VII. Between the Motion and the Act

APPLEJACK

Twilight was being far too cautious, and, frankly, Applejack was sick of it.

They had to make a decision about the village before them soon, and Twilight refused to choose. Their intrepid leader—Applejack winced at her choice of words—wouldn’t commit.

She watched the unicorn lean against the tree, biting her lip, looking for all the world like a filly afraid to own up to her mother. She would stare out from the treeline for long minutes, then turn back and think, and then return to staring, over and over in an endless cycle, and Applejack saw no end in sight.

The journey since the crossroads had been smooth, as much as such things could be in a world like the one they lived in now. They stayed off the roads, and Applejack’s woodcraft kept them pointed in more or less the right direction. Nights had been uneventful, blessedly. Things had gone better than she’d feared when she left her home behind.

And yet Twilight never relaxed. She rarely spoke unless she had to and kept her face towards the West. Applejack loved Twilight, and she loved Pinkie, but if the former didn’t start talking, the rambling of the latter was going to drive her mad.

“Twi.”

“What?” her friend hissed, not looking at her. She was staring at the huddled wooden buildings.

“Are you gonna move, or you just gonna sit here?”

That drew Twilight’s baleful eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m just being cautious.”

“Cautious is figurin’ out how to do stuff and bein’ safe. Being smart. This ain’t smart, Twi. Honestly, it’s kinda dumb.”

Twilight scowled. “What do you expect me to do, exactly? We can’t know for sure who is in there. You’re the one who wanted to check it out. I wanted to just ignore them.”

“True, I did. However, if you’ll recall, I also pointed out that it was gettin’ dark. Which is steadily happenin’, I might add. Would you rather them at our backs?” she asked, adjusting her hat as she half-rose from the tree.

Twilight looked away. Behind them, Pinkie sat in surprising quiet, waiting. Celestia only knows what’s goin’ on in that one’s head. She might help me out, here.

Before she could ask Pinkie for her opinion, Twilight started up again. “We can’t know for sure. Have you seen any ponies wandering around in there? Because I haven’t, Applejack, and I’m not sure what that means.”

“It could mean that it’s gettin’ late, and ponies these days don’t much like what happens when it’s dark,” Applejack said, setting her jaw.

Twilight, for her part, leaned in. “Or it could mean it’s another ambush. You want Ponyville to happen again?”

“No, you know I don’t. Don’t you talk about Ponyville, Twi.” Applejack glanced away briefly, scrutinizing the little village once more. It seemed harmless. Ponyville had seemed empty, of course, but not every village in the world was going to be a trap. It couldn’t be that way. It just wasn’t how the world worked, and she was certain of that.

So when she spoke again, Applejack’s voice was firm. “Twilight, I’ma tell you what I think. I think you learned a hard lesson, and now you’re jumpin’ at shadows. You did good to not go waltzin’ in there, but you’ve been sittin’ here so lo—”

“I’m bored.”

Applejack’s mouth hung open. Twilight blinked at her, and Applejack blinked back.

“Could you maybe… uh, elaborate, Pinkie?” Applejack said, still looking at Twilight.

“I’m bored.”

Simple. Clear. Blunt. If it wasn’t so completely out of place, the laconic nature of Pinkie’s interruption would have been something she approved of, but as things were, she had no real response.

“We’re arguing, the village up ahead we’re about to walk into might be full of crazy ponies who want to kill us, and you are bored,” Twilight deadpanned.

“Absolutely.”

Twilight facehoofed. “I have literally no words, Pinkie. None.”

“Well I do. Pinkie, ya can’t just—”

Pinkie rose, and her face lit up with a smile. Standing, Applejack was set to explain how Pinkie was going to be seen and why this was bad, when Pinkie gently pushed her aside. Anger rose up in her; she felt it hot in her face. But she didn’t make a noise, as it would give them away. Pinkie smiled at her, and she stopped. It was a strange sort of smile.

“You got somethin’ on your mind,” Applejack said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

“Twilight,” Pinkie said, her tone cheerful. “I was just sorta wondering how sure you are that they didn’t see you. Like, on the road and stuff.”

“I’m… mostly sure. I mean, Applejack, did you see anypony?”

“Nope,” Applejack replied, her eyes locked with Pinkie’s. “There were some, then. That’s what you’re tryin’ to say.” Another statement. Pinkie nodded.

“Mhm!”

And off she went, prancing into the open while her friends were frozen in place. It only lasted a second, but to Applejack, it seemed to stretch on forever, Pinkie floating along happily into the dim clearing.

“Pinkie! Aw hell, get back here!” she whispered, swiping with a hoof. But it was far too late. Pinkie was beyond her reach and out in the open. She’d forced their hoof, and Applejack knew it. She didn’t waste another breath trying to call the bouncing pony back. It wasn’t worth it.

Instead, she followed. Twilight was saying something behind her, but she was focused. Despite what she’d said to Twilight, she was nervous about what was in the houses up ahead.

“Pinkie, you say they saw us?”

“Oh, silly, Twilight is awful at sneaking! Well, I mean, not always. There was this one time when we went to Canterlot and—”

“Lands alive, Pinkie, can you gimme a straight answer for once?” Applejack groaned.

“Oh. Yes! There was a pony on the road an hour ago. I thought you saw her and just didn’t want to say anything until you and Twilight—”

“I’m right here,” Twilight whispered fiercely from behind her. Applejack’s ear flicked towards the noise for a moment, but she couldn’t spare Twilight a look. She was busy scanning the houses.

But nothing moved. True, they’d picked a terrible time for this, but it wasn’t exactly how she’d wanted it to go down regardless. She grimaced and lowered her head instinctively. Pinkie had better be right about this. Darn fool.

It may not have taken that long to leave their cover and venture out, but it felt like a lifetime and a half to Applejack. She was silent, just as Twilight was silent now, and she watched. It was easy to see the glint of an old shootstick from the boarded windows. She found herself imagining how one might be poked through where two boards left a portion of window glass exposed. A pony could easily see through such a gap. In fact, a pony could easily fit the muzzle of a firearm against such a gap, and it would be almost impossible to tell. It was dark, so Applejack couldn’t tell if the glass was truly…

As Pinkie crossed the invisible boundary that separated road from town, Applejack held her breath. The opportune moment had come. Any raider worth their salt would seize the chance to murder them all here, in one fell swoop. Following Pinkie was suicide. Absolute suicide! It was inescapable. Yet she had followed dutifully, trusting.

Pinkie trotted into the village, farther and farther, while her companions held back. Applejack couldn’t help but think of home. It wasn’t Ponyville, of course. It was too small. The rustic architecture and decor of Central Equestria was replaced with wood cabins. There was little in the way of damage here. Small cast iron lanterns hung from the doors—boarded up, for the most part—and signs testified to the owners of the homesteads. It made her heart ache to read the signs and look at the little lamps. They were beautiful, in a homely way. She could imagine them lit before dusk. This was a good place, she thought to herself.

They came to the village square. It, too, was abandoned. Applejack took stock of her surroundings and looked for useful cover. A well, surrounded in stone and covered with a wooden roof sat in the middle, and around it the worn grass gave way to dust. A cart sat, lonely, without cargo or owner. A few barrels rolled out and emptied in front of what had once been a small tavern or inn. There simply wasn’t much here.

She wondered if that was it, then. Simply nothing to steal here, not enough to destroy. Perhaps the raiders and the griffons would leave such a place in peace and let it remember the ponies who’d lived there without interference.

Her melancholy was broken when Pinkie sat down abruptly beside the well and began to call out loudly. “Hello? Hellloooo, anypony up? We’re here now!”

“Pinkie, the hay?” Applejack said. She tensed. You didn’t just start calling out. Not in a ghost town.

Twilight waved at the loudmouth furiously, and Applejack began to advance on Pinkie. The call still continued. “Come on out! We aren’t going to hurt you. I promise. I’m Pinkie Pie, and I’d never hurt anypony who wasn’t bad, I swear. If you’ll—”

Applejack was beside her, shaking her. Twilight called up her magic, and Applejack felt the arcane heat on her back. It raised goosebumps on Applejack’s skin with its proximity. “Pinkie, you gotta hush now, you hear? Stop it, please!”

“AJ, silly! I’m just asking them to come on out.” Pinkie was smiling, and it drove Applejack mad.

“Look, hon, I know you mean well, but we gotta focus. There’s no telling how many there are or if they’re friendly or not, and—”

“Applejack.”

Twilight’s voice was calm. So calm that it brought her up short, and she let Pinkie go completely before turning around.

A young mare stood in the entrance to the tavern Applejack had thought abandoned. She bore no aged firearm, nor did she snarl any challenge. She wore no barding, only a tattered shawl to keep the cold at bay. If anything, she cowered. Magic will do that to a pony, Applejack thought sourly. It’s fear in a little hoofull, ain’t it? But she said nothing, for Twilight’s magic beside her was a hoofull of terror on her side of things, shining its dangerous purplish light.

“Well?” the mare asked, and Applejack saw how worn she seemed in the waning light.

“Pardon?” Applejack shot back.

“Well then? I’m waiting. Either do what ye came for or explain yourselves,” the stranger repeated. She grimaced, as if hungry and waiting to go back and sleep. The word that crept into Applejack’s mind was miserable.

“We aren’t here to hurt you,” Twilight cut in. “We simply want a place to stay the night,” she explained, “if that’s possible. If it isn’t, we’ll be on our way.” She paused, and the mare said nothing. “We know you saw us on the road.”

The mare blinked and stepped back before rebuilding the miserable mask. “Don’t matter a thing to me, that it don’t. Furthermore, say it, you’re lyin’. Course ye are. Now be plain about where yer from, an’ be quick if it please you. Or if it don’t,” she added glumly.

“Canterlot,” Twilight said. Magic still burned bright on the tip of her horn like a nocked arrow ready to fire. “We’re simply passing through on our way to… Stalliongrad. We had to take a detour.”

Applejack glanced over. Twilight’s voice bothered her. Strain painted every word, as if there were a boulder tied to Twilight, and she was struggling to pull it. It was weakness. Only a sliver of it, of course, a tiny crack in an otherwise indomitable wall. A single spell overcharged in paranoia. It was hard to think of it as weakness as she blinked at the harsh light of magical energy boiling over along the length of that swirled horn, but Applejack knew it was.

In the corner of her eye, Applejack caught Pinkie inching closer and closer to Twilight, whispering in her ear when they were shoulder to shoulder.

In the meantime, Applejack kept the mare talking. “What is this place? Why don’t we get some introductions?”

“I dunna need to know names.”

“Well, sugarcube, where I come from, it’s polite to say a ‘how do you do’ before you get to scarin’ ponies. Why don’t the rest of your friends come on out. We can say hello, that sorta thing.”

They were still, but even so, they circled. The mare stayed at her post before the tavern, and her eyes—her rose eyes, which Applejack found herself staring into—were hard and unwavering. It was the stare of somepony who has been on the walls too long or has been in the queue for food rations hours over time. It occurred to Applejack that she was in a killzone. She felt other such eyes on her, but could not see their masters. A dozen, perhaps, starving and resentful and ready.

“How ‘bout nay, and ya not move an inch.”

Applejack grit her teeth. “Fair enough. Then what do you want from us?”

Something changed. The miserable mare seemed to puff up, come alive.

“Why don’t ya get? Or better yet, we could always—” She stopped and grimaced. “Oi, can you two stop that whisperin’? I dunna like it.” When they didn’t stop, the sentinel mare gritted her teeth. “Do you ken? Heads up.”

“Makin’ you nervous?” Applejack asked, her voice a little lower. In the otherwise silent air, the words carried.

The mare shifted her weight.

Twilight looked up from her conference with Pinkie, her shoulders set. Applejack eyed the glow of her arcane energy and shivered. No idea what she’s up to.

And then there was a flash. The barrel closest to the sentinel exploded in purple light that stabbed at Applejack’s eyes and stole her vision. She winced and threw a hoof over her face, missing the immediate aftermath.

There was shouting. She knew that for certain. Dammit! Dammit, Twilight, you did that on purpose! Showin’ off like a fool

She struggled, blinking to restore her vision. When the world came back, the lone mare had been joined by other ponies, all as ragged as she was. They rubbed their eyes, all staring down at the barrel Twilight had turned into a blinding torch.

Twilight spoke then, as they stared down at the transfigured object. “I thought you might want one. You look cold, and it’s going to get pretty chilly tonight.”

Applejack gaped at the blanket Twilight had conjured, and the sentinel’s shoulders slumped in what Applejack knew must be relief.

PINKIE

There were a dozen of them in all. All of them looked tired and hungry. Pinkie found it to be both curiously similar and foreign.

Pinkie knew hunger. The rock farming of her childhood—harvesting the vital minerals needed to keep the engines of industry running and the magic of mages progressing—was hard work. A single fire ruby could keep the family afloat for months, but they were rare. The crystals that they grew were more reliable, but required grueling, backbreaking work and obsessive attention to keep the rock “eggs” growing the magically charged geodes in the sun long enough. Keeping them turned just right. Keeping them dry.

So tired and hungry ponies were nothing new to Pinkimena Dianne Pie. If anything, it was like her family in hard times. But when times were tough and the pickings were slim, her father had always born the hardship with steel in his spine and a little fire in his heart. Maybe not with a smile, but he did what he could.

These ponies, however, were beyond hope. They stared at the walls, lay down to sleep early out of boredom and a lingering sadness. The few foals that hid with the group inside of town hall were the only ones willing to move about more than a few steps. As far as Pinkie could tell, their arrival in this village was the first time some of these ponies had bothered being excited about anything in months.

Twilight and the Mayor were talking. He was an old stallion, or at least he looked it. By his own claim, he was no more than sixty, but his coat was dull and his poor body was worn by age. Or so it appeared. Twilight had not asked about his cataracts or the obvious signs of past hoofrot in one who claimed to be just reaching into true old age, and neither did her companions. They simply listened while Twilight got a better picture of things.

“And you haven’t heard from anypony outside since? Six months is a long time for no travellers,” Twilight said.

He shook his head. “No ponies,” he repeated.

Applejack stirred and spoke. “Kinda specific there. You mean somethin’ else been by?”

The Mayor’s eyes may have been whited over, but his ears seemed sharp enough. They turned towards Applejack, and he spoke quickly. “Ayup. Griffons, hear it. Yon Griffons from the whole mess o’ Manehattan if you hear it.”

Pinkie and her friends did hear it. Twilight looked away, and Pinkie hesitated.

It was Applejack who spoke for them. Pinkie figured she’d had enough loafing against the wall. “Alright, lemme get this straight. Griffons this far south of the beachhead, right? How often? How many? They messin’ with ponies?”

Twilight grimaced. “Applejack, I hope you aren’t—”

“Let ‘im talk, Twi,” Applejack said quickly.

The Mayor shrugged. “Thou know what we know if’n you hear me. So the Griffons roam. We don’t look out the windows to be avoidin’ ‘em. Shut our eyes and breath the air slow an’ they move on.”

They talked strangely, Pinkie thought for perhaps the fifth time since they’d been invited in. Ponies all over talked differently; she knew that. The ones around her mama and papa’s farm talked one way, and the ponies in Ponyville talked another sort of way, and even farther south from her old farm…

Pinkie’s mind wandered aimlessly. Or at least, that’s how Twilight would describe it. In reality, Pinkie found herself making connections. She wasn’t like Fluttershy, who watched so intently. She wasn’t one for details, seeing the web or the pattern. Fluttershy’s whole crazy sand space witch thing, as she mentally referred to it. No, Pinkie was the kind of pony who paid attention to ponies and what they wanted. And, of course, who paid attention to aerodynamics. Because building things was an important skill. Building things that flew? Even more important.

Applejack was talking when Pinkie’s attention rolled back around to the conversation.

“So, from what you’re tellin’ me, I’ma guess it’s about… twenty, at most. Fifteen? What do you think, Twi?”

“Not enough data,” Twilight said, frowning.

“Yeah,” Applejack finished, a bit lamely. “So there’s that. They ain’t bothered you none, at least.” The Mayor shrugged. Applejack turned back to Twilight, and seemed to consider saying something.

Pinkie wasn’t sure, and had no time to figure it out before one of the foals ran to them, tripping.“Comin’!” she said. “I saw ‘em, I did!”

“Aye, so ya did.” The mayor looked to the three ponies from Canterlot. “I’d suggest you be hidin’, however fancy your magic is or strong yon legs be, young Apple.”

Applejack blinked. “You know my kin?”

He rolled his eyes. “Who don’t? Now, be quiet, all.”

The ponies who had lounged on the porch and around in the main hall were now moved to action. They abandoned the outside and slammed the door shut, moved into the back rooms with wide eyes and open, panting mouths.

The rush of activity gave way to a deathly silence. Pinkie and her companions hadn’t moved an inch. The sudden haste and the abject fear was a little too familiar for Pinkie’s taste.

“Jus’ like home,” Applejack said quietly and slowly slouched underneath a window. The wooden floor creaked as Twilight took up position on the other side, and Pinkie leaned against Applejack’s back. They were silent, then. Waiting.

A few moments passed before Pinkie heard them, and she was sure she heard them first. Twilight had shut her eyes, and Applejack hadn’t moved. But Pinkie heard them all the same, marching. She would recognize that sound anywhere, dozens of mailed talons beating the ground in unison.

Except they weren’t quite in unison. She regretted being too far away from the window. She wanted to see them. She wanted to know if the griffons had changed like everything else.

The sounds grew louder and louder, and soon it was clear that, outside, the griffons controlled the village. There were a few commands given in the stillness and then the sounds of Griffons dispersing. Beside Pinkie, Twilight’s eyes widened.

“We don’t need to be here. We can’t let them find us.”

Pinkie saw the griffons landing at Manehattan again, demanding to see Celestia and make her answer for the state of the sun and nature. She remembered being there with her friends when Luna went to their Beachhead. She remembered how they looked at the ponies around them. She shivered.

“Well, whatcha suggest, sug?” Applejack said, her voice tight.

“They aren’t the same though,” Pinkie offered.

Twilight grimaced at her in response. “Pinkie, please, can you focus? Of course they’re their the same party of Griffons, some offshoot.”

“No, I mean they’ve changed.”

“Yeah, like they split up, we know that, Pinks,” Applejack grumbled.

Twilight bit her lip. “Can we risk escape? How have they left these ponies here alone? It can’t be that hard to find them.”

Applejack snorted, but it was Pinkie who answered. “Oh, they hide in a hole in the back.”

Both ponies glanced over at her. “They do? Never told us that,” Applejack said, raising her eyebrows.

“I got bored and wandered. It just didn’t come up.”

Twilight seemed to accept this. “Whatever. Point is, they’re gonna… oh stars, you hear that?”

They did. The shut door began to open, and the three friends scattered. Pinkie bolted, hiding behind an overturned table. She heard a griffon enter. The floor creaked underneath them, following their progress through the reception hall, past the counters and the old map on the wall.

TWILIGHT

Twilight knew exactly how many there were, where they were, and how much mana it would take to deal with them.

She had mapped it out, even. What would most likely happen. Even how to do it with the least loss of life—potentially with no loss of life! She had it down to seconds, what she could do to force a quick surrender. Pinkie and Applejack just made it easier than it already would be. They had the advantage because they were complete unknowns. Applejack was strong. Pinkie was smart and quick. They were loyal to her. They would die for her and she for them. They were a team.

She knew all of these things, and yet she cowered next to Pinkie.

She heard the griffon stop, probably to look at something. The map, perhaps. She had no idea. She knew where he was in the room, of course. She’d mapped it all out passively with magic as soon as the old stallion had told her that griffons visited the place and came often. She’d caught them one by one as they came in, registered and tracked. It was a unique opportunity, not something she could keep going for long. Already it was straining her to keep up with them all. A minute more, at most.

Another creak, and the griffon was moving again. He was coming closer and closer. Four meters. Twilight knew it exactly. He was the only one that was still clear and burning bright in the field of her mind. Three meters. He would look behind the table. It was either run or confront him.

It wasn’t the memories of the Manehattan firepit or the contrite prince. It wasn’t any of that. She just couldn’t do it. Not anymore. Maybe one day she could have.

Two meters.

Twilight, before she could think better of it, summoned up a shield and leapt out into the open.

The armored griffon froze, his wings flaring up behind him and his beak opening to issue a alerting cry to his comrades. He broke out of his shock enough to bring his spear to bear. Twilight spoke fast, keeping her shield to him.

“I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me, got it?”

The griffon didn’t say anything. He didn’t alert any of the others, however.

Twilight kept on, her mouth running. Her legs were shaking, and she was thankful that she wasn’t alone. She felt trapped. She could just push this shield like a plow and pin him to the wall if he turned violent. She could easily escape. But her knees were weak, though they shouldn’t have been.

“We’re not here to pick a fight. I don’t know what you want, but I know where you come from and why you’re wandering, and I can tell you that whatever it is you want, it’s not here.” She hardened her voice. “And if it is, you know I’ll give your friends Tartarus for it.”

The griffon’s spear remained poised.

“What do you want?”

The griffon stared her down.

Something changed. One moment, Twilight wasn’t sure of anything and the next, the world came into focus, and she pumped arcane force into her voice. It reverberated, not as loudly as a Princess’, but enough to fill the room with authority.

“I am tired of ponies or griffons or anyone or thing not answering my simple, direct questions.” She said, and the words were like slaps of steel. The griffon backed up as if he felt them on his feathers and fur. His spear lowered.

“Now, you are going to tell me what I want to know,” Twilight said. “You are going to tell me right now because I am really, really tired of not knowing things.”

“Not rebels,” he said shortly. “Not rebels! Not…” he trailed off. Twilight hadn’t realized that the knot in her gut was there until it loosened. The stench of the firepits left her, as did the weakness in her knees.

She sighed. “Alright. I’m willing to believe you. I guess I should talk to who you answer to, huh?”

The griffon nodded.

Twilight began to suspect that his command of Equestrian was poor. Way to go, Twilight. “That’s fine. Just don’t do anything too quickly, okay? We’re fine. Everything is fine. Applejack, Pinkie? Could you come out, please?”

They did. The griffon’s eyes darted from mare to mare, but he said nothing. Twilight gestured, and he turned hesitantly.

Once outside, they were noticed immediately. The griffon’s companions crowded around, keeping weapons—edged, blunt, gunpowder—trained on the three mares. Beside Twilight, Applejack grumbled something that sounded obscene. Pinkie seemed fine, as if the world was bright again. Twilight couldn’t make sense of it.

Everything ground to a halt. Twilight’s eyes roamed over the assembled griffons, and they watched her in return.

Twelve, as she’d marked them. Thin, a little ragged, but still possessed of that bellicose pride of their kind. Their gear was polished, and though she could see dents and tears in their armor and gear, she knew that it had been cared for lovingly.

So not Rebels at all, then.

“I have not hurt your comrade,” Twilight said loud enough for them all to hear her. She didn’t put any magic into the words. She didn’t need any. “He’s safe, as you can see. I just want some answers as to why you’re harassing these ponies.”

The griffons looked to each other, and then at last one of them stepped forward and gestured to the group. Weapons lowered.

“I will speak to you, Twilight Sparkle,” the griffon said, and Twilight got a good look at him. He was slightly shorter than the others, with a massive scar down his face. He held his halberd loosely, almost too loosely. If anything, he seemed almost relaxed.

“How do you know my name?”

“I, too, was at Manehattan, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight grimaced. “Oh.”

“So you boys gonna stand down?” Applejack asked from beside her. Twilight almost jumped. She’d forgotten her companions were there.

“Of course. I am happy to parlay.” The griffon showed them his halberd and laid it against the well in the middle of the village square. He gestured for Twilight to come to him, and the soldiers backed away so that she could approach him unhindered.

He sat, and so she sat across from him, her head spinning. As an afterthought, she deactivated her shield.

“You know,” the griffon began, “this is the first time we’ve seen any ponies in all the times we’ve come through this way.”

“It is a bit intimidating to see a column of soldiers on the road, ah…?” Twilight paused.

“Gilead. Yes, I suppose it is.” He chuckled, and his voice was low and rough, but not unlikeable, Twilight thought.

Pinkie spoke. “You don’t seem so bad, Mr. Gilead. Why scare the ponies when you could just talk to them?”

He smirked. “Oh, my little friend, what do you think we’ve been trying to do? I had heard that the inhabitants of this land were a bit more social than I’ve found them.”

Twilight felt Applejack’s hoof brush her own and glanced over. In the corner of her sight, she saw her friend’s lips purse into a frown. Applejack said nothing, and she didn’t need to. Twilight knew they thought of the same things.

The griffon went on. “Yes, but I understand why. To be truthful, just because we sought some sign of life did not mean we did so without fear ourselves.The world is a much changed place, Twilight Sparkle.” He paused for a moment. “Applejack. Pink… Alas, I have quite forgotten.”

“Pinkie Pie!”

“Of course, of course. To be frank, I was losing hope. Our little band has seen no signs of life in this place or in others. I had begun to dream that we were all alone in the world. Do you know that it snows, sometimes, not that far from here? I fell asleep and dreamed we wandered for years in the snow and in the ash. I was thinking this morning that perhaps this was the dream, and that was true. Or maybe it was all the same, you know?”

Twilight didn’t say so, but she nodded her head.

“I am curious what you are doing out here. Forgive me, but I am starving for news. Has Canterlot fallen?”

Applejack shook her head. “Nah, it ain’t.”

Not yet, Twilight thought sourly.

“I am glad to hear it!” Gilead replied, and—wonders never ceased, it seemed—he sounded sincere. “Then a light shines somewhere. I am content, even if it is not there. I had hesitated in leading my friends south, but I was curious if you thought we might find lodging. We would be willing to man the walls if that was the price of admission.”

“I could see them letting you in,” Twilight said. “The Beachhead wasn’t that long ago, but Luna has also tried to be civil with the remnants we’ve had contact with.”

Applejack winced, and Twilight had the thought that it was artless of her. It was awkward enough that she had to mention it, but—

“I am glad to hear this! What a thing, griffon legionnaires defending the walls of Canterlot!” He wore a cocksure grin that melted away a bit of Twilight’s icy annoyance. “Truly, a different world. But you manuevered about my question. Perhaps I made it too easy to do so.”

Twilight sighed and glanced over at Applejack. They shared a look.

While they did so, Pinkie began talking.

“Oh, us? We’re going to find Celestia! She’s somewhere—”

“Pinkie,” Twilight said, not quite loudly, but firmly.

“—and Twilight thinks we can find her and bring her back.”

Gilead blinked. “Bringing back the Princess… well I’ll be. It’s about time.”

Twilight frowned. “Yes. We were on our way North.” Which wasn’t a lie. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely the whole story, but she felt a need to keep that to herself. To keep it a secret.

Pinkie opened her mouth, but before she could elaborate, Twilight shot her a stern look. Pinkie looked hurt, which knocked away Twilight’s reservations, and there a moment of silence.

“She has no reason to trust me, my little friend,” Gilead said to Pinkie. “She need not. Do not look so crestfallen.”

Pinkie nodded.

Gilead looked back to Twilight. “It is a harsher world, as well. I visited Equestria once when all was peace, and ponies were friendly and warm. I mourn the loss of such creatures but know that it must change as the times change. Let me relieve you of your burden. Tell me no more; I will hear none of it. I will tell no one of your progress until I arrive at the Gates of Canterlot.”

Twilight sighed. “Sorry. I’m a bit jumpy. So you will go South?”

“Sounds like a pretty good idea t’ me,” Applejack weighed in. “Could always use a few fresh bodies on the wall. A bit crowded, but…”

“I would much prefer a crowd to an empty world,” Gilead said. He stretched and stood. “It is getting on. My friends and I should withdraw. I… hm. I would ask if there are indeed ponies here, but they are no doubt hiding. I knew that there must be survivors here… It is of no consequence. I will not search them out if they do not wish to be found. We will be on our way.” The three mares rose, and he bowed to each in turn. “It was wonderful to see unfamiliar faces—or, should I say, familiar faces after so long. May the days be good to you all. Look for me when you return to Canterlot, hm? And good fortune.”

Twilight let herself smile. “And you as well.”

His smile faded slightly. “But… before I go, I must warn you. The road ahead is difficult. I would be on your guard. Avoid the towns. There is a… shadow on the world that I cannot describe. Do not enter any buildings unless you must, for the world beyond this point is all within that shadow’s core and under its baleful gaze. If you go to the ports at Tall Tail or Vanhoover, do be careful. I heard things, months ago. I fear for those places.”

With that, he smiled and in short order reassembled the gathered griffons. They left in a column, marching back down the road, and Twilight quietly watched them go .

*

They had chosen the empty house at the end of the lane because Twilight had wanted to be alone. To have the conversation she knew she needed to have, she needed to be far away from the ponies that lingered here.

And yet she was failing here, too. Pinkie was asleep already, and so Twilight had missed one opportunity.

Applejack sat on the back porch. Twilight was sure she was still awake. It was the perfect time and place for the discussion she knew they needed to have.

So why not get up and go talk to her? she asked herself in the dark. She listened to Pinkie snoring from across the abandoned living room, from the slightly ratty rug. Why not? We’re friends, after all. She’s the perfect one to talk to.

Because she wasn’t sure what all she wanted to say. Or what she was thinking.

So I don’t have your ducks in a row. So what? I have a little figured out. Talking things out can help you think.

That was true. She had to concede that.

Twilight sighed. There was no way to get around it, and so she got up and quietly walked to the back door. Pinkie continued her loud snoring. She glanced back, just to make sure, and watched Pinkie grumble and roll over in her sleep, wrapped up tight in a blanket. At least one of them could sleep well these days.

When she opened the door, she found Applejack leaning against the wall of the house, looking out at the deep woods. A slender clay pipe rested in her mouth, and occasional smoke wandered up into the dark air.

“I didn’t know you brought it,” Twilight said softly.

Applejack looked up, her expression hard to read before she looked back to the trees. “Yeah. I’ve been savin’ it for when y’all were asleep. My supplies are kinda limited, you know.”

There was a moment of silence. Twilight shifted uncomfortably, and Applejack looked ahead.

“Well,” Applejack said at last. “You gonna come sit, sug?”

“Oh… er, yes,” Twilight said and did so, smiling. This is normal. It just feels… normal.

Another puff of smoke heralded her speech.“You look like ya got somethin’ on your mind,” Applejack said quietly.

“It was an eventful day,” Twilight said.

“Sure was. You had me worried there, jumpin’ out like that. I was about to jump out after you and get t’ work, but then you started talkin’.” Another smoke cloud loosed into the night. “To be honest, I’m glad you did, now that I know more ‘bout ‘em. That Gilead was a sure nice fellow. I liked him, even if he was a griffon.”

“You seemed like you felt uneasy.”

“Sure I did. So did you.”

Twilight conceded that with a little nod and then shivered. “I kept thinking about when we went with Luna to confront them. Did you think about—”

“Manehattan Firepits. Yeah.”

“And I just… I don’t…” She sighed and massaged her temples. “Applejack, I think something is wrong with me. Or has been wrong with me. I don’t know.”

Applejack looked back to her at this. “Wrong with you? What?”

The tone was so familiar, so concerned. It broke her heart. She thought of Ponyville again, of gossip at the first cider tasting of the year, of all their friends. It was so damned normal.

Twilight hesitated, and then leaned softly against Applejack. “I’m becoming somepony else, I think. Somepony I don’t like. I’m frightened. Old me would never hesitate. She would have jumped up and dealt with the problem. She would have gone into Ponyville and been carefu—”

“Now, Twi,” Applejack began as she stirred. “You know we already put that to rest—”

“No, no we haven’t. The old Twilight wouldn’t be… wouldn’t make Pinkie sad. Or frustrate you like I do. Or be cold to ponies. Not like I have been. Not the Twilight I was in Ponyville.”

Applejack was quiet. Another puff of smoke.

Twilight went on. “I hesitate. Did you know my magic isn’t the same anymore? Have you wondered about that? Because I have. I’ve wondered about it a lot. In Ponyville, the magic I did… that would have been beneath me two years ago. I went from C-Celestia saying how I would be a wonderful grandmage to… to being tired out by a shield spell. A tracker spell makes me winded.”

“Why, you reckon?”

Twilight laughed, but it was without mirth. “Maybe I don’t believe in myself or something stupid like that,” she said, bitingly. “How should I know? Maybe the world is just all wrong now, and I can’t… do the only thing I’m good at. I’m useless.”

Applejack was quiet.

“I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry. Pinkie’s face… I mean, I wasn’t wrong, I don’t think. Did I do that wrong? She shouldn’t have been so free with information.”

“‘Course not.”

Twilight bit her lip. She wished Applejack would say something more than simple affirmations. “I’m just… I don’t know.” But she did.

She was floundering.

It was so clear, wasn’t it? Even more so here, alone in the dark, looking out into these dark woods of confusion. It made sense. It had started when Celestia had left, and it had finally dawned on Twilight that she wasn’t coming back after a month or two.

“The heart just… went out of me,” she said softly. “I’ve been spiralling. Since I knew…”

“Since you knew she wasn’t comin’ back,” Applejack finished. Twilight stared at her, and Applejack continued. “Don’t look so shocked, girl. It ain’t that much of a secret, not to me. I been worried about you for a long time. I’m sorry it don’t… feel like it, but I am. Ya started wiltin’.”

Twilight shivered again. “I had this… this moment today, right before I jumped out of cover. I realized that I really have lost my touch. I realized I could take them all out, Applejack, with your help and with Pinkie’s help. I knew exactly how it could go; I plotted it all out. And I just… sat there. I was paralyzed, just like I was at Ponyville.

“And I’ve been thinking a lot. I’m different now, AJ. I’ve been frozen in place for a year. I never went after her. I thought I was trying to figure it all out, but I was just running away. I have been so bad to you all, and now… I don’t have three of you anymore, and there’s no way to change it. The past just… Time just moved on right past me, and I can’t grasp it. No magic brings that back. I know because I’ve been trying, and even if I was at my old strength, I couldn’t do anything like that.”

“Twi…”

But Twilight was done with silence. She was done with staring into the woods and waiting. “And what is the point? I don’t even know if we’ll make it, Applejack. Even if we do, what if we come back, and it’s all gone? Canterlot burned, Luna… gone, our families gone. Even if that doesn’t happen, we come home and Spike is dead, or he’s changed or… or Fluttershy doesn’t come back. Or Rainbow doesn’t make it, or Rarity dies or is hurt or loses a leg or… Will it all be worth it? Is anything, anymore?” She laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry, but I’m beginning to see why the Mage’s Guild started whispering about me behind my back. The Apostate. I’ll wear that name. It fits.”

“Like hell it does,” Applejack said, and her voice was rough. Twilight backed away, a bit alarmed.

“Like hell it does,” she repeated, and there was fire in more than just her pipe. She released a large puff of smoke, and to Twilight, it was absurdly like a dragon. “That name ain’t ever been fit for ya, and I’ll die ‘fore I ever think of Twilight—our Twilight—as anythin’ but my friend and a good pony.” She spat. “Apostate. I heard ‘em sayin’ it, and it made me sick cause it’s a lie, and you know it is, deep down. We all know it. Twilight doesn’t lose heart. Twilight would never lose heart.”

“Until she did.”

“Except she don’t. You don’t.” She sat up entirely. They faced each other. “Twi, I love ya. You’re like another sister to me, and I know the others feel the same. Yeah, you kinda went off the path. A lot, a whole lot—but you know what? That ain’t the point right now. The past is past, Twi, and we can’t go chasin’ after it. The tide’s all against us.” She groaned. “Look, Twi, I ain’t a philosopher. I’m a farmer without a farm. I’m a simple pony. I ain’t stupid, but I’m just Applejack and whatever that all means. I reckon it don’t mean that much, in the end, but I’ll take it. You’re just Twilight. Not some darn… Apostate nonsense. Twilight Sparkle, librarian.”

“Without a library,” she said softly and sniffled. I would cry like an idiot.

“Same boat, partner,” Applejack said and sighed. She looked down at the pipe with an almost comedic face of sorrow. “Dern pipe’s out again.”

Twilight chuckled, and it sounded strangled. She hated that noise.

“I’m not sayin’ you should just… get over it. I know you lost your faith. In yourself, in Celestia, in life, but I see it sure as sugar. But it don’t have to be that way. I believe in you, even if you don’t believe in you. Ponies make mistakes, Twi. Ponyville… yeah, you made a mistake. Here, you didn’t. You’re over there talkin’ ‘bout how you froze up, but you know what? From where I’m sittin’ I saw a mare who did something brave and bold and jumped up and said, ‘Here I am!’ and was willin’ to take a big risk—and you didn’t have to hurt a single pony. Nopony died. You know how beautiful that is?”

Twilight shrugged and sniffled.

“It’s damn well near perfect, I’d say. Perfect as a Sunday mornin’ with work done. I don’t even know. It’s late,” she added with a chuckle. “Twi, you don’t gotta turn yourself around in one night. I know you ain’t sure ‘bout what I’m saying to you, and that’s okay. Just… know we love you. Rarity and Dash and Fluttershy love ya too. We’re gonna see ‘em again, and we’re gonna see Canterlot again.” She stood and stretched before dumping the burnt ashes from her pipe into the ground. She awkwardly fished the remnants out with the little tool. “Dern hooves,” she said softly, and then continued. “I’m off to bed, Twi, and you should be too. It’s getting late.”

Twilight nodded. “You’re right. We’ve got ground to cover.”

“Miles to go, before we sleep, even,” Applejack said and yawned. “I’ll be damned, but it’s awful late.”

For a moment, she gazed at the door leading back into the unlit room.

“Twilight?” Applejack spoke after a moment. Her easygoing manner was gone.

“Yes?”

“Do you see the firepits when you sleep sometimes?”

Twilight shivered. “Yes.”

“When Gilead was talkin’ ‘bout how we changed—us ponies, I mean—I felt a little knot in my stomach, ‘cause he’s right. We used to be so friendly. So open. I used to smile a lot more, y’know?” She shivered, and Twilight wondered if it was the cold or something else. “It’s why I wanted to talk to these ponies and why I’m always thinking about ponies, Twi. Because if we don’t try, we’ll never be like that again.”

And then, as if awaking from a dream, Applejack shook her head and continued on.

At the doorway, she paused to look back at the Twilight, who sat in the dark with no light.

“Pinkie’s been awake this whole time, by the way. Honestly, Twi, you should be able to tell a fake snore when ya hear one.”

And somewhere inside, Pinkie giggled. And Twilight smiled despite herself. No, she was not convinced, but she felt lighter all the same.

“I guess I should.”

Author's Notes:

Yeah, I know. finally, right?

Editing Credits: randomguyq97, as always.
Also, a new addition: SoPonyWow has come on board to help.

Here's to more, my friends.