Dear Grandpa Gruff,
I’m in.
Since we both know how many ponies and griffons probably read this letter between my claws and yours, I won’t go into details. I’ve still got a few big steps to pull off before I can come home and give you the details. And what I have in mind might not even work.
But it’s worth a shot, right?
—Gilda.
G. Gilda—Ponyville, Day Eight.
Amethyst Star was waiting for Gilda’s arrival, hopping up and down and dancing with excitement as her figure gradually grew and grew in the sky.
Gilda had flown around the Everfree this time.
“You’re here! You’re here!” Amethyst crowed, grabbing Gilda by the arm as soon as she had landed and dragging her over to a gold-colored unicorn mare with a curly purple mane sitting at the fountain. “Mom, this is that griffon I told you about. She’s moving in with me.”
“I don’t think so, kid,” Gilda said.
“I don’t think so, Amy,” the mare said at the same time.
They looked at each other, and the mother laughed. “Ah, so you are sensible,” the mare said with a smile, walking over to get a good look at the griffon. “My daughter made you out to be an action hero straight out of her comic books, but I only knew you from that brief moment outside the Everfree. My name’s Lolli. I work at the clinic. What was your name again?”
“Gilda,” the griffon said. “I’m planning on staying in the hotel for now.”
The next day Gilda traveled quite a ways out of town, ending up at the cottage where Holiday and Lofty were living.
“Good morning,” Gilda said when Holiday answered the door. “Could I speak with Lofty?”
Holiday looked back into the house. “Lofty, were you expecting a visitor today?”
“Who is it?” came the scratchy voice of Lofty.
“It’s Gilda,” said Holiday.
Gilda was pleasantly surprised that the pony had remembered her name. It had been her usual experience that she was known as “the griffon”, and nothing more.
“Who?” asked Lofty, who then walked up to get a look at her visitor. “Ah, the convincing griffon. Come right in.”
“We’re just having brunch,” Holiday said, leading Gilda towards the kitchen. “Would you like anything?”
“Some water would be nice,” Gilda said politely.
“Ah, you’re putting on the act again,” Lofty said crossly. She blocked their way into the kitchen.
Gilda dropped the fake smile.
“Better,” Lofty said, turning to sit on a cushion before the kitchen table. “If there’s one thing I hate the most from the tours, it’s somepony putting on an act, usually to get me to do something for them. Bunch of idiotic foals. If you want something, Gilda, just go ahead and say it.”
“Oh,” said Gilda. “Well...I would like to become your apprentice.”
Lofty said nothing, her mouth open in shock.
Holiday let out a loud but friendly laugh. “You walked right into that one, Lofty.”
“I...did,” Lofty admitted. “And...I actually do need an apprentice.” She glanced over at a door on the other side of the kitchen, which had the symbol of a cradle painted on it. “Family matters have suddenly taken a rather chaotic turn for poor Holiday here, and I promised that I would help as much I could. Having someone to take over the Everfree tour business would be perfect.”
Gilda, who had taken the opportunity to get a sip of water out of the wide tumbler provided by Holiday, nervously put her cup down. “Now I don’t want to put you out of a job, Lofty! I would be fine working part-time. I’m not at a loss for bits; I just want to be useful here.”
“You like Ponyville that much?” Lofty asked.
“It’s the most griffon-friendly town I’ve ever seen. Pony or griffon.”
Holiday laughed once more.
“Well, I’m not wanting for bits either, Gilda. Which is why I’m fine eventually hoofing the business over to you one day. Assuming you prove yourself—but given what I’ve seen and heard, that’s pretty likely.” She looked over at the cradle-door again. “And I’m pretty sure I’m going to have zero free time pretty soon taking care of the brat.”
Crying instantly began on the other side of the door.
“Scootaloo’s not a brat!” Holiday protested as she got up to deal with the cry. “She just misses her parents.”
“Uh huh,” Lofty said. “You better be careful, Gilda. Or you may end up getting roped into fillysitter duties.”
“But that’s already my day job,” Gilda joked.
The two mares looked at her blankly.
“Err...because I was around fillies and colts when I was at Junior Flight Camp, and despite being the same age I always felt like I was the only adult,” Gilda explained lamely.
Lofty laughed. “Then you’re already prepared for your future clients.”