the Carousel Boutique, frowning at the darkened windows and closed sign on the door. Do I just wait here? What if Rarity went to Sweet Apple Acres? And then I go back to the farm, and she returns here, and we just keep walking back and forth and missing each other until it’s too late? Doug sighs, looking up at the dark clouds hanging in the sky. Maybe I could find a pegasus to fly and check or something. I miss cell phones. I wonder if they have anything similar here, like a sending spell.

“Doug!” cries a cheerful voice, and he looks down to spot Rarity coming out of one of the nearby three story houses. Her mane and tail are as exquisitely styled as always, twin curling flows of purple that reach below her barrel and nearly to the ground. Two saddlebags rest on her pristine coat, each adorned with the teal diamond of her cutie mark.

Namby Pamby and the pink coated unicorn from yesterday exit after Rarity. The filly jumps up and waves, her wings beating furiously and lifting her into the air, like he had any chance of missing her eager display. Doug merrily waves back, though the mare’s disapproving stare dampens his spirit. The two depart towards the schoolhouse to the west, leaving Rarity walking up to Doug and sighing.

“Do forgive her,” the white unicorn says apologetically, offering Doug a contrite smile. “My dam, Cookie Crumbles. It’s not you; she’s just worried.”

“She lose a filly to an Everfree monster or something?” Doug returns, his tone harsher than he means, especially if that was the case.

“No, nothing so horrid,” Rarity says with a shake of her mane. Her horn lights, opening one of her saddlebags. She pulls out a dull brown pair of jackboots. “She’s always been worried about the negative outcomes.” Her muzzle tries and fails to suppress her grin. “You know. How the cookie crumbles.”

“That was horrible and you should feel damn proud of it,” Doug reprimands jovially, eyes twinkling.

Rarity snorts, though her smirk turns to a questioning frown as she breathes back in. She glances down at Doug’s crotch, then back to his face. Her muzzle scrunches up as she tests the air again. “You and Applejack?”

“You ponies must go around sniffing each other’s butts all day,” Doug says with a roll of his eyes.

Rarity smiles while she shakes her head. “I merely made the connection between your, hmm, musk, and whom you are associating with. I originally placed the scent as more of a petrichor, like you were dallying with both an earth pony and a pegasus!”

“Yeah,” Doug says, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “No, just me and Applejack.”

Rarity moves closer, nuzzling him and trying to disperse his nervousness. “No, no, no; I assure you, I’m happy for you. And for her. You’ll make a wonderful pair.” And perhaps more. His hand comes down, scratching just to the side of her mane, and she gives a forceful nod. “Now, try these on.” She levitates the boots towards Doug.

His hands take the jackboots from Rarity’s aura, giving them a few testing squeezes and tugs. Sturdy. They feel watertight, with a tiny amount of give. Laces on the front, and she even built in a little padding around the ankle, even though I didn’t mention that. I’m impressed. He looks up at her saddlebags. “Did you happen to make socks?”

“I did,” Rarity says, pulling out a pair, her tone turning guarded. “Although, about that train ticket…”

“Oh. You can, um, forget about that.” Doug takes the socks. A light material, not as soft as he hoped but definitely better than nothing. He brushes his feet off, slipping on one while balancing on the other foot.

“Good. I was planning on purchasing it after our little foray, and I’m glad I decided to delay.” Rarity watches Doug carefully, half expecting the human to topple from his odd position. When he manages to get the jackboot on without difficulty she grins, asking, “How does it feel?”

“Not too tight,” Doug says as he laces it up. “Not loose, either. The toe could use a little padding, though. I’m rubbing up against the metal piece.”

“Would you like me to try to fix it?” Rarity asks, inspecting the other one. She might be able to shove some padding in there, but it would be an inelegant and temporary solution at best.

“Nah, I’ll be fine.” Doug puts on the other sock and jackboot. He glances at Rarity’s other saddlebag. “Got food and water?”

“I may not be the premiere planner of Ponyville - that would be Amethyst Star - but I do know how to write and follow a packing list.” Rarity flips open the other side, showing off the indicated items. “Anything else before we go?”

“Nah, I think I’m good.” Doug looks up at the sun. Sunscreen, bug spray, shirt, pants, and a muzzlejob. Maybe not in that order. He adjusts the pack on his back, the scratches not complaining, and follows next to Rarity as they head south. The ponies they pass are all heading the other direction, many curiously watching the pair, though the odd scowl frays on his nerves.

“We’ll stop for a light lunch once we get there, and another bite to eat before we return,” Rarity explains as they trot down the streets. It doesn’t take long for their quick pace to reach the train tracks and turn west, leaving the comfort and safety of Ponyville behind. The first few minutes pass in silence, allowing Doug plenty of time to take in the surrounding landscape.

Two forests line either side of the train tracks, and they couldn’t be more different. To the south the Everfree Forest looms. Gloomy even where dawn’s rays strike, the thick canopy blocks not just light but hope from reaching the decaying leaves littering the ground. Gnarled trees twist among each other, jagged branches barely leaving space to see much less blaze a trail. Except for the occasional area where something clearly did rampage through, leaving broken and rotting trunks in its wake.

Doug has to turn away from the woods to nervously glance at Rarity, the unicorn briefly meeting his eyes. But she merely trots along, keeping to their quick pace. He adjusts the pack on his back again, glad he’s openly carrying the shovel and spade in the (hopefully unlikely) event of them coming across something. “So, he asks, pointing at the forest to the north, “where is that?”

“The White Tail Woods,” Rarity explains, though her attention never strays far from the Everfree. “Every fall the Running of the Leaves takes place there, and it’s home to many a friendly creature. Even so, one should be on their guard; timber wolves have been known to roam inside their borders.”

“Right.” Doug warily watches both sides of the path. The White Tail Woods are certainly less dense, plenty of sunlight streaming through the tall oaks. Sounds of critters scampering about can be heard alongside the warbling of birds and the wind whistling through the trees. Kind of like the western part of Sweet Apple Acres, which runs up next to it. I wonder if all of Ponyville was wooded before, or if they picked some plains by the river. He glances back to the south. And what happened here to despoil it so; did they have to wrest acres away from that desolate grasp?

Rarity’s mane bobs along as she trots, and Doug can’t help but glance down as he looks past her. His gaze travels to her flanks and the long spiralling tail that nearly hits the grassy path with every step. Rarity notices, and meets his gaze with a sly smile.

“So,” she asks casually, alluringly flicking first her mane and then her tail. “Which do you find more attractive? A mare’s mane, or her tail?”

“Hmm,” Doug says as he ponders. Is this like asking ass or boobs? Or does it mean something else? “That sounds like a very loaded question.”

“It’s only as deep as you want it to go,” Rarity says, though the way her focus stays on him tells him the superficial answer is not the correct one, even if that might provoke an interesting discussion.

“See, it reminds me of another question,” Doug continues, his teeth grinding a little at the potential to provoke the mare. “Which is more important: a woman’s top half or her bottom half.”

“I suppose a similar question could be asked about a stallion,” Rarity says after a moment’s thought.

“It could, I guess,” Doug says. “One answer is deeply insulting, and the other denies an important biological reality.”

“Certainly,” Rarity agrees with a nod. “So, if you find that one uncomfortable, then I shall ask it.” Her eyes gleam. “Which is more important: a mare’s front half, or her back half?”

Next Chapter: Ch. 28 - Craiceann's Carapace Estimated time remaining: 12 Hours, 34 Minutes