Hay fever
The convoy had slowed to a crawl beneath the skeletal apple trees. Applejack rode point, ears pricked, lasso coiled at her hip. Twilight’s map fluttered in the back of the wagon; Pinkie tried to hum something cheerful that didn’t stick. At first it was the sound that set them on edge — not a scream, but a chorus of small, wrong noises: the shuffle of hooves on dry earth, a half-remembered lullaby warped into a rasp. Then they saw them moving between the trunks: familiar silhouettes with glassy eyes, heads tilted as if listening for a name. One of the infected broke from the line and ran. It moved with a terrible, single-minded speed. Applejack shouted a warning and lashed out with her lasso, but the creature ducked and collided with the wagon. Chaos erupted. The wagon jolted; a crate toppled. In the scramble, a survivor — a quiet mare who’d been with them since the first weeks — was pulled from the wagon and dragged into the trees.
About Hay fever
The convoy had slowed to a crawl beneath the skeletal apple trees. Applejack rode point, ears pricked, lasso coiled at her hip. Twilight’s map fluttered in the back of the wagon; Pinkie tried to hum something cheerful that didn’t stick. At first it was the sound that set them on edge — not a scream, but a chorus of small, wrong noises: the shuf...Read more