The dining room was quiet, the only sounds being the occasional clink of silverware against plates and the rhythmic creak of Granny Smith's old rocking chair in the corner. It wasn't a comfortable silence—it was thick, heavy, and filled with words left unspoken.

Braeburn glanced between Applejack and Big Mac, his eyes narrowing as he noted how tense his cousin had been all evening. Apple Bloom, oblivious to the charged atmosphere, hummed to herself as she finished her mashed potatoes. Granny Smith, ever perceptive, sighed and poked at her food, her green eyes darting between her grandchildren.

Mac barely touched his plate. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the moment from this morning that he just couldn't shake.

He had been walking past the barn when he saw them—Thunderlane and Applejack. The pegasus had been helping out on the farm, hauling heavy barrels of apples like he'd been raised doing it. Mac didn't have anything against that—extra hooves were always welcome.

But then AJ turned to him, smiling, and leaned in. A quick peck on the cheek.

Thunderlane grinned, ruffled his wings, and took off into the sky, leaving behind a laughing Applejack who watched him disappear into the clouds.

Mac felt his jaw tighten even now, sitting at the table. The memory brought with it an irritation he couldn't name, a deep, gnawing frustration that only worsened when Apple Bloom had blurted out at breakfast a few days ago, "Ah saw Applejack and Thunderlane kiss!"

The whole room had gone silent that morning. Applejack's face had turned red, but she hadn't denied it. And ever since then, she had felt Mac's quiet disapproval. He never said anything outright, never confronted her—but she saw it in the way he avoided her gaze, the way his responses were clipped and short, the way his shoulders tensed when Thunderlane's name was mentioned.

And now, at the dinner table, she had had enough.

Applejack set her fork down harder than necessary, making Braeburn glance up. She turned to her brother, eyes sharp. "Alright, Mac," she said, her voice carrying a firm edge. "It's clear as day you got somethin' on yer mind. So how 'bout you quit sittin' there all quiet and just say it."

Mac exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line. He looked at Apple Bloom, then back at AJ. "Apple Bloom, go to yer room."

Apple Bloom frowned. "But I ain't done yet—"

"Now."

The filly huffed, but the serious tone in her brother's voice left no room for argument. Granny Smith didn't say anything either—she just sighed again and kept poking at her plate.

Apple Bloom stomped up the stairs, and when her bedroom door clicked shut, silence fell over the room again.

Mac folded his forelegs across his chest. "Ah don't think you should be seein' Thunderlane."

Applejack blinked. Then she let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You're kiddin' me, right?"

Braeburn frowned. "Mac, what in Equestria are ya talkin' about?"

Mac's expression darkened. "He's a pegasus."

The words hung in the air like a bad stench. Braeburn's ears flattened. Applejack stared at her brother like she couldn't recognize him.

"You're sayin' that like it means somethin'," Braeburn said, his voice dangerously low. "Since when did you care what tribe somepony's from? Ain't you always been friends with pegasi? Unicorns?"

Applejack shook her head, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. "I never thought I'd hear my own brother say somethin' like that. What, you got a problem with pegasi now? You racist or somethin'?"

Mac's jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply and looked away. "It ain't like that."

"Then what is it like, Mac?" Applejack demanded, raising her voice.

For a moment, Mac didn't answer. He hesitated, struggling to put into words the weight that had been pressing on his chest for so long. But eventually, it all came tumbling out.

"Earth ponies are bein' pushed aside, Applejack," he muttered. "Everywhere Ah look, Ah see it happenin'. Unicorns use magic now to grow crops—spells and enchanted tools that make what we do seem outdated. Pegasi control the weather, got wings to get anywhere faster than we ever could. Trains move supplies, ponies don't even need strong legs for travel no more.

"What we do—what we are—is becomin' less important, and every day, Ah feel like earth ponies are just… gettin' left behind. Like we're replacin' ourselves with machines, spells, and wings." He shook his head, his voice tight with frustration. "Ah ain't sayin' Thunderlane's a bad stallion. But if he's part of our family, it's just another reminder that we ain't needed no more. That earth ponies don't matter."

Applejack's breath hitched. Her anger didn't disappear—but it shifted, turning into something heavier. Sadness.

Her voice lowered, losing its edge. "So that's what this is really about."

Mac didn't reply.

AJ swallowed hard. "Mac… Thunderlane ain't just some pegasus. He's one of the few ponies in Ponyville who gets me. Who gets you by extension. Do you even know what it's like, Mac? Every stallion Ah've met—earth pony or not—just doesn't get it. They don't understand what it's like to put the family first, to put everythin' else second. They don't get what it's like to work until yer legs give out just so yer kin can have somethin' better."

Her voice wavered, but she pushed through.

"Thunderlane? He does. He raised Rumble after losin' his folks. He was just a colt himself, but he didn't run away from it. He worked hard, gave up so much just so his little brother could have a good life. He understands what it's like to be us, Mac. You, me, Ma, and Pa." She inhaled shakily, her eyes shining. "And you're tellin' me he don't belong?"

Silence.

Mac just sat there, his expression unreadable. Then, with quiet finality, he murmured, "Yeah."

That was the last straw. Applejack looked away, her face crumbling. "Ah lost my appetite." She stood up from the table, her chair scraping against the wood. Without another word, she walked out of the room, her hoofsteps heavy as she disappeared upstairs.

Braeburn shot Mac a glare so sharp it could've cut glass. He didn't say anything either—he just stood up and left as well.

Granny Smith let out a long, weary sigh. "Ah'm gonna go watch TV," she said softly. "Anypony wants to join me, you know where Ah'll be."

And then Mac was alone.

Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his guilt. Alone with the feeling that he had just lost something precious.

And it hurt.

Big Mac woke to the smell of apple pancakes, but when he made his way downstairs, the kitchen was quieter than usual. Applejack and Braeburn's absence was as plain as the empty plates in the sink. He didn't need to ask Granny why—they had eaten early, avoiding him altogether.

He cringed, the memory of the previous night clawing at his chest. The words he had spoken to Applejack—his own sister—sat heavy in his stomach, and guilt curled around his ribs like a vice. He should've known better. Should've kept his mouth shut. But the feelings had been boiling for so long that when they finally spilled over, he couldn't hold them back. And now, he'd made a mess of things.

Apple Bloom was at the table, absently pushing her food around her plate. She gave him a sideways glance but didn't say anything. That was unusual for her. Normally, she'd be chattering away about her day, her friends, or whatever new scheme she and the Crusaders had cooked up. But today, she was quiet. Probably mad at me too, Mac thought grimly.

"Morning, Big Mac," Granny Smith greeted, setting a fresh plate in front of him. Her voice was even, but her sharp old eyes held a knowing look. She knew what had happened, even if she hadn't been in the thick of it. She always knew.

He muttered a quiet "Mornin'" and dug into his food, though he had little appetite. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the scrape of forks against plates and the occasional sigh from Granny. Mac finished quickly, rinsed his plate, and grabbed his toolbelt from the hook near the door.

"Where ya headed?" Apple Bloom asked, finally speaking up.

"Schoolhouse. Roof needs fixin'," he said simply.

Apple Bloom nodded. She didn't say anything else, but Mac could feel her eyes on him as he walked out the door.

The walk to the schoolhouse was a long one, but he welcomed the solitude. The air was crisp, the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves filling his lungs. He tried to clear his head, to push aside the aching guilt, but his thoughts kept circling back to Applejack's face, the hurt in her eyes.

She's got every right to be mad.

When he reached the schoolhouse, Cheerilee was already outside, waiting for him with a warm smile. "Big Mac! Right on time."

He tipped his head in greeting, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders at the sound of her voice. She'd always had that effect—steady, warm, reassuring. Even when they were younger, Cheerilee had been that way. Some ponies were meant for working the land, others for leading or inventing. Cheerilee? She was meant for guiding young minds.

He remembered being a teenager, sitting in the back row of class, watching her patiently explain things to the younger foals when the teacher was too frazzled to deal with them. She had always been good with the little ones, always had that motherly warmth even when they were just kids themselves. She was the kind of pony that made others feel safe.

Not every mare had that quality. Sure, plenty were kind or caring, but there was something different about Cheerilee. She had patience—not the forced, tight-lipped kind, but real, genuine patience. He respected that. Admired it, even.

"Roof's worse than I thought," she said, drawing him back to the present. "Had another rainstorm last night, and I found a few leaks this morning. I don't think it'll last another week if we don't fix it now."

Mac nodded, adjusting his toolbelt. "Ah'll take a look."

As he walked around to the side of the building, she followed, explaining the damage in more detail. He listened, taking in her words as he examined the beams. The wood was rotting in some spots, the nails rusted. It wasn't the worst he'd seen, but it wasn't good either.

Cheerilee sighed, rubbing her foreleg. "I hate to ask for help, but the school doesn't have the budget to hire professionals. And I know you're good with your hooves."

Mac grunted in acknowledgment. "Farm needs extra bits. Figured it was a good way to help out."

She smiled, but her eyes softened as she looked at him. "You seem... off today."

Mac stiffened slightly. "Just tired."

"Uh-huh." She tilted her head, studying him. "You know, I'm a good listener. If you ever want to talk."

He glanced at her, then quickly looked away. "Ain't much to say."

She didn't push, just nodded. "Alright. But the offer stands."

She turned back to the roof, stretching out her forelegs. "Well, no sense in just standing around. What do you need me to do?"

Mac blinked. "You wanna help?"

She grinned. "Of course! I'm not afraid to get my hooves dirty."

That... was rare. Outside of farm families, most mares weren't too keen on physical labor, at least not beyond the occasional chore. It wasn't their fault—it just wasn't the way most were raised. But Cheerilee? She didn't even hesitate.

Mac felt a flicker of something—impressed, maybe. He gave a small nod. "Alright. Ah could use help pullin' out the old nails. Roof's too weak to hold both of us, so Ah'll do the heavy liftin', but you can work from the ladder."

Cheerilee nodded eagerly. "Sounds like a plan."

As they got to work, Mac found himself settling into the rhythm of the task. The physical labor helped clear his mind, pushing aside the weight of last night's argument. And having Cheerilee there, chatting about this and that, made the morning pass easier than he expected.

For the first time since the fight, he felt a little bit lighter. Just a little.

It had been some time since Big Mac had taken Cheerilee up on her offer to help, and he had to admit, she was a much better worker than he'd expected. There was no hesitation in her movements, no worry to spoil her coat—a trait ponies who truly understood the value of hard work.

"You're mighty good at this, Cheerilee," Mac finally said, breaking the comfortable silence.

The mare smiled as she placed another shingle in its spot. "Well, I have to admit, I didn't expect to be spending my weekend fixing a roof, but I'm actually enjoying it. Maybe I should take up carpentry if teaching ever stops working out for me."

Mac chuckled softly. "Wouldn't be a bad idea. You got a good head for it."

They worked a little while longer, exchanging occasional comments about the weather, Ponyville gossip, and the upcoming cider season. Then, suddenly, the sharp chime of a small brass clock rang through the air, making Big Mac pause mid-swing. He looked over, surprised, as Cheerilee dusted off her hooves and smiled.

"That means it's lunchtime!" she announced. She reached behind her, retrieving a cloth-wrapped bundle from her saddlebag and setting it between them. "I made us some dandelion sandwiches. Figured you'd need something to keep you going."

Big Mac blinked, genuinely touched. "You made lunch for me?"

"Well, of course," she said, unwrapping the sandwiches with a smile. "You're doing a huge favor for the school. It's the least I could do."

Mac took a sandwich, feeling an unexpected warmth bloom in his chest. He wasn't used to ponies thinking that far ahead for him, at least not outside his family. Taking a bite, he chewed thoughtfully before nodding. "This is real good. Thank ya."

Cheerilee beamed. "Glad you like it."

As they sat side by side, munching on their sandwiches, Mac found himself speaking more than he usually did. "Y'know, you're a much better helper than Braeburn."

"Oh?" Cheerilee asked with a playful smile. "What makes you say that?"

Mac smirked, shaking his head. "Brae's got plenty of energy, but he don't always think things through. Last time we worked on the barn together, he tripped over a bucket, got his head stuck in the fence, and knocked over an entire stack of hay bales. I spent more time pulling him outta trouble than actually gettin' work done."

Cheerilee burst into laughter, her eyes shining with amusement. " That does sound like him."

Mac chuckled as well, pleased that his story had brought her so much joy. He liked the sound of her laugh—light and genuine. It made something inside him feel warm, a feeling he hadn't quite noticed before today.

After a moment, Cheerilee wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. "Hearts and Hooves day is right around the corner. Do you have a special somepony?"

Mac blinked, caught off guard by the question. He swallowed his last bite of sandwich and shook his head. "Nope."

She tilted her head curiously. "Really? A stallion like you? Hardworking, dependable, kind… I would have thought you'd have somepony by now."

Mac rubbed the back of his neck, feeling an odd sense of shyness creeping in. "Never really thought too much 'bout it."

Cheerilee hummed in understanding. "Well, I suppose you're always busy looking after your family. That takes a lot of time and energy."

Mac glanced at her. "What 'bout you? A mare as pretty and wise as you must have at least a coltfriend."

Cheerilee's eyes widened slightly, and a soft blush crept onto her cheeks. "Oh… well… no, I don't, actually."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Huh. That's a real surprise."

Cheerilee smiled, though there was a tinge of something wistful behind it. "I suppose I've been too busy with teaching. And… well, it's not always easy finding somepony who values the same things."

Mac nodded, understanding that more than she knew. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before he spoke again. "Y'know… I always admired ya for what you do. Dedicatin' yourself to teachin' youngin's, helpin' 'em realize the potential they got inside."

Cheerilee looked at him, her blush deepening slightly. "Thank you, Mac. That really means a lot ."

She hesitated for a moment before adding, "And I always admired how much effort you put into looking after your younger sisters. It's not easy raising family, especially after…" She trailed off, her expression soft and understanding.

Mac swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew what she meant—after Ma and Pa had passed. He rarely spoke about it, but he appreciated the way Cheerilee acknowledged it without making it heavy. "I just do what needs to be done."

Cheerilee reached out, resting her hoof gently on his foreleg. "And you do it well."

Mac looked at her, feeling that warmth inside him grow. He wasn't sure what it was just yet, but he liked being around her. Liked the way she understood things without him needing to explain.

After a few more moments, Cheerilee pulled her hoof back and stood. "Well, lunchtime's over. Shall we get back to it?"

Mac nodded, rising to his hooves as well. "Eeyup."

As they returned to their work, Mac found himself stealing the occasional glance at her. Maybe fixing the schoolhouse roof hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

With the last nail driven into place, Big Macintosh stepped back to admire their work. The schoolhouse roof, once full of gaps and missing shingles, now stood solid and sturdy, restored to its former glory. The warmth of pride filled his chest as he glanced over at Cheerilee, who was brushing some sawdust off her coat with a satisfied smile.

"We did good," she said, stretching her legs after a long day's work. "The schoolhouse should be safe and dry for years to come."

Big Mac nodded, feeling a deep sense of accomplishment, but also... something else. A small, reluctant wish stirred inside him. He wished the job had taken a little longer. Every hour spent hammering, lifting, and fitting shingles had been filled with light conversation, easy laughter, and quiet companionship. He hadn't felt this comfortable around somepony outside his family in a long time.

Cheerilee let out a contented sigh. "As much as I enjoyed our little project, I do have a stack of papers waiting for me at home. The foals really kept me busy with their essays on 'The Importance of Friendship.' So I think I'll head back before it gets too late."

Now or never.

Mac took a deep breath, heart suddenly pounding. He had spent the entire day enjoying Cheerilee's presence, and the thought of letting her walk away without saying what was on his mind felt unbearable. He wasn't a stallion of many words, but if there was ever a time to speak up, it was now.

"Cheerilee," he started, his voice steady but his stomach twisting, "you got any plans for Hearts and Hooves Day?"

Cheerilee paused, her ears perking up in curiosity. A slow, mischievous smile spread across her face as she turned to him. "Are you asking me out on a date, Big Mac?"

Heat rushed to his face. He opened his mouth, then closed it, struggling to find the right words. "Uh... well... Ah mean... Ah got most of mah chores done yesterday, so Ah'll probably be free after noon an'... Ah thought maybe..."

His stumbling only made her smile widen. She tilted her head, waiting expectantly.

Finally, Mac exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Eeyup. Ah'm askin' ya out."

Cheerilee giggled, a soft, melodious sound that sent warmth straight to his chest. "Well, in that case, I would love to, Big Mac."

Relief flooded through him, and he allowed himself a small smile. "That's great."

"It is, isn't it?" she said playfully, before gathering her things. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

As Cheerilee walked off with a cheerful wave, Mac stood still for a moment, processing what had just happened. He had a date. With Cheerilee. It felt good—really good. But that moment of happiness was quickly overshadowed by another realization.

He finally understood.

Applejack's feelings for Thunderlane. The way she had bristled whenever he said they shouldn't be dating. The way she had held back but still fought for him. He had seen it as stubbornness, but now he recognized it for what it truly was—deep, genuine affection. The kind he was starting to feel for Cheerilee.

A heavy weight of guilt settled in his chest. He had hurt his sister with his words, dismissed her feelings like they weren't real, when he should have known better. He, of all ponies, should have known how powerful emotions could be. If anypony had talked to him about Cheerilee the way he had spoken to Applejack about Thunderlane, he would have been furious.

He had to make things right.

With renewed determination, Big Mac started his walk back to Sweet Apple Acres. Tomorrow held the promise of something special, but before he could fully enjoy it, there was something else he needed to do—apologize to Applejack.

Big Mac made his way back to Sweet Apple Acres, the familiar path beneath his hooves feeling heavier than usual. The sun was beginning its descent, casting golden hues over the orchard, but all he could focus on was the weight in his chest. His heart pounded with anticipation, knowing what he had to do.

As he neared the farm, he spotted Applejack in the distance, kicking an apple tree with practiced precision. The apples tumbled into the baskets below, but her movements were rigid, her jaw set tight. Big Mac swallowed a lump in his throat. This wasn't going to be easy.

He approached cautiously, clearing his throat. "Applejack—"

She stiffened but didn't look at him. "What do ya want?" Her tone was sharp, distant. She moved to another tree, lifting her hind legs and striking it with a force that sent the apples down in one swift shake.

Big Mac took a deep breath. He had hurt her. Deeply. There was no easy way around it. He had to be honest.

"Ah came to talk," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "Ah know Ah messed up. And Ah know ya don't wanna hear me out, but please, just this once, let me say my piece."

Applejack exhaled sharply through her nose but didn't interrupt. It wasn't an invitation, but it wasn't outright rejection either.

Big Mac took another step forward. "Ah finally understand ya."

That got her attention. Her ear flicked, and though she kept her gaze on the tree in front of her, she wasn't bucking anymore.

"Today, through some circumstances… it finally hit me. Ah understand how ya feel about Thunderlane." His voice wavered slightly, but he pressed on. "Ah understand what it means to care about somepony like that. To feel somethin' deep down in yer bones, like they make ya better just by bein' there."

Applejack turned slightly, her green eyes studying him with a mix of suspicion and something softer, something wounded.

"What Ah said and did before was... unforgivable," he continued, his throat tight with regret. "No older brother should treat his sister like that. No pony should make their kin feel like their emotions don't matter. Ah made ya feel like ya had to defend somethin' that shouldn't even need defendin'."

Applejack looked away, her hat casting a shadow over her face.

"For what it's worth… Ah'm sorry," Big Mac said, voice thick with emotion. "Ah was wrong. And if Ah could take it back, Ah would."

Silence stretched between them, only the distant sounds of the farm filling the space. Then, Applejack took a deep breath and turned fully toward him. Her expression wasn't hard anymore, but it wasn't easy either.

"Darn right ya should be sorry," she muttered, her voice trembling slightly.

Big Mac nodded, accepting it. He had no defense. No argument.

Then, in the next moment, Applejack stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. It wasn't gentle—it was fierce, desperate, like something in her had been wound too tight and finally snapped. Big Mac barely had time to react before he was holding her just as tightly, his own tears slipping down his cheeks.

Applejack's voice was muffled against his shoulder. "Even if Ah tried, Ah couldn't stop lovin' ya, ya big lug."

Big Mac let out a shaky breath, feeling something inside him finally settle. "Same goes for me, AJ."

For a long moment, they just held onto each other, the weight of everything that had passed between them finally giving way to something lighter.

Then, from seemingly nowhere, a familiar voice drawled, "Well, would ya look at that? The mighty Apple siblings, finally makin' peace."

They turned to see Braeburn standing a few steps away, grinning from ear to ear. Before either of them could say anything, he threw himself into the hug, wrapping his hooves around them both.

"Aw, come on now, don't leave me outta the family love," he chuckled.

Big Mac let out a surprised laugh, shaking his head. "Braeburn—"

"Shh, just let it happen," Braeburn teased, squeezing them both tighter.

Applejack let out a choked sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sniffle. "Ya big goof."

A tiny set of hooves suddenly barreled into them, nearly knocking Braeburn off balance. "Me too!" Apple Bloom's voice rang out as she wedged herself into the hug.

Big Mac let out a deep chuckle, his heart swelling. "Alright, alright, the whole family then."

They stood there, a tangle of limbs and warmth, until a familiar raspy voice interrupted.

"Now, is there room for one more?"

They turned to see Granny Smith, her wise old eyes twinkling with mirth.

Applejack wiped her eyes and stepped back just enough to open up the circle. "C'mon, Granny. Always room for you."

The old mare hobbled over and wrapped them all up in her embrace. The laughter that followed was light, real, and healing. It was the sound of love, of family, of something whole once more.

Big Mac exhaled deeply, his heart finally at peace. He had work to do—bridges to mend, things to learn—but for now, standing here with his family, he knew one thing for sure.

He wasn't alone. And no matter what happened, he never would be.

When they finally pulled apart, Applejack wiped her eyes and looked up at her brother with a newfound softness. "So, Mac…" she drawled, tilting her head. "Who's the lucky somepony?"

A deep red blush immediately spread across Mac's face. "Uh…"

As the sun dipped lower over Sweet Apple Acres, casting a golden glow over the orchard, Applejack wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. She had just finished stacking barrels of freshly harvested apples near the barn when the familiar sound of wings flapping caught her attention. Turning her head, she saw Thunderlane descending gracefully from the sky, his usual confident smirk in place.

"You came after all," Applejack remarked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Of course, AJ. I told you I'd help out today, didn't I?" Thunderlane landed smoothly, trotting toward her with an easy gait. "Besides, it's always fun seeing you in action."

Applejack rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the smile tugging at her lips. "Alright, charmer. Let's see if ya can keep up."

Before Thunderlane could reply, a heavy hoofstep approached. Big Mac, his expression calm yet firm, stopped a few feet away from them. His eyes flickered between the two before settling on Thunderlane.

"Can I talk to ya? Alone?" Big Mac asked.

Applejack raised an eyebrow at Thunderlane, a mischievous smirk forming on her lips. "Well, good luck, partner," she quipped before trotting off, leaving the two stallions alone.

Thunderlane, despite his usual confidence, felt a twinge of nervousness settle in his stomach. Big Mac was a stallion of few words, and when he did speak, it was never wasted breath. And right now, his tone carried an unmistakable weight.

Big Mac studied him for a moment before taking a slow breath. "I owe ya an apology."

Thunderlane blinked. That was the last thing he expected. "Uh… come again?"

Mac sighed, his ears flicking back slightly. "I ain't been fair to ya. I let my fear get in the way. Fear for my sister, fear of change… Just fear. And that ain't right. I treated ya with distance 'cause I was too stubborn to see what she saw in ya." He met Thunderlane's eyes directly. "But if what Applejack's sayin' is anything to go by, you're a good stallion for her. And that means somethin' to me."

Thunderlane stood there for a moment, absorbing Mac's words. He had braced himself for a warning or a lecture about treating Applejack right—but not this. Not an honest, heartfelt apology from the stallion who had every right to be protective.

A small, genuine smile broke onto Thunderlane's face. "I appreciate that, Big Mac. Really, I do. And… I get it. If I were in your horseshoes, I'd probably be just as cautious. I got a little brother too, you know. Rumble means everything to me. I know what it's like to want to protect your family."

Big Mac nodded, a silent understanding passing between them. "Family's everythin'. We don't always get it right, but we do our best."

Thunderlane nodded firmly. "Yeah. We do."

Big Mac exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if a weight had lifted off them. "Well, I best get to plowin'. Ain't gonna do itself."

Thunderlane, feeling a little lighter himself, gave a short chuckle. "Got an extra plow lying around?"

Big Mac turned his head slightly, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Eeyup. Got one left."

Thunderlane stretched his wings before folding them at his sides. "Good. I'm not just here to be AJ's eye candy, you know. I can actually work."

Mac let out a small chuckle as he led the way toward the barn. For the first time in a long while, he felt at ease. His sister had made a good choice, and as they walked side by side toward the fields, he found himself thinking that maybe—just maybe—Thunderlane was already part of the family.