Thanks to for making the picture and the story!

The predator stalked through the house, eyes scanning every inch of it, looking for anything out of the ordinary. His prey was nearby, he could sense it. Mostly he could sense the sound of muffled giggles coming from the playroom, whose door was now wide-open. Bingo.

Draft put on the biggest, toothiest snarl he could, and took a long, dramatic step into the room. He hunched over and put his arms to his chest like a T. Rex, curling his fingers into claws. He took several long exaggerated sniffs in the air, before growling “I smell little piggies! Come out, come out, wherever you are, piggies! I want bacon!”

From a shaking pile of blankets against the wall came a loud “CHAAAARGE!” and the blankets exploded to reveal his three charges. The Crusaders ran at him, weapons in hand. Scootaloo leapt on his back, plastic raygun blasting away at him with its obnoxious sound effects. Sweetie started whacking him with a foam sword, before she lost balance and fell back. Draft was surprised by his “prey’s” resistance, but he managed to hold them off. This was actually more fun than chasing them down!

In the midst of his two attackers, he failed to notice where Apple Bloom had gone. That mystery was soon solved by the farm filly letting out a loud “HEEEEEEE-YA!” as she swung a kick at him.

Pain shot through Draft. Pain was all he knew for that infinite second. There are places that will shatter the fortitude of even the strongest man, should they be hit, and Bloom had most certainly hit one. He let out a silent scream as he bent over in agony, Scootaloo tumbling off him.

---

“Oh dear, I am so, so sorry about that Draft. I honestly didn’t know it would go that far.” The unicorn mare dug through her purse, counting out Draft’s Bits, adding a few extra for his troubles. She was beginning to see why finding a babysitter was getting so difficult. Draft sat across from her, holding a bag of ice to his wounded pride. “I didn’t know the apple-bucking thing was genetic.” “Just be thankful she weren’t wearin’ boots. Ya should’ve seen what she did ta Flim when they showed up last time.” Applejack shook her head, remembering. “Guess that’s one way t’make apple sauce.”

Draft gulped at that, and swore to himself to never step foot on Sweete Apple Acres without at least three cups.