Call to ...Adventure?

Suffice to say, Rarity ...arranges that she will meet with Ace, whilst I shall play with my friends, for some very broad definition of “play” and (unbeknownst to anypony but me) some very broad definition of “my”. I’m sure I’ll be able to tell Rarity the truth, if I can just see Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, and make sure that they’re ...there, and they’re okay, and not going to abandon poor Sweetie Belle or anything. I just don’t want her to end up like I did. I’m being... charitable! Yeah, charitable. That’s what I’ll tell the judge.

It’s a pretty day, this afternoon. There are some clouds in the sky, but they’re being... ferried around into a pretty sparse pattern. I still can’t comprehend how pegasi could possibly control the weather, of all things. See it right in front of me, and it’s still hard to swallow. The air is crystal clear, and almost smells even sweet. The sunlight has such a delightful feel to it, that it makes my experience in the Badlands feel comparatively like a terrible burning ordeal. It wasn’t, but this sunlight just feels really good. It makes me really appreciate being naked. My front hooves in my vision are folded before me, atop the lush back of my sister Rarity, who ferries me toward the mysterious location of the CMC. I don’t spend a lot of time looking at myself though, since there is so much around me to see.

The markets are in full force at this point. It seems like there’s one at every block. The warm mumble of pony voices talking with each other and interacting. It is shopping, admittedly. But it’s a lot more interactive, and less dehumanizing than shopping usually is. The most advertising they have is a sign with a picture of what they’re selling, and... letters I can’t read bordering it. The closest they have to plastic smiles and cheap goods dripping with suffering and painted lies, is the occasional gruff exchange, where one pony disagrees with the other over the value of something.

Rarity seems to think I have an anxiety problem with being around other ponies while I’m a helpless little unicorn filly (go figure) so we only pass by the market on our way to the playground, and we don’t stop there or shop there or buy anything. And despite my resolution to never let anypony start touching me inappropriately, since I might not want them to stop, I do feel a yearning to go into those crowds and just... mingle. Run about their feet I guess, considering my height.

Scootaloo and Apple Bloom are at what Rarity refers to as “the playground” though as we approach it, I’m really not sure whether I would call it much of a playground. It’s really not much to speak of, I mean. I find myself keenly aware of the conspicuous lack of a jungle gym for instance, not anywhere to be seen in the broad open expanse of green grass bordered by a peaceful looking woods. There is a swing-set, with a couple of foals on it: one sitting human style, and one standing... on the swing seat. A few hurdles that nobody’s messing with. And, a tether ball.

No pony is playing with the tether ball, for obvious reasons: there’s a unicorn foal who looks just like Dinky, sitting there with the saddest look on her face for obvious reasons: a deflated tetherball impaled on her horn, and a handful of other foals stalking away with grumpy, dissatisfied expressions on their muzzles. There’s an open book on the green, which a few foals are laying around, while the smaller one reads it aloud. I can also see that adorable pair of fillies... Cheery, and I forget the yellow one, each with one end of a jump rope in their mouths, skipping it around for ponies to jump in, just like in the show.

There’s a couple foals trying out that jump rope, but the majority of younger ponies here are just, walking calmly around in pairs, or small groups, talking with each other in muted tones. One of those pairs looks just like Ruby Pinch and... I forget her name, but the filly with the green hair. Another pair is oh hey it’s Scootaloo and Apple Bloom.

It all looks kind of boring, honestly. Was this really how the show portrayed it?

Upon seeing Rarity, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo run up, and somehow in unison shout, “Hi Rarity and Sweetie Belle!”

“Hello girls!” Rarity says pleasantly, “I’m sorry I had to co-opt poor Sweetie Belle here for the past day, but thanks to your patience, she has since greatly improved!” They grin brightly at the news, and the praise, while I peer down at the two of them from my position laying atop my sister, who is big enough that their heads barely come up to the level of my belly.

“Can she walk?” Scootaloo asks, hopping excitedly in place with her little wings buzzing. Boy does that make my ears go down hard.

“Erm, well,” Rarity prevaricates, yet saves me from having to answer, “No, not just yet. But she wished to show you something, and I would greatly appreciate if you could watch each other for the next few hours or so.”

Apple Bloom droops disappointedly at the mention of watching me, saying “But if she caint walk, then how are we gonna go to the–”

Apple Bloom pauses then, and looks around suspiciously. Rearing up to put her hooves on Rarity’s shoulder, Apple Bloom stretches her neck up, whispering into Rarity’s ear: “Top secret clubhouse.”

Oh man I have to play with them now. The clubhouse!

“Hrm...” Rarity says noncomittally, shifting sideways as Apple Bloom pushes off of her to return back to all fours on the ground, then rubbing her chin in thought. It’s too bad I couldn’t keep a wheelchair from the hospital. They could carry me around on that, then, until I learn to walk. Not that those flimsy wheelchairs really looked good for carrying anything around outside of a hospital hallway. Especially on these roads, which seem to be either hard packed dirt or an array of pastel flat cobblestones, according to how prominent that road is in town. Oh, wait!

“Don’t you have a little red wagon, Scootaloo?” I point out brightly, stretching a hoof to wave in Scootaloo’s direction with some effort, from way atop Mt. Rarity. “I could sit in that, if we need to go somewhere!”

Scootaloo’s eyes brighten right up at my words. “Of course!” Scootaloo cheers, then dashes off quick as a flash in the direction of the... oh huh, the school house is right over there. I didn’t even see us approaching it, but the school house is over there at the other end of this weak sauce playground. Oh! This playground looks more familiar to me now. I think the school did have a playground right next to it.

I sort of want to explore the school house too, but... as the most dementedly space warping building in all of Equestria, even I’m a little leery of that place. I just eyeball Scootaloo running into it all innocently and without concern for noneuclidean horrors, presumably to fetch her wagon.

“Thanks for coming, Sweetie Belle!” Apple Bloom says happily beneath me, almost dragging a smile out of me.

“It’s no problem,” I say looking down at her, “I really wanted to come too.”

Then Apple Bloom says, “And thank you Rarity!” I don’t get why at first, but Apple Bloom explains on her own, saying, “We’re missin’ a piece without her around, and we were worried if she was okay.”

“I’m fine,” I assert hastily, “I just had a lot of boring stuff to do so I can walk again one day.”

“Well, now you got us to play with!” Apple Bloom shouts up, with a glance to the school house. “Or at least me,” she admits.

“Do you think she’ll make it?” I ask with a thoughtful look at that red building, getting a “Huh?” from Apple Bloom in response.

“Never mind. There she is,” I chirp snarkily, leading Apple Bloom with my hoof to look up and over where Scootaloo has emerged from the schoolhouse, along with a tied together assembly of her iconic scooter and that little red wagon that I’ve seen her cart around the CMC with. It’s definitely big enough for the two of us to sit in, and then some. It’s easy to imagine it full of fabric and fans and stuff, like the time we— like when Sweetie and the others did their talent show.

Once Scootaloo is back with the wagon, Rarity assists me in the dismount just like the oh-so-perfect big sister that she is. I will totally tell her everything after I– um... make sure everything is okay... with the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I slide off her back and—on my way to a crumpled heap beside her, I somehow manage to catch myself! My hoof remains firmly against Rarity’s warm, plush flank, just the way I practiced with Ace. Uhhhhh except it was most certainly not ever on his warm plush flank.

I still crumple into a heap mind you, but that hoof grip on (in?) Rarity’s side lets me pull myself up to get my other three legs under me, before I pull away from her and stand steadily on four. It’s my best dismount yet!

“Sweetie you fixed your hooves!” Scootaloo exclaims perceptively, both her and Apple Bloom looking me up and down while I stand there.

“Yeah, kind of,” I modestly offer to them, “I want tell you all about it, but first Rarity has to get to a um...”

“...meeting...” I say very reluctantly.

“There’s no rush, darling,” Rarity says casually, “It’s not quite time yet. But I will leave you three alone to get caught up together. There’s always more to be done at the shop!” She says that in a positively pleased tone, even walking off a few paces at the thought before looking back questioningly.

“Okay Rarity!” I say, waving, and then wobbling, and then waving at her. “Bye Rarity!”

She smiles almost gratefully, exclaiming “Good bye, Sweetie!” and happily trots off away from the playground. I only get to watch her blurple tail recede from us for a few seconds, before Apple Bloom and Scootaloo are right there in my face, just chock full of questions.

“Are your hooves fixed now?”

“What was physical therapy like?”

“Why didn’t you practice walking instead of hooves?”

“Are you hungry? We just ate but”

“Can you use magic yet?”

My response is pretty clear, if noncommunicative. With them both looming in my face, I just sort of slip off balance, sinking to my fluffy little butt on the ground. They pull back then, and at least Scootaloo blushes, saying simply “Oh, heh heh.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Apple Bloom mumbles, her and Scootaloo sharing a guilty glance at how their friend is clearly not at peak performance because of something they did, and now because of their mess which they think is all their fault I’m not feeling comfortable around them. I should tell them. I really should tell them....

I stand up again, feeling my tail curl up merrily into the air behind me. With a hopefully not too eager smile I say, “How about we talk about it at the clubhou–”

Apple Bloom sticks a hoof in my mouth. “Shh!” she hisses at me, “It’s Top. Secret!”

I nod obediently, unable to say yes with her hoof still stuck in my mouth. Good grief this feels weird. She retracts her hoof then, and says, “Well come on, git up into that there wagon. You need any help?”

“No, I–” I look at the wagon thoughtfully, “I should be fine. Let me just...” I can’t exactly coordinate walking, but the wagon is not even a pace away, so I just lurch forward enough that I can catch my front hooves firmly on the lip of its wall. From there, it’s a simple matter to pull the rest of me in it. Seated like this in that wagon, with my bountiful tail pushed to curl around my side, and my hooves folded under me, I must look sort of like a half pony, half automobile.

The moment doesn’t last; Apple Bloom jumps in the wagon next to me, using her hindquarters to shove mine off to the side, getting herself comfortable next to me. She then says, “Here you go, Sweetie!” unceremoniously jamming a helmet on my head. I barely have time to register the flick of her cherry red hair as Apple Bloom twists her head under my chin, and I feel her mouth grab the belt on the helmet and pull it tight, cinching up right against me.

“Thanks um... I think?” I say after a moment, reaching up to fiddle curiously with the helmet on my head. Then my face starts to thin with worry, because my fiddling around is finding a distinct lack of a something. “Wait, what happened to my horn?” I ask worriedly. I can’t pull the helmet off with the strap tied. Is my horn wedged under it? It doesn’t seem big enough, but I can’t see what’s on my own head!

Apple Bloom laughs, explaining “It’s under the helmet field too, silly. Don’t worry yer head about it.” Before I can ask her to explain her explanation, Scootaloo takes off with the wagon in tow behind her scooter, and I get to learn why the Cutie Mark Crusaders wearing helmets is not a hamfisted safety lesson, one that only accomplishes making children feel like special snowflakes, without actually improving anyone’s safety at all. No, this isn’t anything like that. It turns out at Scootaloo’s pace, this helmet is very, very necessary.

I think I’m going to die.

The landscape whizzes past us too swiftly to see. My heart is in my throat as every bump makes me feel like I’m going to meet my grisly end, crashing terminally into a broken heap on the unforgiving earth. Apple Bloom is shouting something and laughing, but I can’t make out her words in the wind. Scootaloo’s wings are loud as a buzz saw, making me regret ever appreciating the quiet of this town. And then we go up a ramp, and into the air.

It would have been fine, if Scootaloo had successfully executed her trick, but she obviously didn’t account for some rotational factor, because the wagon turns on its axis in its flight. For a breathless moment, the entire wagon is tilting sideways while I struggle not to just fall out of it. Then it slams sideways into the dirt, catapulting me and Apple Bloom screaming into the air.

And I can’t stop from landing directly on my head, bouncing off the ground and still rotating in the air, then landing on my back, skipping on my stomach with a huff, and then head first into a tree before I come to a stop.

“What was that Scootaloo?” Apple Bloom shouts behind me from somewhere beyond the ephemeral aether, as I struggle to stand up and turn to face them. I seem to be having trouble getting my eyes to both point in the same direction for some strange reason.

“Heh... sorry I... I sort of forgot the wagon was back there,” Scootaloo mumbles, scraping the ground sheepishly. My eyes at last resolve her standing there apologetically, in front of a furious Apple Bloom. We’ve barely gotten to the edge of town, it looks like. The hills that Sweet Apple Acres delves into are behind us, somewhat beyond the tree I’m standing next to, the tree I ...ran into! I ran into a tree head first! And I’m feeling worriedly numb to any pain, all over my body. I try to keep my neck very still. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo have already returned to the wagon, completely unconcerned for me, clustered around the wrecked wagon/scooter assembly. I can’t exactly go over there because I don’t want to fall at this point, since I have got to have a head injury after that. I have to get their attention though!

“What’s...” I gulp, blinking incomprehendingly. “What’s going on?” I call over to them more loudly.

“Scootaloo thinks she’s all tricky on that scooter of hers,” Apple Bloom whines back snippishly, “But she still has a lot to learn!”

“I said I was sorry!” Scootaloo snarls self consciously.

“You’ll be sorry,” Apple Bloom snaps back at her, giving her a dangerous look.

“Wait!” I shout desperately. “What are you... are you two okay?!” The two of them just glance away from each other guiltily, so I add “I just hit a tree! I think my head might be hurt!”

Apple Bloom blinks at that, and trots over to me, followed closely by Scootaloo. “Really?” Apple Bloom says in a puzzled tone, eyeballing me uncertainly, “It wasn’t that bad a spill. Where does it hurt?”

“It...i-it doesn’t but,” I spout flabbergastedly, “I– the tree! And the, and I bounced! And the ground head first and”

“Sheesh Sweetie,” Scootaloo says abrasively, “You’re acting like you forgot you have a helmet on!”

“Yeah, we might disagree but we’d never do anything real dangerous,” Apple Bloom agrees with a sympathetic nod toward Scootaloo.

“I...” I should be realizing that ponies are like indestructable or something, and just call it magic and leave it at that. But the sheer terror of flying around like that has me feeling like I should be hurt, making it near impossible to wrap my head around the fact that I’m not. I just don’t know what to say. So I just stand there silently at them in the shade of the tree, making my little green retard helmet look very appropriate and fitting while on my head.

Scootaloo shakes her head at me, and trots off over to the wagon, lifting it up and dragging it upside down. “Aw man!” Scootaloo exclaims in a disappointed um, whinny, and it’s clear why she does so. One of the wagon wheels is sort of hanging askew, and the back axle looks bent. The wagon itself looks broken, rather than just the broken scooter hitch. I can’t really see in more detail though, from way over here. Did I mention I don’t know how to walk?

“It’s busted...” Scootaloo says squatting there, down to her wagon, almost... tearfully?

“Relax,” Apple Bloom nickers to her chipperly, trotting back over to Scootaloo, to put a hoof on the shoulder of the quivering pegasus, “We’ll just give it to Ms. Wheely and she’ll have it fixed up in no time.”

“Yeah, but,” Scootaloo says with a sniff, throwing her hoof in my direction, “Now how do we get Sweetie Belle to the clubhouse?”

“You foals alright?” a bright pink mare with a bubbly yellow—oh my gosh it’s the rocket pony! Some pony who looks just like Cherry Berry is walking up to us at a slow pace. Well, up to them, at any rate. I sort of tumbled off to the side, and still can’t run back to where the wagon lies.

I lift a hoof. I really would like to just run over there... I wonder if I could. I should try...

“We’re fine,” Scootaloo says unconcernedly. “...but this wagon is totaled!” she adds more concernedly, gesturing at the bottom of it.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Cherry says in a melodic alto, “Why don’t you show it to Wheely Bop? I bet she can do something about it.”

I’d really like to ask Cherry if she really is a pilot, or balloon operator, or sky pirate or something, but I don’t want to embarass Scootaloo. Plus I would have to shout it out from way over here, if I can’t figure out how to walk over. Warily, I put a hoof down in front of me. I try to do the thing with the ground, and also thinking about balancing with my tail, but I’m also distracted from trying to walk by their conversation.

“That’s what I’m going to do,” Scootaloo says in a puzzled tone, looking up at Cherry from where the filly squats at Cherry’s hooves beside her upturned wagon, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“‘Totaled’ is only when there’s no saving it,” Cherry explains to Scootaloo with a half smile. I hope her name’s Cherry, or I’ll be thinking about this all wrong. It’s going to bother me until I find out, but isn’t that true of every pony I don’t know yet?

“You only say ‘totaled’,” Cherry continues to explain, “If it would be harder to fix, than to build a new one. Because then it’s total-y broken.”

“O-oh, right I knew that,” Scootaloo says with an embarassed grimace, that might have passed off as a smile. “Totalalmosted...” she tries. “Tittled?” I fight back a snort.

“Broke,” Cherry answers bluntly, “is probably what you should tell her.” She backs off from the clearly unharmed filly now that the crisis passed, and with a casual, “Anyway if you’re alright I have to get–”

“Do you balloon?!” I blurt out precariously before she can walk away down the road. That... didn’t come out right. Cherry looks over to me with a questioning eyebrow. I just blush and crouch to the ground where I stand. Scootaloo pats Cherry on the withers with a hoof attracting her attention, saying,

“Don’t mind her. She’s ‘special’.”

There is absolutely no way to dispute that. When Cherry Berry or whoever she is walks over to me, I tense up self consciously. Am I really retarded? I broke my brain, didn’t I! Up close, Cherry is in absolutely fantastic shape, presumably from her ballooning or the like. Her flank is smooth and tight, without prominent muscles in her hindquarters, but just glowing with the healthy shine of indomitable life. She’s slimmer than the Sandy mare was, but maybe a little taller. Or maybe it’s just me being so short. Oh god she’s standing right in front of me. I don’t even know what to say to her. Stop blushing, stupid face!

“I can’t be the only pony who’s applying for a balloon license,” Cherry says evenly, while I look up at her around those ridiculous bangs in my vision, feeling caught between anxiety and perplexion. “But yeah,” she answers solemnly down to me, “I balloon.” Without another word, Cherry just turns on her hooves and walks away, speeding up to a trot as she leaves us, to continue down the road further into town. I just kind of stare after her uncomprehendingly, at a logical exchange that I understood perfectly well, while having no idea what the heck a response like that meant.

During my little preoccupation watching Cherry Berry trotting off, Scootaloo has risen underneath the upturned wagon like some sort of pony turtle, trotting herself over to me, with the handle dragging in the dirt behind her. “Hey, you mind waiting here while I go fix this?” Scootaloo asks from under the wagon, “I know you wanted to go to the clubhouse, but...”

“It’s fine,” I say not entirely disappointedly. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty of chances to see it ...later.” I hate lying to them, but I just can’t tell them I won’t be able to see it later. After I tell Rarity, I just... even if I can stay Sweetie Belle for a little longer, I don’t think she’ll even let them be around me, with what a dangerous predator they’ll see me as. And Apple Bloom and Scootaloo won’t want to be around me, either. Not when I’m just some stranger who inexplicably and creepily knows them as a friend.

So Scootaloo trots off with her wagon, bumping into ponies and fenceposts on her way before she figures a way to look underneath the lip of the thing. She’s clearly well familiar with whatever is the location of this strange OC pony named Wheely. Apple Bloom meanwhile walks up to where I’m sitting in the shade. Her movements attract my attention to look to the side at her, when her rump descends unceremoniously to sit by me, then she slides to a sideways half laying position.

It’s so cool seeing ponies move like this. The muscles and the articulation, and the... the solidness of seeing someone’s body shifting before your eyes. The stolid gaits of the ponies who pass us by have real weight, in their clopping along the beaten dirt path, except the ones who are flying of course. All this clopping and plodding around just makes it seem so much more real than even my fondest daydream. There is just no way I could make this shit up.

It’s surprising how far Scootaloo had managed to take us before wiping out. The place we are is a good ways towards the edge of town. We never crossed the railroad tracks ...I think... so we must have been going along parallel to them. I can see the playground far in the distance, but only because it’s up on a hill, along with the bright red schoolhouse. Behind it, there seems to be a wood of some sort, trees from which the building emerges vibrantly. It’s down a path from there that we descended into town and descended into wagon disaster.

There isn’t much I can see of town itself, beyond what I see down the street leading to the school house hill. There are two large buildings blocking most of my view, of the ubiquitous construction in Ponyville, what appears to be a white stucco, yet with oaken wood frames supporting it. The houses appear to be residences, or at least there aren’t any store signs that I can see. Behind me, past the stand of trees we’re sitting under, there are a few more houses, and what look to be more trees beyond that.

Fitting that when we randomly crash, we end up just in a random location in Ponyville.

But more importantly than anything, there are ponies. Ponies walking or trotting down the streets. Carrying things in their mouths. Sporting large feathery hats occasionally, but otherwise totally nude. Ponies talking with each other, and interacting. Going into buildings, bending down before the many gardens and carefully tended plots of land interspersed seamlessly between the buildings and the roads.

The gentle tones of their conversations filter through my ears, no discernible words but an immense sense of comfort nonetheless. Occasionally a pegasus swoops down or flutters up into the sky, but mostly they seem to remain up in the air moving clouds about. This isn’t an empty, desolate town. Nopony’s hiding inside in fear, and nopony seems at all in contempt of social contact with others.

Perhaps Cranky Doodle is holed up in his house alone, banging Matilda and rejecting the rest of the world, but here in Equestria, in Ponyville at least, people like him are the exception, not the rule. I see these ponies just going about their ordinary lives, and where once I held no hope, I can’t help but feel like maybe I won’t have to be alone anymore. Even though it’s not true.

As if to prove a point, Apple Bloom stays with me, keeping me from being alone, and we sit there together beneath the shade of the tree that I ...rammed into. Our helmets are placed off to the side, so our bountiful hair can flow freely in the breeze. And my horn can point stiffly, for what that’s worth. I still don’t understand how it fits underneath that helmet. It doesn’t look like a magic helmet, just an ordinary piece of plastic covered foam with a chin strap.

Apple Bloom’s hair is not quite as bountiful as, um, mine, and she reattaches her bow, so it’s not flowing as freely as it could be. But I think she feels as good as I do, resting here in the warm shade. When it comes in fits and flurries, I can feel the gentle breeze all over the soft fur on my body, teasing at my hair and tail. Along my shoulders, down my flank and... I still haven’t gotten used to being outside and naked all the time. But it feels really good, and not just in a sexual way.

“So, what was physical therapy like?” Apple Bloom asks at length, turning to me and tenting her ears curiously. The giant bow framing her head shifts as she does so, and I have to hold back a squee(ak?). It’s just so adorable and eye catching, yet not glaring. Apple Bloom’s hair and coat colors would clash so badly on their own, if not for that pink to soften it. I want to ask if that’s intentional on her part, or if in her world it’s just a happy accident, and the only planning that ever took place was in DHX Media. But... oh yeah, I’ve got to answer her question before I can ask any of my own.

“They have a room like a gymnasium, sort of,” I try describing, not sure how much Apple Bloom here knows about this sort of thing. She knows what a gymnasium, is right? She smiles slightly at my answer, the tip of her tail waving merrily on the ground, seemingly unnoticed by her. It doesn’t look like Apple Bloom is lost, so I just continue, “With a big mirror on the wall. And the doctor took me through exercises, but with blocks and stuff, since I couldn’t hold hooves with him directly.”

“What was the doctor like?” Apple Bloom asks, and in hindsight she may have had a bit of a secret smile, totally unnoticed by myself.

“He was amazing,” I instead say, cluelessly, “He was so strong, and his hooves were so big, and everything he said was funny! He was really smart too. And he had mutton chops!”

Apple Bloom is outright smiling now and I do notice with worry, before her smile falters and she says, “Wait, what the hay are mutton chops?”

Oops.

Well see, Apple Bloom. First you take one of those friendly sheep you put in pens, then you cut its throat, and wait until it passes out from blood loss. Then you hang the probably dead body up by its hind legs on a hook, to let all the blood run out onto the floor, and when you use a bone saw to take a cross section of its uh...

“It’s a kind of moustache,” I say simply.

“And you held hooves with him?” Apple Bloom then presses, with a bonified shit eating grin.

“Ohh no,” I cut her off, my eyes wide, “It’s not what you think.” It totally is what you think.

“But you did?” Apple Bloom says persistently, getting right up into my face.

“Just...

one hoof,” I admit. How is she stretching her neck all the way out–

“Y’sure are shy around stallions now!” Apple Bloom says, pulling back to her more compact self with a laugh. “What’s up with that, anyway?”

I just stare at the ground, still kind of weirded out by yet another thing that shouldn’t have been physically possible, while also trying to think up something to tell her that won’t incriminate me, or let her know that I actually

enjoyed holding his hoof. After a while of my silence, Apple Bloom whuffs in a more sympathetic tone,

“Hey, it’s okay Sweetie. Ah don’t mean to bother you. Wanna hear what we did this morning?”

I look up and over at that, and find myself meeting Apple Bloom’s gaze again. It’s still thrilling to be eye to eye with her. She’s just... sitting on the grass right next to me, all innocent and ordinary and yet, it should be impossible to even see something like this. Like two feet away from me is a little pony out of a delightful television show. I could reach a hoof out and touch her, and she wouldn’t vanish, and there would be no screen in my way. Nothing but ordinary if very healthy looking grass, then an impossible pony. In fact, no. It’s more like impossible pony, then grass, then pony, because I am right out of the show too.

“S-sure,” I say, a bit shakily at her hopeful gaze.

“Well!” Apple Bloom brightens up right away, leaning in my direction again, albeit a bit more concertingly. “You weren’t available, so after ah got my morning chores done, me and Scootaloo went and visited that junkyard out of town!”

“That doesn’t sound...” I respond, trailing off uncertainly.

“A’course it ain’t safe!” Apple Bloom laughs. “That’s why we never did it before! But it was just me an’ Scootaloo, so nopony cared much if it was safe. Anyway, we found a thingamajig that still all lit up even though it was junked, and it was real cool. But then the groundskeeper finds out because it’s all flashy an’ stuff, and we got run straight out!”

“You should care if it’s safe, though,” I tell her worriedly, “Don’t you care about yourself?”

“Sure I do...” Apple Bloom says a bit too tentatively, glancing to the side. “But sometimes,” she continues more strongly, “You just gotta take the reins, instead of pulling the cart. You’ll waste away doing nothin’ if you never take any chances!”

“Okay, as long as you care about yourself,” I say with reserved caution. Apple Bloom huffs at that in frustration, breaking her gaze and turning away from me. Uh oh.

“What’s so important about caring about yourself anyways?” the pouting filly says toying with a tuft of grass. “It’s not like I’m anythin’ special.”

“Scootaloo, is that you?” I say to her with exaggeratedly wide eyes. Apple Bloom just rolls her eyes at me in response.

“Seriously though,” I put in, “What’s more important than caring about yourself?”

“What do you mean?” Apple Bloom prompts me with a naive look.

I look pensively downward, having to think about this pretty carefully. My own white hooves are curled on top of a dense grass underneath the tree, that we’re both resting on. There’s a bit of wild clover doing very well in the shade, pressed cooly up against my hindquarters as my weight partially flattens it to the ground.

“I mean what I said?” I have to ask her at last, not quite finding the words to say it. “What’s more important than caring about yourself?”

“Lots of things!” Apple Bloom champs, waving a hoof in the air, “Your home, your family, savin’ the world, and all sorts of special ponies.”

I frown at her. “You’ll get hurt, if you don’t care about yourself,” I suggest to Apple Bloom cautiously. “How are you going to help all those p-ponies if you hurt yourself?”

“I would hurt mahself?” Apple Bloom says, her face twisting in genuine astonishment. Good lord almighty I think she really is 9. “That’s just silly,” she adds with a smile, “Why would I hurt mahself?”

“Because...”

Shaking my head I face Apple Bloom and say, “Because if you don’t care, then you won’t be careful. You can still go to the junkyard, um, I think. I don’t know much about the junkyard. But if you care about yourself, then there will be something you can do that will get you hurt, and you’ll feel like not doing it. If you don’t care, you’ll just do it because you don’t see why not, and... then you get hurt.”

“Caring is really important,” I say emphatically, lifting up a hoof to press against Apple Bloom’s upturned chest while I do so, to try and drive home the point. My subsequent silence is just for dramatic emphasis. The distracted awe at realizing that I really am touching a living breathing warm fuzzy pony chest is only a minor part of it, scout’s honor.

So touched, Apple Bloom just kind of looks at me uncomfortably, and says, “Okay, okay ah hear ya Sweetie. Ah promise I won’t do nothin’ that would get me hurt–”

“Just–” I interrupt her.

...

“Tell me that you care about yourself,” I ask, with that cold quivery emotion rising up in me, folding my hoof back under myself. “That’s all I really need,” I say quietly. I don’t even know how we got on this subject, but the very thought of such a wonderful girl falling into the trap of self deprecation is enough for me to smack whoever said she was nothing special. It was probably someone trying to be modest, not realizing how much that can hurt people.

All Apple Bloom says though is, “Sweetie...” with a worried look in my direction. Maybe if I challenge her? I dunno, she’s got to say it now!

I give Apple Bloom a squint, and say in a challenging tone, “Come on, you can just say it, can’t you?”

“Of course I can say it!” Apple Bloom responds shortly.

“Well, go on then,” I say with a snort, still looking at her skeptically.

And Apple Bloom is like, “I, uh...”

She then fiddles around with her forehooves, resentfully grumbling, “This feels dumb.”

“I bet you can’t say it,” I tease her snippily. “I care about myself. It’s not so hard to say!”

“Of course I can!” Apple Bloom repeats, a whimper creeping into her voice.

I’m... actually starting to feel pretty terrible about this. I just want her to... but that’s what I want, not what she wants. Why should I force her to do what I think is good? She’ll figure it out on her own. She’s got time. I shouldn’t push her.

“Apple Bloom, I’m sorry–” I start, but she interrupts me angrily, saying,

“I can say it.”

There’s a pause, and she says, “I... care about mah...self.” Oh gosh I can’t believe she said it! It sounds horrible and awkward just like it’s supposed to but she said it! I try to keep a smile from creeping onto my face when I urge her, “Say it again,”

She gives me a wan look, but answers a bit more confidently, “I care about mahself.”

“There, you can say it!” I respond cheerily, “One more time, I care about myself!”

“I care about myself!” Apple Bloom responds definitively.

That does make me smile. Maybe. A little. Finally. “Feel better now?” I ask her, with not just a little sense of relief in my voice.

Apple Bloom looks surprised at that, then crosses her eyes, rubbing a hoof against her chin and says, “Yeah, actually! I dunno why. How did ya know?” She tilts her head my way.

“Because it’s important to care about yourself,” I answer smugly. “You can go to the junkyard if you want, but now you know you’ll make the right decision.”

She gives me a long hard look, and admits somewhat bemusedly, “Yeah I... never thought ‘bout it that way, ah guess.”

The traffic is picking up, as the post-lunch crowd goes to... do whatever it is ponies do in this town. Farming I guess? Nothing like back breaking labor to put a little wind in your sails. Seriously though, I have often dreamed of working on a farm, would that my stupidly frail constitution permit it. Pretty sure even if it did, I’d still fall flat compared to your average obsessive workaholic farmer, but as long as we’re in the realm of fantasy I’d work on a farm that didn’t fall prey to the temptation of cheap workers through social annihilation by pretending that work is a good thing.

I wonder if I could work on a farm like this. I look down at my soft, white, marshmallow body then over to Apple Bloom thoughtfully.

Apple Bloom is kind of not looking directly at me anymore, watching the foot er, hoof traffic as we wait for Scootaloo. It’s subtle, probably because of our age, but compared to me, she is physically a lot sleeker than I am, and certainly has a lot less uh... “baby” fat as it were. I’m probably still stuck with a mental job, if my fan theories about unicorn constitution are close to the truth. But it’s a lot closer to a farm than I’ve ever been before: sitting under this tree on the soft grass, together with a farm pony who I would love to call a friend.

“I wonder why we have to go to school,” Apple Bloom remarks, right just totally out of the blue. I blink a couple times, then follow her gaze forward with a sigh, saying,

“That’s a good question.”

“Well?” Apple Bloom says, looking at me out of the side of my face, “What do you think, Sweetie?” There’s something tricky about her tone, but, it’s a fair enough question. I can’t tell her what I really think about school, namely because this pony world has completely shattered any convictions I had about learning. I... kind of want to talk about it. I just don’t feel comfortable being so lost like this, not knowing what to think in this new world.

I turn to Apple Bloom and carefully say, “I think... two reasons really. One is to keep us out of trouble.” Apple Bloom chuckles at that, but I continue seriously saying, “The other is to have us where they can watch us. You can’t tell if someone’s doing something wrong, if you can’t watch them do it.”

“Some one what?” Apple Bloom asks in an amused yet puzzled tone. I look at her uncomprehendingly. I–oh!

“Somepony,” I correct myself, blushing and immediately looking away. I’m going to have to be careful about that if I don’t want to... tell her. But I do, I mean, I should tell her. “Gryphons have school too,” I mumble disgruntledly.

“Ah get what yer sayin’ Sweetie,” Apple Bloom says lightly, “But that’s all about what’s good for them. Why do we go to school?”

“Because our parents tell us to?” I say a bit snidely, with an unconfidant smile. She looks at me evenly and it’s clear she isn’t buying it. “T-there’s a lot of possibilities,” I admit, “But, I don’t know really.”

Apple Bloom calms a bit at that, saying to me in a chiding tone, “Did you forgot about, how about: so we can learn stuff?”

That one takes me a second to parse. I shake my head then, saying, “But we can learn stuff anywhere, not just at school.”

“But there ain’t somepony to teach you,” Apple Bloom points out.

“What about just any...pony around, who is doing what you want to learn?” I reply, and her I can tell she’s seriously considering my words; her muzzle firms, and her eyes look down. “ They can teach you,” I claim, “And plus they know about what they’re doing.”

“Y’mean like an apprenticeship?” Apple Bloom looks up and asks, qualifying with, “But they don’t know about general stuff, like stuff that everypony’s supposed to... know, oh yeah.” She looks down again abashedly.

I reach out again (and I can reach out!) and put a hoof on her shoulder, saying, “It’s not so bad if it’s for their benefit. If we help them out by going to school, then they’ll be happy that we’re so nice to them, and want to help us back!” I settle down, finishing with, “I think one good thing about school is you can try stuff you’re not good at, and there’s always someone watching you to keep you from messing up too badly.”

Apple Bloom rolls her eyes at me, saying, “Ugh, yeah provided what we’re tryin’ is what they want us to do.”

“That’s why I like libraries more than schools,” I mumble under my breath. By some miracle she doesn’t hear me, and asks,

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I say hurriedly.

“Didn’t sound like nothin’,” she says with a critical look. I sigh. Guess it wasn’t a miracle after all.

“I like libraries more than schools,” I tell her, “Because they can still watch you and you can still try things out, but they aren’t only letting you do things they want you to do. It’s dumb really... what they want is usually better. But it’s a lot more fun when you can just pick whatever you want and... I dunno.”

Apple Bloom just blinks at me owlishly, then turns looking out to the road, clearly deep in thought. Which is odd because I haven’t said anything that would get her thinking. Have I? Libraries... wait, does she have Twilight Time? Maybe she’s thinking about that. Oh boy it would be so cool to get tutored at the libr–wait, no Twilight isn’t a princess; that episode was clearly post-princess.

Sure is taking a while. I hope Scootaloo isn’t held up or anything. I should have told her to just leave the wagon. She should have done that anyway, but I don’t know if she thinks I expect her to wait at that Wheely place until it’s fixed.

As if realizing it too, “Ugh!” Apple Bloom exclaims next to me, pounding her hooves on the ground. “Gol darnit Scootaloo, why caint you get done quicker?” I turn in surprise, and she’s not exactly the picture of calm anymore either.

“I’m just tired of sittin’ around all day!” Apple Bloom says to me with an earnest entreaty. “Ah wanna go run!” The yellow filly looks down as those words escape her, and says more reservedly, “Ah’m sorry Sweetie, I didn’t mean ta– that was meana me ta–”

“So, go run!” I urge her confidently.

She looks at me with hurt in her eyes, saying, “Ah ain’t gonna just leave you here. Ah ain’t that kinda–”

“Why not?” I ask chirpily. Oops I interrupted her again. Oh well. “I’m not going anywhere, no matter what you do,” I explain, given the opportunity to do so. “Hurting yourself by waiting here isn’t going to help me any more than if you go have fun.”

“Ah’ll keep you company though,” Apple Bloom says, “Ah don’t want you to be lonely!”

That makes me pause, because I really don’t know how to put it to her. She doesn’t know what lonely is if she thinks I’ll feel that way just from a few minutes by myself. “I won’t feel lonely,” I say deliberately, “Scootaloo will be here soon, and someo-somepony needs to be here to greet her. Plus, look!” I gesture with a pearly white hoof at what’s left of the lunch crowd.

“...look at what?” Apple Bloom says following my hoof but not seeing it.

“I can’t be lonely with so many ponies already here,” I explain, “Even if I don’t know them, I mean, they’re really here! I might be upset if the streets were empty, or they were all in—”

...cars.

“...if they were all busy,” I say, confident in my avoidance. “I’ll just watch ponies. You go and get those pretty legs working, and I’ll try to get mine working as soon as I can. In fact, hey! Why don’t I try wa҉lk–!”

I blush, and clam up abruptly. Dear god I’m adorable, but I can’t stop squeaking and it’s embarassing!

Wait, did I just call her pretty?

“I’ll just... practice walking around,” I mumble reservedly, idly rubbing at a cheek, “You go ahead and do your... thing.”

Apple Bloom only runs off after a promise, that I’ll have Scootaloo come get her, as soon as Scootaloo’s returned with her wagon again. Then Apple Bloom takes off like a bullet, giving a high whoop, dodging around some blue mare’s hooves, and galloping down the road. While she certainly is an active filly, I can’t help but feel like her frustration regarding my walking situation is driving her fast pace. It won’t be a problem, though. Soon as I tell... Rarity, she can get Sweetie Belle back, and this will all be nothing but a bad memory.

I don’t want to be a bad memory.

I fiddle around with my body until I can jump up onto my hooves again. Standing there, I kind of almost actually sort of feel normal about this no who am I kidding this is way too weird. With the care of the lunar lander, I extend one of my hooves forward, planting it on the ground with some degree of confidence. I try to move a rear hoof then, but it just jerks me back since I seem to be holding onto the ground like a drowning man grasps for a life preserver. I force myself to calm down, gently releasing my hind leg and moving it forward. Then I lift my head up from looking behind me and stumble dizzily. I’m still not used to my head moving this much. With a quivering front leg bearing most of my uneasy weight, it now becomes apparant to me that...

I don’t have anyone around to catch me if I fall.

I ease back to a neutral position, then sit down where I am, giving a frustrated huff. The ponies drift by in a blur of color as I rest in the pleasant heat of a warm summer afternoon. I feel an ear flick, as something tries to land on it. Blinking and looking up, I see it’s just some kind of... bug that’s flying away. Come to think on it, for a town full of horses in the middle of summer, there is a distinct dearth of flies around here.

I keep staring maisily forward, resting there in the quiet afternoon, stewing in my thoughts. Maybe I should have asked Apple Bloom to stay. Maybe I should just wait until tomorrow. Maybe I should get out of Sweetie Belle’s body so she can walk normally again. Maybe I should.......

Things are really picking up now!