In the coolth of the evening, Applejack brushed her hat, carefully, lovingly, the last rays of sunset striking sparks from her mane, then hung the hat on its peg by her door and went downstairs to be with her family, because she couldn’t ever brush the regret out of that old hat, and she wasn’t gonna make that mistake again.
Comments by Kyronea:
What regret is this, I wonder? What happened to poor Applejack? This story raises questions, questions it cannot answer in just one sentence.