The three of them walked up the hill towards the farmhouse. The rain had stopped for a moment, but the clouds were still tempestuous; boiled up grey and black, broken, the sky between the bleak yellow that foretold storms to come. About halfway, Big Macintosh stopped. "I'm presumin' y'all are lookin' for Applejack," he said softly.

"You got it in one," Pinkamena said. "What's the problem then?"

"I think I know where she is," he said. "But I think y'all ought to let Fluttershy and me go fetch her." He shuffled a bit. It was surprising how such a large stallion could look so meek. "I don't think this one's gonna be one you can fix with that fryin' pan of yours."

Pinkamena started to snark about it, but something in the stallion's eye made her reconsider. "All right," she said. "And what do you want me to do in the meanwhile?"

Big Mac ruminated on this. "Seein' as Granny Smith was as right as rain yesterday, I figure whatever's layin' her low today is the work of that Toxic Ny-heel-ist you were talking about." He looked at her. "If'n you could try and help her like you helped Fluttershy an' me, I'd appreciated it." He winced and touched his hoof to a spot between his ears tenderly. "Without th' application of cooking implements to the noggin, if possible?" he added.

"Ah. That'd be the center room, North side, top floor?" Pinkamena asked.

"Ayep. How'd ya guess?"

Pinkamena pointed. "By the buzzards flocking around the window," she said. There were several large, black, scraggly looking birds clinging to the raingutters and windowsill, staring into the window. They were presumably vultures, either really large crows or really small buzzards, really. They were so bedraggled and mangy it was hard to tell. They looked like the kind of birds you saw in the footage of oil spill disasters.

"Okayyyyy," Pinkamena said. "This should be interesting. All right, I'll go help Granny, and you two--" she paused, looking over to see Fluttershy nuzzling her way into Big Macintosh's neck like she intended to stay there for life. She gave the stallion an 'oh please' look. "You try and pull Applejack out of her funk. If you can focus that long." Macintosh shot her an awkward grin. "It's up to you, Macintosh, 'cause Fluttershy is a natural-born crying towel. Don't sit there and cry along with her; that'll just drag you in. Just take it careful, remind Applejack of the things that make her happy, and be persistent. Got it?"

"Got it," Macintosh said.

"Good." Pinkamena turned and headed for the house. "...Schmoopy Doo." Macintosh glared after her, but said nothing.

Pinkamena entered the quiet house. It was dimly lit, and the air hung still and lifeless inside. There was an atmosphere in the place, the kind one found hanging in the air at a funeral... or when people in the home were waiting for someone to die.

Applebloom was in the living room, curled up on the couch, crying. Her red ribbon had been replaced with a black one, and she was staring blankly at an open photo album on the table, tears trickling down her cheeks. Pinkamena looked over her shoulder; the album was open to pictures of a much younger Granny Smith, and a rough-edged stallion Pinkamena assumed was Grandpa Apple.

Applebloom looked up at Pinkamena listlessly, then went back to staring at the album.

"Applebloom? Where's Granny?" Pinkamena asked.

Applebloom snuffled and hucked. "Up- up stairs, in huh-her room. The doctors say it won't be l-long...."

Pinkamena pulled out her mini-microphone. "Further note: the Gloom is getting nasty. Got a full blown Death Watch vortex here at the Apple farm, one juvenile in the middle. Moving to unwind it now. Step two...." Get Applebloom out first? No. that wouldn't work.  It took a sick mind to make a child attend a Death Watch. Death Watches were brutal to children Applebloom's age; they were old enough to understand death and to know they were losing somepony they cared about, but didn't have the strength or experience to deal with it. Their own innocence made for a feedback loop of pathos that made the Death Watch Vortex suck(1) a hundred times harder. She could spend a week pulling Applebloom out of the morass over and over, only to have her fall right back in, making it stronger each time.

Protocol was that you dealt with the cause of the Death Watch first. Pinkie spoke into the microphone. "Moving to shift the center of the Vortex: Granny Smith."

Pinkamena crept up the stairs. A "Doctor" was waiting in the hallway. he wore a white coat and stethoscope and a mirror on a strap on his head like a cartoon physician, and looked like a ghoul-- the very embodiment of medical care devoid of hope or comfort. "It won't be long now," he said... apparently one of his pre-scripted responses.

Pinkamena kicked him in the nuts as she passed, just for practice.

She gently hoofed open the door to Granny Smith's bedroom. Granny was there, lying in her bed, covers up to her chin. her head was turned away from the door, and she was looking at the open window where the black, cadaverous birds were watching. One had gotten bold enough to step onto the windowsill and poke its beak inside; it retreated in a flurry of greasy black feathers when Pinkamena stepped in the doorway.

She could hear Granny faintly mumbling and moaning to herself, a mournful, hopeless litany. "Granny?" Pinkamena said.

"Pinkie, child, is that you?" Granny quavered. She didn't turn her head or take her eyes off the window, or the birds of doom lurking  just outside it. "Come here child, so I can see you." Obediently Pinkamena came into the room.

She stepped around the bed, putting herself in between Granny and the window so the poor old mare didn't have to look at the feathered death harbingers. "I'm here Granny Smith. Are you okay?"

"Oh, it is you, Pinkie," Granny said. She looked haggard and drawn, shrunken in on herself under the covers. "I'm afraid I'm not long for this world, Pinkie. My time has come."

"Nonsense," Pinkamena said firmly. "You got decades in you yet."

"No no no, child," Granny Smith quavered. "The grave is waiting for me, and that long, black train isn't going to wait any longer." Her voice got fainter. She looked up at Pinkamena beseechingly. "Help me, Pinkie... It's so cold and it's gettin' dark..." her voice quavered.

Pinkamena tucked the blankets up around Granny's chin. This was bad. If things got grimdark enough it really could kill her. "Pinkie, come close," Granny said faintly. "There's something I need to ask you to do..."

Pinkie leaned over the bed. "Yes?"

"When they bury me... when poor Macintosh and Applejack bury me..." Pinkie leaned in closer.

There was a twinkle in the old mare's eye. "Tell 'em to plant me arse up so Applebloom kin park her bicycle." Pinkamena found herself suddenly staring down the length of a double barreled shotgun.

"DROP!"

Pinkamena's eyes went round as saucers and she hit the floor. There was a thunderous BOOM and the air filled with gunpowder smoke and scorched feathers. Squawks of alarm and rage came from outside; Pinkamena heard the wretched birds flapping off. There was a clack and two empty shotgun shells dropped to the floor. Pinkie sat up slowly, shaking her head to get rid of the ringing in her ears. Granny was sitting up in bed, calmly reloading her shotgun from a box of shells she'd pulled from under her pillow. "Got one o' the bastids," she said. "Thank ye fer givin me cover there. Thought I was gonna have ta wait for that un to come all the way to the foot uv the bed."

Pinkamena looked Granny over. "You're--"

"Not whammied like every'un else?" Granny finished for her. "No, child. I knew somethin' was up when the whole world started goin' bleak. Mind, first I thought it wuz just me-- felt so miserable and sad, worse'n sad, like I'd never feel happy again." She shuddered, and snapped the shotgun closed. "Then I saw everypony was actin' the way I felt and I knew somethin' was up. I been through Discord's little mind-meddling shenanigans, and run into a few more ugly critters like him besides. I know what it feels like when someone starts pokin' around in my brain. Is it Discord again?"

Pinkamena decided to keep it simple. "No. But something like him." She looked at the window. "So the buzzards...?"

"Them ain't buzzards," Granny snorted. "Whatever is doin' this is sendin' em. Seed 'em lurkin' all over the place, hangin' around some ponies, just oozing misery all over, makin' everypony feel worse, snuffin' every bit o' happiness out. Especially the older folk. Old ponies' home in town looks like a rookery."

"So why didn't you cave in?"

Granny gave an even bigger snort. " Whoever's runnin' this thing is dumber'n a bucket of horseapples. Long as I've lived? I been through more bad times and heartbreak and loss than the next five ponies. This whoever-he-is thinks that bein' old makes me weak? HAH!"

"Figures. You're more resistant," Pinkamena said.

Granny laughed. "Oh lord no child. I ain't immune to hurtin.' But I've learned t' find the joy on the other side of th' pain. Life's full of joy. If I live, I git to see my grandchildren's children. If I die tomorrow, I'll be together with my dear Johnny-- and watchin' 'em from the Forever Fields." Her expression softened. "I ain't gonna give in to despair. It's silly and I ain't got time to waste on it."

She blinked and went back to her no-nonsense tone. "Anyhoo, I saw how them Misery Buzzards were lurkin' round old farts like me, so I came back here and set up this little turkey shoot. I figger every one buggin' me is another pony bein' left in peace." Her face rumpled in contempt. "They'll be back. Dumb buggers can't stay away from a geezer who's boo-hooin' her heart out, and they got a memory span lahk a ferret on uppers." She tucked the loaded shotgun under the blanket next to her.

Pinkamena gave her a cockeyed grin. "I knew there was a reason I liked you so much, Granny," she said.

"Go on, you," Granny said, chuckling. "Get my grandchildren outta here an' out from under this dang cloud. I'll hold the fort here."

Pinkamena nodded and trotted out the door. After a moment's thought she stuck her head back in the door. Granny was pulling the blankets back up to her chin. "Granny! Thought you might wanna know-- Big Mac and Fluttershy. They're a pair now."

"Really?" the old mare beamed. "Hah! About time the boy got his gumption up. A pegasus, how bout that? Looks like I'll be pickin' my great grandchildren out of the tree branches!" Granny cackled as she settled herself back in to her ambush nest.

Pinkamena heard her start up her moaning. "Oh, poor me, I'm just a lone, lorn creechur... that's it, come peek in the winder, jest a little closer, y' bastid..."

Pinkamena snerked and headed down the stairs.

Things had gotten grimmer in the living room. Little Applebloom was now in a black mourning dress, and dark blurry shadows, the outlines of adult ponies, moved about the room as if gathering for a wake. "Come on, Applebloom." she said, picking the filly up and putting her over her back. "I think you need to get outside."

"Is Granny... Is Granny--?" Applebloom said sadly.

"What? Taking a nap? Sure," Pinky said. "She'll be up later today."

Applebloom looked confused. The black of her hairbow faded to a dark burgundy. "Just-- just a nap?"

"Well, not exactly napping," Pinkamena averred as they stepped out on the porch. "She's sitting up-- practicing her new hobby."

"New hobby?" Applebloom was incredulous.

BOOM! BOOM!

There was a sound like a chicken dying in agony and an enormous dead bird the size of a turkey plummeted out of the sky. It landed with a thump right at Pinkamena's hooves, feathers smoking faintly and its feet sticking comically into the air.

"Bird watching," Pinkamena said.

Applebloom gawked at the dead bird, her eyes like saucers. Pinkamena waited to see what her ultimate reaction would be.

"Nailed yer, ya crud-buzzard!" Granny Smith's voice echoed down from the upstairs window.

Typically, one would expect the tiny pony to be horrified at the death of an 'innocent' creature. But this was Ponyville. Applebloom was a farm filly who lived literally on the edge of the Everfree forest, and not every nasty creature that came out of the Everfree got dealt with through Fluttershy's tender ministrations.(2) Besides, when you've been through something terrible, the strangest things can be funny.

She saw the bird lying there, arse up like a mauled feather duster, and snerked. She quickly covered her mouth with a mortified look. Snickers exploded from behind Applebloom's hooves. "I'm an awful pony," she said, half horrified at herself.

"That's okay, so am I," Pinkamena  grinned.

Pinkamena looked back at Applebloom; her grin turned into an evil smirk. "And now, an imitation." She held up her forehooves and flapped them at the wrists like bird wings. "Caw Caw, BLAM, CRAP, I'M DEAD!"

That did it. Applebloom squealed with laughter.

The moment the filly laughed, the remains of the Misery Buzzard promptly deflated like a football and disintegrated, leaving nothing but a pile of rancid feathers. Applebloom's hair ribbon bloomed back to its normal color.  Pinkamena trotted off in the direction Macintosh and Fluttershy had gone, a giggling Applebloom draped across her back. "Come on, Applebloom, let's go fetch your brother and sister and future sister in law."

"Sister in law??"

Behind them the feathers turned to dust.

1)In all senses of the word

2)For that matter most would be disturbed to learn How many times Fluttershy had handed out the lethal smackdown herself. In a choice between her chickens and some vicious bloodsucking creature that looked like something fished out of the sink trap, she came down on the side of the chickens.