Barking Up The Tree
Pacing was widely considered the province of time wasters and worrywarts in the Apple clan. If there was a problem out there you grit your teeth, bite the bit, and push on through. Lollygagging got you nothing but the same problems you'd started with, and a few new ones if Granny Smith was to be believed. Even those darker, citrus-based, sheep on the family malus domestica knew that city life arguably came with an even stronger need for action than your average countryside dweller.
Still, Applejack could acknowledge there was a soothing quality to it. Rhythmic almost, like the melodies she'd strum on her banjo during those few lazy summer evenings when work was complete, and warmth, not exhaustion, still suffused her bones. It certainly let her appreciate the living room carpet, a soft groove forming in the battered old thing as she ping-ponged back and forth.
"Can I-"
The farmer's raised hoof was the answer. No, no talking. She needed time to think. Applejack's house guest was respected, beloved even by herself, and a select few, despite the newcomers' various flaws. Admittedly the bigger ones were out of her control, and, with some great difficulty, the farmer had moved past them. Country folk had a reputation for insular bigotry, and that was one tradition the apples had firmly stamped out when great-great uncle Apple Gall finally passed on.
Celestia bless his hateful, mangy, soul.
"Ah just... ah just don't get it?" She eventually vocalised, exasperation and bewilderment oozing from every syllable.
"It's actually rather simple if you'd let me explain. Magic-"
"Oh ah understand that," Applejack snorted, shaking her head like a particularly belligerent steer, "We've a few unicorns in the family, cousin Silver Apple's the closest. Nice feller, makes wardrobes in Canterlot. Anyhow, ah know magic, may not have a pig-sticker on my dang forehead, or any fancy bits 'o paper, but it's simple enough."
If not for their current circumstances, Applejack suspected her house guest would disagree. Normally a lecture on the metaphysical would fall somewhere between "tavern trivia" and "polite indifference" in her book, but today she was in no mood.
"You and all those other magic types, no disrespect meant o' course, focus what you got, grab a hold of the ropes behind everything, and give 'em a darn good tug till one of you gives in. The bigger the spell, the harder the tug."
They may have been friends, but Applejack couldn't deny relishing the look of shock on her guest's face. Sinful behaviour? Almost certainly. It was one she gleefully indulged in though.
Adherence to even the most watered-down form of religion tended to fade when you regularly heard stories of your goddess farting loudly in diplomatic meetings, after all. Not that there was much faith to begin with; the two graves she visited every month had put a stop to that.
"That's…not the complete explanation, but you just summed up modern arcane string theory Applejack! Its not even been published yet, how do you-"
"Oh, s'just Big Mac-" A tiny smile broke through her stern facade, "-he gets more letters than a chicken has feathers. Always jawing with some pony or other 'bout 'the distinctive applications of earth pony magic'." She bit her lip, momentarily staring at the roaring hearth and its mesmerising flames, "Nice knowing he's got friends, you know? Big galoot's too darn quiet for his own good."
"I could-"
"Nope!" She barked, returning to the matter at hand, "You've done quite enough today missy, ah can't be having you galavantin' with my brother into Celestia knows what trouble."
The resulting whine was pitiable and uncomfortably familiar, reminding Applejack to thank her lucky stars that Winnona was napping with Granny Smith. It may have only been early into Princess Luna's night, but she just couldn't handle a panicking dog right now.
"Look sugar cube," the tired apple farmer began, settling next to her guest who had engulfed Big Mac’s extra large chair. "Ah'm not mad. Tartarus, ah'm kinda impressed in a… weird way. Yeah, let's stick with weird. What ah don't understand though is why?"
Ears twitching, she fidgeted as a long pink tongue ran across prominent canines. It was a definite improvement over flinching. Admittedly it was hard to flinch when the owner of said choppers was acting like her kid sister after an unsuccessful cookie jar raid.
"It was supposed to be a gift. I knew Fluttershy was a naturalist-"
"She don't wear enough clothes for that kind of nonsense though?" The mare interrupted, only to catch a flat look for her trouble.
" 'Naturalist' Applejack, not 'Naturist'." She tapped a palm the size of a dinner plate on her knee nervously, its rhythm eerily reminiscent of Applejack's pacing. "We know Fluttershy can communicate with most forms of fauna; a suspected mark talent, right? Well, I…" she squirmed in her seat, "...I expanded on it."
"Expanded how?" Came the eventual, deeply suspicious, reply.
"I…may have linked my geomantic abilities to her mark, thus allowing her to talk with all types of earth-enriched life?"
"If ah wanted to pull teeth, ah'd have become a dentist. Get to the point!"
To an outside observer Applejack would be considered either foolish, mad, or suicidally brave. Here she was, yelling at a predator over twice her height and double her weight. A beast able to snap her neck like a twig, who could walk off the hardest kicks your average earth pony could give…and she was winning.
The mulberry diamond dog screwed her eyes shut, paws wrung together in panic as she finally blurted out their predicament.
"I think your trees kidnapped Fluttershy's soul!"
"Celestia dammit, Twilight!"
Sweet Apple Acres was well renowned for its beautiful scenery; it may have been a working farm, but there wasn't a dearth of stunning rustic vistas. Especially when it came to the orchard itself.
Despite the routine layout within said orchard, however, something was amiss. A single tree, its leaves a vibrant coral with a yellowing trunk, stood out. Neither were afflicted by age or disease, rather, it was something far more unusual.
As the night wind rippled through its branches, a ghostly voice could be heard on the wind.
"This is nice."