What causes a blizzard in spring?

The cause is improbable, and takes a great deal of time to play out. But it’s not entirely impossible. The sequence of events goes like this:

First, a pony whose special talent is delivering mail moves to Ponyville, usurping the resident mailmare Ditzy Doo’s old position. To keep the poor pegasus’s feelings from being hurt, the powers that be promote her to regional weather manager. Much to everyone’s surprise, she excels in her new station. She has an odd sixth sense about the weather. According to her, she can feel fronts in the back of her bad eye. Like how old ponies could feel storms in their joints, only keener.

Second, Ditzy’s daughter Dinky Doo decides that playing with her friends ought to come before studying for schoolwork. Schoolwork is boring, anyway. Friends are forever.

Third, Ditzy Doo requests extra hours at work to help save up for her daughter’s birthday. To make sure she does not neglect her duties as a mother, she instructs Dinky to walk straight to the weather office after school, where together they can knock out their respective homework before retiring for the evening.

Fourth, Miss Cherilee decides to be strict with her grading scale. She hopes that failing half her class over their lackluster performance on the most recent algebra test will serve as a wake-up call to take math more seriously. There is no excuse not to learn how to multiply and divide. Even if no one in any of her classes has gotten a math-based cutie mark in six years.

Fifth, Dinky, part of the unfortunate half of the class, realises that the moment she reaches the weather station her mom will ask her how the test went. And then she’ll have to tell her. And then she’s definitely getting grounded.

Sixth, Dinky decides, what the hay, she’s roughed it in the woods with her friends before. If she made herself scarce for a day or two or three, the test would be completely forgotten by the time she came back. She knew how to tie a knot. She knew red berries were good to eat and maroon ones should be avoided at all costs. She even knew where the moon was in relation to the sun based on its phase. She’d be fine.

Seventh, when Dinky doesn’t show up to the weather office at the appointed time, Ditzy starts to worry. Over the course of the next three hours, that seed of worry blossoms into full-on panic.
At hour number four, the tension breaks, and she abruptly stands up from her desk, scribbles out her final orders of the evening in broken mouthwriting, and flies straight out of her office window to search for her daughter.

Eighth, the employees stationed at the Ponyville weather station hear the commotion of Ditzy flying out of her office window and come running to help. They arrive too late to catch her, but they do notice her final order for the evening sitting on her desk: generate a cold front south of town and reduce the local temperature to eighty degrees. Ditzy’s mouthwriting is difficult to decipher, however, and they misinterpret the eighty as an eight.

And lastly:

Thirty years before all those steps take place, Applejack’s mother, along with her father and uncle, bury forty chests stuffed full of survival gear all around Sweet Apple Acres, in the unlikely event of the apocalypse. If someone—say, an unassuming filly who needed to lie low for awhile due to poor marks on an algebra test—were to find such a chest, they could live completely off the grid in relative comfort for weeks.

And so one brilliantly warm, cloudless spring evening in Ponyville, unbeknownst to everyone involved, two fronts collided, and a blizzard came to life.

Applejack and Rainbow Dash were halfway home from a charming night out when the blizzard struck.

A blast of cold air shook them right to their bones. The two shuffled closer together on instinct as another gust of wind rattled through the sky. They’d been so lost in conversation they didn’t notice the clouds building in the west. Now those clouds were nearly on top of them.

“What in tarnation?” Applejack said. Dash didn’t hear her. The wind was that loud.

A look passed between them, and they took off running.

Sweet Apple Acres was set up more or less like a bullseye target, with the main compound in the middle and apple fields stretching out in every direction. Barns and storage sheds dotted the land wherever they were needed.

So the first bit of shelter Applejack and Rainbow Dash came across was not the homestead, with its well-stocked pantries, soft quilt-lined beds, and warm fireplace with rugs and blankets for snuggling.

No, the first bit of shelter was an ancient, creaking structure lovingly referred to by the Apple clan as “the Hazard.” It swayed like a dead tree in the fierce wind. Sections of the wall buckled together, forming a lattice framework of splintered wood that, despite all conventional wisdom, remained upright.

It wasn’t the homestead. But it would do.

After locking the door and moving a bale of hay in front of the largest hole in the wall, they paused to catch their breath.

“I didn’t do that,” was the first thing Dash said.

“No one’s accusing you of anything,” Applejack reassured her. She cracked the door open to take a look only to have it wrenched from her hooves. It took both mares all their strength just to wrestle it back into place.

What little they had seen of the outside was not hopeful.

Sheets of snow snapped horizontally through the air. The trees did little to bulwark the farm against the weather, though the nearby grove of red deliciouses spared the Hazard from the worst of the drifts. Still, venturing outside for long would be far too dangerous.

Applejack found an ancient oil lantern hanging in the corner and blew the dust off. A single match was taped to the bottom.

Please be dry, she thought, and swiped it against the wall.

The match took. She and Dash huddled together in the lantern’s faint yellow light as far away from the hole in the wall as they could get to debate their options.

“Windigos?” Rainbow Dash suggested.

“Nah, their power grows gradually. We would have seen ‘em coming.”

“Right.”

“Weather mishap?”

Dash frowned. “No way. Not a chance.” A particularly nasty gust of wind slammed into the side of the barn. The whole structure creaked, right down to its foundations. “Okay, there’s a chance.”

Just then, a green belch of dragonfire lit up the room. A scroll fell on top of the lantern and instantly caught fire.

Applejack nickered and blew the fire out. The lamp flickered and died.

“Who leaves a lantern with only one match?” Dash frowned. “Way to save the paper, at least. Can you read it?”

“Ugh. No. Too dark.” Applejack looked around. The only dim source of light came from the hole in the wall, which was quickly filling up with snow. With a labored breath, she got to her hooves. “Hang on.”

The air temperature dropped well past zero next to the hole. Still, just enough light came in with the snow to allow her to read the letter.

“Dear citizens of Ponyville,” Applejack read, “Please seek shelter immediately. There is no need to be alarmed.”

Dash recognized Twilight’s writing style immediately.

“As you may have noticed, we are currently experiencing a severe snowstorm. This unfortunate mishap was caused by a paperwork error within our town’s weather department—told ya,” Applejack interjected.

Dash let out a groan.

“Our team is working diligently to rectify this issue. The storm will be dispersed by morning. Until then, do not attempt to leave your homes or businesses.”

Applejack’s hooves began to shiver. She hopped away from the hole and rejoined Rainbow Dash in the other corner. “The rest is more of the same. We’re stuck.”

“We can’t stay here all night,” Dash said. “We’ll freeze!”

“Just relax. No one’s freezing tonight.” A smile crossed her lips, though in the low light Dash couldn’t see it. “Apples always come prepared.”

Dash raised an eyebrow. In the low light, Applejack couldn’t see that either. “What’s that mean?”

Applejack felt along the wall closest to the door with her hooves. After a minute of searching, she found two shovels propped up against the corner.

She hoisted the first one over her shoulders, then hoofed the other one over to Rainbow Dash.

“Ever done an honest day of earth pony labor?” Applejack asked.

“Um,” said Rainbow.

Applejack measured out ten paces from the door towards the very middle of the barn. There, she planted her spade and bade Dash to dig.

They soon worked themselves into a pleasant rhythm. Shove the spade into the ground. Hoist the earth out. Complain, complain, complain. Shove, hoist, complain, complain, complain.

The division of labor went something like this: Applejack did most of the shoving and hoisting, while Dash did most of the complaining.

They worked like this for several hours, until a good-sized hole emerged from the ground, about three lengths deep and twice as wide.

“So what’s down here?” Rainbow asked in between spade-shoves.

“You’ll see.”

“But I wanna know.”

“You’ll know soon.”

“C’mooooon.”

“You c’mon.”

Dash let out a groan and shoved her spade into the earth.

“Don’t be so down. All this diggin’s keeping us warm.”

“This is stupid. We could have just cuddled for warmth.”

A blush erupted onto Applejack’s cheeks. Thank goodness for the lack of light. “Why don’t you trust me?” she teased, deflecting.

“I do. But if this is one of those weird Apple family allegories about honest labor, I’m gonna bury you up to your neck like a pony plant and leave you here.”

Applejack let out a laugh the exact same moment her shovel struck something solid. “Hey, we made it!” She redoubled her efforts, and even Dash, tired and annoyed as she was, joined in.

Together they dug around the object until they were able to pluck it from the ground and hoist it out of the hole. It was a wooden chest braced with iron strips for support, nearly as heavy as a full-grown stallion.

“This,” Applejack said, her voice swelling with pride, “is how we’re gonna survive the night.”

Applejack flashed Dash a smile, which in the low light didn’t matter all that much, and flipped open the lid. She dug around inside and pulled out a crystal-powered lantern.

With a twist of the base, the whole interior of the barn lit up in a shining purple glow.

“No matches required,” said Applejack. She smiled again.

This time, Dash saw it.

The Apple family was not a family of preppers. That word carried a very specific connotation which they did not want to be associated with. Preppers hated the government and shirked their taxes and believed in wild conspiracy theories. The Apple family was not a family of preppers.

However, they did like to be prepared.

In the glowing purple light of the lantern, the two trapped mares inspected the contents of the chest. They pulled out a tent, bug nets, sleeping rolls, blankets, water purifiers, foldable axes and shovels, sealed packets of seeds (mostly apples), a flare gun, a sword, and several cartons of field rations.

Dash immediately went for the sword. She cooed as she pulled it from its sheath, admiring the way the steel caught the star-spackled crystal light.

While she swung it through the air and played Commander Hurricane, Applejack went to work setting up the tent.

“Why pack a sword?” Dash asked.

Appledash answered without taking her eyes off the stakes, “Just in case.”

“In case what?”

Applejack shrugged. “Better to have it and not need it.”

“Zombie apocalypse?”

“No.”

“It totally is.”

“We’re not crazy, we just like to be prepared.”

“Yup,” Rainbow said in a voice that sounded entirely unconvinced. “Apples are weird.”

“Says the featherhead herself. Is there a mallet in the chest?”

“Uh—yeah.”

“Give it here, please.”

Dash lifted the mallet from the bottom of the chest and paused. “Are those instructions?”

Applejack paused. “Instructions?”

“Yeah. Who needs instructions on how to use a mallet?”

Applejack let out a confused hum and dropped the stakes. “Lemme see.”

Dash nodded, and skewered it with her sword.

“Rainbow Miriam Dash!”

Applejack snatched the note from the tip of the sword and shot her friend a menacing glare. With a delicate reverence, she took the cracked parchment into the half-constructed tent. She darted out a moment later to grab the crystal lantern.

Dash, not wanting to be left in the dark, followed her inside.

She found the farmpony on her belly, scanning the page. Her mouth hung open ever so slightly.

“You don’t really need mallet instructions, do you?” Dash asked.

Applejack didn’t respond. Her eyes clung desperately to the page.

“Uh. That was a joke. I was just kidding.”

“This is a note from mom,” Applejack breathed.

The two ponies went silent.

In the lapse, they could hear the muffled groans of the summer snowstorm battering their flimsy haven.

The mouthwriting was spot-on. The signature was legit. The love in the words was true. The note had been penned by Applejack’s mother. And Rainbow Dash had stabbed it with a sword.

Dash didn’t know what to say. She peered over her friend’s shoulder to find the nick in the paper where the sword had poked through. Luck was on her side tonight. It missed the words, “Love and Luck, signed, Pear Butter,” by a fraction of an inch.

The snow stopped sometime before dawn.

The cold lingered long into the morning. Mostly, Applejack and Rainbow Dash stayed in the half-finished tent. Applejack woke up once an hour to read the letter, cry a little, then crawl back into her bedroll.

Dash woke up with her each time to apologize.

When light broke through and the two ponies emerged from the Hazard, they found the whole town engulfed in knee-deep snow. The fruits of the upcoming harvest were frozen to their branches. A cheery summer sunrise peeked over the last lingering stormclouds moving off into the east.

Another belch of dragonfire appeared before them. Another scroll.

“Dear citizens of Ponyville,” Dash read, “Please be advised, you no are no longer asked to seek shelter immediately. There is no need to be alarmed.” Dash rolled her eyes. “Yada yada yada, storm’s gone, not my fault, lawsuits and claims for damages are void, blah blah blah. Snow’ll melt by noon.” She looked over at Applejack. “Not the weirdest catastrophe we’ve had this month.”

“Not even close.” Applejack turned on her hooves and made her way back into the barn. “C’mon. Let’s pack up the chest.”

“Pack it back up?”

“Yup. For the next ponies who need it.”

“Oh yeah. Zombie apocalypse.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“Whatever.”

Applejack did most of the work, and Rainbow helped with the sword. They reburied it ten paces from the door after packing everything back where they found it—everything except for the note.

Halfway back to the Apple homestead, they came across Big Mac in a comically large winter parka poking around the apple trees. He waved to them once, then continued surveying the trees for damage.

“Will this harvest be okay?” Dash asked.

“Sure. It’s better we didn’t harvest ‘em, actually. An apple on the tree will last through a freeze as long as you don’t disturb it. An apple in the bushel won’t survive even a little frost.”

“Huh.” Dash peered up at all the little fruits hanging rigidly from their branches. “Hey, AJ, I’m sorry about stabbing your mom’s letter. I didn’t know what was in it.”

Applejack let out a sigh. “You don’t have to say it a million times. I’m not mad.”

“Well, I still feel bad.”

“If you really want to make it up to me, you could do me a little favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

Up ahead, the farmhouse came into view. “I’ll tell you over breakfast.”

Rainbow Dash’s heart warmed like spring. “Let’s.”

Instead of pots and pans and butter and flour, Applejack pulled out of the pantry a large paper map of Sweet Apple Acres.

“That’s not breakfast.”

A packet of cold toaster pastries flew through the air. Dash caught them in her teeth and immediately devoured three.

“How many of those maps do you have lying around?” Dash asked, spewing breadcrumbs in the process.

“Four, not counting this one. Apples come prepared.” Applejack wiped the map clean, then took out a pencil and started marking X’s on the map, starting with the Hazard. “These are all the spots I know we have stashes.”

“There’s three in this house?”

“Yes, in case there are guests over.”

“Do they all have swords?”

“Yes.” Applejack rolled her eyes and continued marking X’s. “But more importantly, they might have letters, too.”

“Oh.” Dash swallowed. The fourth toaster pastry turned to ash in her mouth. “Yeah.”

“Now, I already said there’s nothing to be sorry for, and I know you’re a busy mare. But there’s an awful lotta X’s on this map, and it’s gonna take some time before the apples are safe to harvest. And if there’s even a chance—”

Applejack felt a hoof on her shoulder. She paused and looked up to find Rainbow Dash standing resolutely at her side. Their faces were inches away from one another.

“I’ll help,” Dash said, her voice a scratchy whisper.

Applejack threw her arms around Dash, and the floodgates opened up again.

The plan was simple in theory. Applejack already knew by memory where all the emergency supply chests had been stashed. All they had to do was dig them out and look inside.

There was, however, the issue of the knee-deep snow.

Applejack, ever the optimist, brought two plastic snow shovels and two metal regular shovels. Dash carried two thermoses of hot chocolate and a saddlebag filled with toaster pastries. There wasn’t a finer scavenger hunting team in all of Equestria.

“So, did Granny Smith make you memorize where the crates were when you were little?” Dash asked. Applejack cut a plodding trail through the snow, while Dash floated blissfully a few inches above it.

“Yup,” Applejack said, breathing hard to break through the crust forming on the snow’s surface.

“So it’s like an instinct now.”

“I guess.”

“Like a squirrel.”

“Dash.”

Dash bared her front teeth and made a little squeaking noise. “Just saying.”

“Apples come prepared. Anyway, first one’s right up here.”

They arrived at the edge of the farm, at an ancient gnarled tree sitting just beside the main gate. Applejack gave the trunk an appreciative pat-pat before counting off ten paces towards the homestead.

“Here it is,” she announced, and hoofed Dash a shovel.

The additional layer of snow hindered their progress somewhat, but in a few hours’ time they were able to break through the snow and hard-packed earth and find their mark.

Dash, who had been taking it easy during the digging phase, hauled the chest up almost all by herself.

The contents were exactly the same as the first chest, right down to how they were packed. Tent. Bug Nets. Sleeping rolls. Blankets. Dash’s eyes immediately went to the sword, but a harsh look from Applejack stopped her before she could pick it up.

“If you play with every sword in every crate,” she said, “we’re never gonna get through this.”

She set the non-pointy, not-fun bits of survival gear aside and felt around at the very bottom.

“Bingo,” she said, and pulled out another fading parchment letter.

Dash peered over her shoulder as Applejack unfolded the letter. This one had very different mouthwriting from the first. It was large, lumpier, and decidedly masculine.

“That ain’t mom’s,” Applejack said in an even voice. “This is uncle Gala’s.” She let out a sigh and gave the letter another look, just in case her prognosis was incorrect. “He must have helped them write the letters.”

“Oh. So—”

“So how many of the others are from uncle Gala, too?”

“That first one wasn’t.”

“No... no, it wasn’t.”

With a gentle reverence, Applejack placed the note back into the chest. She nodded to the shovels laying in the snow, and together they began the slow task of reburying the chest.

No sooner was the last mound of dirt replaced than Applejack said, “Ready for another?”

Dash spared a passing glance into the icy blue sky. The sun was halfway up.

“Yup. Let’s do it.”

That day, they managed three chests in total. All three notes were from Applejack’s uncle. Applejack rationalized this as a byproduct of the assembly line-style nature of these chests’ creation. He’d written a bunch of notes, and Pear Butter had written a bunch of notes. And there were probably clumps of chests with her letters and clumps with his letters.

As they wrapped up reburying the final chest for that day, Applejack reasoned they should start tomorrow’s search at the chests closest to the Hazard, in order to test her theory.

“Right,” Dash said, huffing as she added another shovelful of earth to the hole. Though the snow had melted, the water hadn’t disappeared. The hard packed earth had turned the consistency of concrete jello. “Tomorrow. More holes.”

Then, out of nowhere, it started to rain.

Rain in Ponyville was a scheduled affair. The weather ponies posted it on the bulletin board, printed the schedule in the newspaper, and had longer-term forecasts available for anyone who subscribed to their newsletter.

Dash subscribed to the newsletter. She read it religiously. There was not supposed to be a rainstorm today.

The wind quickly picked up, flowing west to east against the prevailing patterns. The snow began to melt, and in just a few minutes’ time the entire acres were reduced to mire.

“Shelter!” Dash shouted over the wind. “Where’s the closest shelter?”

“Homestead!” Applejack shouted back. A crack of lightning sliced through the air. “Nevermind! Hazard!”

“Again?”

“Again!”

The Hazard was even worse in rain than it was in snow. The ground was mostly soaked, and though Dash was no worse for wear, Applejack was caked in sludge up to her knees by the time they shut the door to the ancient barn.

Applejack grumbled, “Weather patrol mishap?”

“Couldn’t be.”

Another piece of dragonfire spam mail appeared beside them, then plopped into the mud.

“Wanna bet?” Applejack asked.

“No.”

“Wanna get the shovels?”

“Yes.”

“Ten paces to—”

“I know,” Dash said, sighing. “I know.”

They jerry-rigged a hammock out of the tent strung up between two creaky beams. There they spent the long night, trying to ignore the bits of mud that made it into their haven, wincing as lightning burst overhead. Rain squirmed through every nook and cranny of the Hazard’s porous roof, pitter-pattering softly against the canvas top of the hammock.

Dash and Applejack huddled together for warmth. They both complained at first, though not about their sleeping arrangements.

In the dark, neither could tell where one pony ended and another began. It was sublime to survive a storm in such a way; just barely, but bravely.

After a few hours passed, it became abundantly clear sleep was an impossibility. They stretched out a little and got to talking, though they never once drifted more than a breath apart. AJ’s low voice sent tingles up Dash’s spine. It was alto and sonorous, a perfect middle-part counterpoint to the bass thunder and high pinging rain.

“I was just thinking,” Applejack was saying. “If we rebury this tomorrow morning, there’s gonna be no note in there.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what happens if whoever digs it up next really needs a little love and encouragement?”

“Uh. I dunno. Apples come prepared. Maybe they’ll have a note on hoof just in case.”

Applejack shook her head. “It’s not the same.”

“Well then, why don’t you write one?”

Applejack’s hoof met Dash’s. Dash let out a little gasp. Lightning flashed. They swayed side to side. Suspended in midair. Pure weightlessness.

“I could,” Applejack whispered. “I could.”

The following morning, Applejack slipped silently out of the hammock. She moved slowly, so as not to wake Dash. Her hooves were caked with mud before she even made it to the door.

She sidestepped the leftover mud puddles dotting the trail back to the homestead, not that there was much of a point to avoiding them. There, she retrieved a piece of parchment, a quill, and ink. She penned a letter on the kitchen table, then hurried back to the Hazard.

With the utmost reverence, she placed her letter in the bottom of the chest, folded up just the way she’d found the first one.

Dash was up by now, stretching and trying not to stare at the strange ritual going on below.

“Don’t bury it yet,” Dash said. “Hole’s got some water in it.”

“Yeah,” Applejack nodded. “At the rate things are going, we’ll be back here again tonight.”

After helping Applejack dig the first hole of the morning (another letter from uncle Gala, unfortunately), Dash took off for the weather office to check on her old team and see if she could help somehow.

The office was pure pandemonium.

It’s important to note that the Ponyville weather office had exactly four full-time employees: Thunderlane, Cloudchaser, Flitter, and Ditzy Doo. They kept a rotation of part-timers and volunteers too, but they were considered field assets and didn’t go to the office except to pick up assignments on an as-needed basis.

So it was really impressive how only the four full-time employees could tear apart the office like they had.

Ditzy Doo barreled through her office door, almost taking Dash out in the process. Her eyes were full of frantic tears. She noticed Dash, said something fast and incomprehensible, then collapsed into her arms, sobbing.

“Uh,” said Dash.

Thunderlane, Cloudchaser, and Flitter ran into the lobby from a back room. Flitter spoke first. “Dash? What are you doing here?”

“There was a hurricane.”

“Yeah.”

“And a blizzard before that.”

“Yeah. Well. You know.”

Ditzy Doo sobbed again, and the group converged around her.

“What’s gotten into her?” Dash asked.

“It’s Dinky,” Ditzy said in a rasping voice. “She didn't come home last night. She likes to run off and explore, and, and, and she’s sometimes gone for a night, but that means she’s over at one of her friends’ houses. I called all her friends, but no one’s seen her. I tried to do my job and look for her at the same time. I sent the wrong fronts out. Twice. I can’t. I dunno.” She doubled over again.

“Uh. Okay.” Dash noticed the other not-crying ponies were looking at her. They gave her the same look, in fact, that her underlings at the Wonderbolts academy gave her whenever she was in charge of morning drills.

Dash was no longer a manager here. She wasn’t even an employee. But even after all this time, she was still their leader.

With all the grace of a Wonderbolt, Dash rose up to her full height and puffed her chest out. “Okay. Looks like we need to reorganize.” She sculpted her tone into something more sharp and dignified. “Ditzy, is it okay if I take charge here?”

Ditzy Doo nodded.

“Thank you. Flitter, you’re on weather duty. Gather a team of volunteers from the emergency roster and get the weather under control. No more surprise superstorms.”

Flitter nodded and zipped off.

“Cloudchaser, there’s probably a lot of lightning and water damage in town. Go coordinate with the mayor and assist the groundpounders however you can.”

Cloudchaser saluted and dove out the door.

“Thunderlane, hold down the fort here. Call the other weather department branches and let them know what’s going on. Be discreet. Let them know they are not to throw any curveballs our way for the next few days while we sort this out. Then put a letter into Stratopolis air command to let them know we’ve got the situation under control. Put out fires with paperwork. You know the drill.”

Thunderlane sighed and dragged himself back behind the lobby desk.

Dash returned her gaze to Ditzy Doo. She stroked the poor mare’s mane as her breathing returned to normal. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This isn’t how it usually is.”

“I know it’s not. You’ve been doing an awesome job since you got here. Did I ever tell you about the times when I was a weather manager and I accidentally summoned a tornado?”

“Times? Plural?”

Dash chuckled. “I’ll tell you all about it after we find Dinky. You and I are starting a special task force. As of right now, we’re the Ponyville Missing Fillies Force. PMFF. And you’re the commander.”

“I’m in charge?” she stammered. Her pupils shrank. “I can’t. I screwed it up already. You have to be in charge.”

“I can’t. Dinky is your kid. If you pour all that love you have into finding her, you’re gonna do better than I ever could.”

Slowly, one hoof at a time, Ditzy Doo picked herself up and wiped her face. “I guess. Thanks, Dash. Can you give me a minute to clean up?”

Dash nodded. A resolute smile lit up her face. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be in your office when you’re ready.” She held out her hoof for a bump. “PMFF?”

Ditzy Doo nodded and pounded back. “PMFF.”

When Ditzy Doo returned, she had a fire in her eyes. She grabbed a map of Ponyville from the corner and went to work calculating the optimal flight plan to cover every inch of ground from the train station on the east side of town to the Everfree in the west.

With two ponies flying in a static formation, they could cover every inch of ground in a week.

Dash stayed silent while Ditzy Doo explained her plan. She really could be an effective leader when the chips were down. Despite the clumsiness, she had the persuasive power of a Wonderbolt.

They began that afternoon with a quick stop at the mayor’s office to submit a missing pony notice, then took to the skies.

Rainbow Dash’s days became a blur of hard labor and flight.

In the mornings, she dug holes with Applejack. Sometimes, they spoke. Mostly, they dug in silence. They dug up another fifteen chests before finding another one bearing a letter from Pear Butter. After that, their luck started to improve. By the end of the week, they’d dug up twenty chests in total. Six had letters from Pear. Almost one in three. Almost.

Sometimes, without any warning at all, Applejack would collapse in the dirt and sob uncontrollably. Dash would pick her up in her arms and wrap her wings around her for comfort while she worked the tears out of her system.

Then, once the tears had stopped, Dash would hoof her a shovel, and they would resume digging. Not one word was spoken, if you didn’t could the sobs.

In the afternoons and evenings, Dash would leave Applejack to fly into town and resume the search for Dinky. Ditzy Doo, who had already been out all morning flying over town and distributing flyers, hardly needed the additional ponypower, but she seemed appreciative of the company.

They didn’t speak either during their long flights. All their focus was on the ground, scanning for signs of the little grey filly. One looking left to right, one looking right to left. Two solitary shapes flashing through the sky.

One week dragged into two. Progress slowed. She and Ditzy finished the planned route, then doubled back. She and Applejack only dug twelve new holes, yielding four more letters.

Dash started seeing double. Applejack started digging before dawn, and Ditzy Doo stayed out well past sundown. So Dash could only sleep a few hours a night. Her vision turned to mush like paper in water the second she lost her concentration. A few times, during her second week of flying with Ditzy, she almost collided with her. When Applejack collapsed into tears at the bottom of a hole, Dash collapsed too.

Still, she continued. Wake. Dig. Fly. Glide home. Sleep a little. Do it all again.

At the end of the second week, Dash concluded the day’s search with Ditzy by locking up and falling out of the sky.

In a delirious, half-dead haze, she managed to aim herself for the local swimming pool.

She hit the deep end with a splash. All the ponies in attendance screamed, then cheered.

Then, when Dash didn’t resurface, they started to scream again.

Applejack visited the hospital first thing in the morning. Dash was there, wolfing down her third tray of pre-made cafeteria food and barely looked up.

Applejack waited quietly until the food was gone. Then she tossed her an apple, and waited for Dash to finish that, too.

“How are you feeling?” Applejack asked.

“Pretty good. I swallowed a lot of water, but I didn’t get a concussion.” Dash shrugged. “Give and take.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? You could’a hurt yourself.”

“You needed help digging holes. Ditzy needs help finding Dinky. Have they found her yet?”

“No. And Ditzy specifically said you’re barred from the task force until you recover fully.”

“Bummer.” Dash threw the hospital blankets aside and stood up. “That’s an excellent call, though. She’s really turning into a great leader.”

“Dash.”

“What? I’m good. I needed rest. I got it. Let’s go. I wanna find more swords.”

Applejack sighed, a motherly frown on her face. “There’s only one more chest to dig up. You’re not allowed to dig, but if you want to be there—”

“I do. And I really appreciate you waiting.” Dash took a step forward and flexed her wings. The joints felt like they were clogged with mud. “Maybe I should walk.”

Applejack relaxed a little. “Don’t act so sad to be stuck down here with the rest of us.”

Dash smirked. “Groundpounder.”

“Look who’s talking.”

A nurse walked in and screamed at Dash to get back in bed.

Hospital discharge papers signed and formalized, Rainbow Dash followed Applejack back towards the acres.

The walk was pleasant. A dry chill gave way to a clear, gentle afternoon wind rolling across the town. The distant sound of foals in a park brought a twinge of guilt to Dash’s gut. Ditzy Doo was probably in the air already, scanning for signs of her daughter as best she could. Dash couldn’t see the pegasus from here on the ground. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t up there.

“Do you think our kids are gonna go as far for us as we go for them?” Dash asked.

The question took Applejack by surprise. A long moment went by before she replied. “Hopefully, they don’t have to.”

The location of the final chest was tucked away in a grove of wild trees on the Everfree side of the acres. Here, the uniform rows of trees gave way to the gnarled, viney, free-growing varieties typical of a forest laced with chaos magic. The apples these trees yielded were bitter like crabapples but twice as large, with a neon-green skin and juice that flowed up instead of down.

Applejack directed them to a particularly large tree, but paused before she could perform the typical ten-step ritual.

The chest was sitting out in the open, unburied, cracked open, and rifled through.

“Um,” said Dash.

“Uh,” said Applejack.

“I thought you said you hadn’t dug this one up yet.”

“I didn’t. This is the last one on the map.”

And then, through the underbrush, skipping only like a carefree foal could, came none other than Dinky Doo.

In her magic, she held a candy bar Dash recognized from the ready-to-eat packets of apocalypse rations. She hummed a little ditty as she hopped over the brambles and roots, munching away, utterly content.

Then she saw Dash and Applejack staring at her.

She paused. Dropped the candy bar.

“Um,” said Dinky.

Then, like only a carefree foal could, she started to sob.

Before either mare could react, Dinky shot over to them and latched onto Applejack’s leg.

“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I didn’t mean to run off. I was mad cuz I failed the algebra test. And I came out here, but all my knots fell apart, and I couldn’t tell the red berries from the maroon ones, and I couldn’t see the moon with all the clouds, and—and—” She picked up the remains of the candy bar and chucked it at the nearest tree, where it embedded into the ancient bark with startling force. “Why does everything have to be so hard?”

“Uh,” said Applejack.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. Not even the stupid algebra test.” She sobbed some more. “I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me.”

Applejack regained her bearings first. “Calm down Dinky, we ain’t gonna kill you. How’d you find this chest?”

“The top was sticking out of the ground. I dug it up cuz I was bored, and it had all this cool stuff in it.” Her pupils shrank to pinpricks. “Was it your chest?”

“Sorta.” Applejack’s eyes flashed from Dinky to the chest. “How long ago did you open that chest?”

“Few days.” She sniffed. “Am I in trouble?”

Applejack paused. “Dash? When was the last time it rained?”

“Last night.” Her heart sank. “Oh, Applejack.”

Dash took Dinky’s hoof and pried her away while Applejack ran to the chest.

Sure enough, the chest was filled with nearly an inch of standing water.

“No,” Applejack whispered. She starting pulling items from the chest and setting them aside. The more she took out, the more frantic she got. A tent, bug nets, sleeping rolls, blankets, and a sword went flying.

When there was nothing left to take out, Applejack threw the whole chest on its side and let the water drain out. Whatever note was there had completely dissolved.

Applejack collapsed next to the chest and took off her hat.

“Mom?” she said quietly. “Mom, are you there?”

Dinky started to say something, but Dash shushed her.

Applejack put her forehead on the chest and whispered something into the wood. Her eyes squeezed shut.

The forest held its breath. Dash did, too.

Then, Applejack stood back up and put her hat back on. She squinted up at the sky, a look that could have easily been mistaken for a smile. “There’s still some daylight left. Dash, why don’t you go find Ditzy and tell her the news. Dinky, I’ll walk you back to the weather station.”

“Okay,” Dinky nodded. “Am I in trouble?”

“Probably. But only with your mom.” Applejack gave her a little boop on her nose. “I’m just glad you’re safe. The whole town’s been looking for you.”

“I’m gonna get grounded,” Dinky pouted, but followed Applejack all the same.

Dash watched the whole thing in stunned silence. “Applejack,” she started.

Applejack shushed her before she could get the words out. “It’s what mom would have wanted,” she said, then turned and started back towards town.