Old Steampot was something of a storyteller, and sometimes at fire-nights he used to sit and wind them up some wild tale or other. His hooves shook as Gramma helped him off the chair, and remembered when she had been a filly how she’d never even thought about his trembling. Nopony else felt ready for bed just yet, and Cherry Leaf by popular demand took up his place and began her story. In the commotion, while Apple Rose was well distracted, Smith leaned over to her mother and whispered, ‘Sorry for shouting, earlier.’ Ma smiled, squeezed her shoulder, and released.

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