Amber cinched the laces of his right boots tight then he finished the knot. With that accomplished he stuffed sheathed a short double-edged boot knife into outside edge of the boot. The spring clip on the sheath snapped on to the lip of the boot.
 
The late morning wind rattled the frame of the window of the hotel room he’d been staying in for the last couple of days. The Critical Mass Hotel was hardly palatial but the linens on the bed had been recently washed and free of bedbugs, and the water in the tap was clear and tasted pleasant. Also the cook in the hotel restaurant made really good cornbread.
 
Amber had journeyed out of Stable 69 >>2009490 (suggestive) on a recon mission to secure new materials for the stable. The pony/hybrid had over the last six months had acted as an intermediary between the stable and the local surface communities to arrange trade agreements. Unfortunately his mission had run afoul of raiders recently resulting in him being injured.
 
Leaving his room Amber went down the stairs and exited the hotel. Stepping out the front door of the Critical Mass the stallion squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright sun and wind blown dust. His eyes were still acclimating when a voice spoke up.
 
“Yer not from around here r’ ya?”
 
Slowly opening his eyes his vision was greeted with the sight of a yellow-orange earth pony mare approaching him. She looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of one of those pre-war Western novels.
 
Perched on her head was a light tan Stetson-style hat. She’d bound the tip of her platinum blonde mane and tail with a strips bright red cloth. One bright green eye peered out from the shadows of her hat. Where her left eye should be there was an eye patch of black leather. White freckles adorn her cheeks. Faded blue jeans, an off-white linen shirt, and a battered dark brown leather vest was encrusted with 12ga shotgun shells made up the bulk of her outfit. Matching boots and gloves of matching worn brown leather finished her ensemble.
 
Around her waist was a brown gun belt and holster that rested on her right hip. Nestled in the holster was a large, single-action revolver who’s finish had almost been completely worn off from years of exposure to the elements and riding around in the holster.
 
In her right hand was a lever-action 12ga shotgun. Like her revolver the shotgun displayed the signs of hard use, but also of care and maintenance. Carved in the rear stock was 3 stylized apples that were accented with red and green paint.
 
The mare stopped about 10ft in front of the stallion. The mare was only a few inches shorter than him. After a couple more seconds she spoke.
 
“Name is Applejack. Myself n’ Rainbow Dash r’ kinda of in charge of organizing security fer our community here
 
, but I also am one of the ponies in these here parts that farms. RD told me ya were from the local stable and they’re interesting in a trading fer apples? If that’s the case I’m the pony ya want ta talk ta.”
 
Another patron reward for and the next in the series of anthro, MLP, Fallout series of drawings.