Judging by how much he knew of me, the animals had been speaking, which wasn’t unusual, I suppose.The old hydra left quite an impression on me; I didn’t know what to make of his reclusive advice. Nor the change from scattered thinking to worldly comprehension, he appeared to have made. Though arguably it wasn’t much use trying to comprehend that; logic often fails one so. Potentially a lost head that had acted as an inner voice, or something equally obscure. I could not find any depth to the ‘crumble’ nonsense he’d talked about. The answer, so obvious and seemingly only of one meaning. He’d probably just set it up so that I’d be scrabbling for more, so as to mock me as revenge for disturbing them. Yet the nagging feeling of close-mindedness didn’t go away and wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. But all this philosophical fluff is destroyed in the face of emotional trauma ---- Charlie had taught me that. He’d shown me that. Better to plunge myself in it, then to think on why I shouldn’t, whatever the hydra believed. I knew that, for all unknown outcomes I was going to face, I’d have lived; loved, with another. And their memories wouldn’t be forgotten by me, not until the bitter end. That, was more valuable than a existence of boredom and solitude would ever be.
I met my second companion in this recent history of mine only a few years after I’d talked to the Hydra. This time, I’d been actively looking for one. Of course, ponies weren’t exactly hard to find but they all regarded the stare of stranger, no matter how hard I tried to press myself on them. Which, wasn’t very much, I did want to retain a smidgen of my dignity. Just a little. Eventually, I was approached by slightly stout, dark, handsome griffin.
It was in a park within the city of Baltimare, that I’d been trying to find a friend of a kind. Coincidentally, the forest surrounding it was where I’d last seen my mother. The park was pretty green, for being a park; I was perched on a wooden bench that looked like it had seen better days. The shops were closing and most ponies were already in, or headed to their homes. Apparently, they did not realise the light pollution would dim the stars. A subtle dimming, but significant for what it was, nonetheless. That being said, most didn’t care; wouldn’t ever care. Maybe it wasn’t worth caring about anymore. I listened to the townspeople wishing each other the usual ‘good night,’ or with the added ‘don’t let the parasprties bite!’ for the foals. Because of the hour and after many in daylight fruitlessly spent vying for attention, I was on the verge of calling it a day right there. But, as I mentioned, a griffin caught mine.
‘Hi...’
She was little bashful. In the way she raised her wing, acting as a psychological barrier of sorts. I put it aside as induced by the unfamiliarity of the situation. But her body-language was a lot easier to read than ponies, much closer to the sort I’d normally use. For some comparison, watching her alone gave me the same, if not more information about her and her intentions than perching on Charlies back had at anyone time. And we’d known each other for most of his life. To a lesser degree, her facial expressions required less time to interpret, too. “Hello, hi, I can’t speak, I’m listening.” Is what I would have said if I was allowed a single sentence of clear communication. Instead I just looked at her, trying to convey interest and enthusiasm, not letting my hopes out of my reach, yet. I guessed it’d worked, as she gave me a lopsided smile.
‘Can I sit?’
I nodded and budged over to the right, making a soft thunking sound as my talons readjusted on the wood. She placed herself beside me, laying one arm on the rest and the other stretched across the back of the bench. We idly gazed at the grass for a while, which was now swaying in the recently begotten breeze.
‘You must be bored to be hanging around here, huh?’
I suppose so. Fortunately it looked as if she’d relaxed now, I hadn’t realised, but she’d splayed a wing across almost the full length of the bench, leaving the other to curl under the arm rest, resting itself on the ground. For most winged-creatures, laxing the wings in the presence of another in such a manner is a symbol of trust. Naturally, the wings are an extremely vulnerable part of the anatomy; laying them bear would be disastrous if someone wanted who had the idea of, or was explicitly intending to harm them was anywhere near. In ancient times, griffins in particular would limply drag their wings on the ground, employing it as a peacekeeper when one tribe’s boss would meet another. Now, though it wasn’t as blaring in scale, the meaning had been refined for the times. For those wingless-creatures not particularly knowledgeable on the depth of the symbol, it would often be passed off as trivial movement, that was commonplace, and insignificant. To keep the potential for her feeling uncomfortable at a minimum, I shifted over, letting my left wing drape around the back of her neck. To my relief, she didn’t jump when I did. As slow as I’d made the movement, I hadn’t been entirely sure she’d been expecting it. It had been a long time since I’d felt another feather that was still physically attached to flesh, even longer: a griffins. The sensation brought back memories of happier times for me: I found it to be fairly therapeutic. She sighed as we continued to watch the lights of the dwellings turn off, darkening the park as they did so.
‘It’s pretty here, at night.’
I’d agree to that, but the object that makes another object prettier, should be considered of a greater beauty than the orginal, really. Or as a single thing, even. In a way, the act of talking to someone who couldn’t talk back made the sounds much, deeper. Solidifying the understanding and the reason to think the dumb one was still listening, still thought it time well spent. A lopsided exchange almost every time to be sure, but it strengthened bonds beyond predetermined boundaries quickly. I think thats what the cliche ‘they were meant to be together’ tries to imply, a mutual affection brought on by trust through the wordless. When I realised I was digressing again, I jerked myself back to the park. Surely the griffin would benefit more from my focus than I on countless musings.
‘Maybe it’s the night, that’s pretty’
The last few remaining house-lights disappeared, leaving but a lone, streetlamp that continued to break the shade of night. She turned her head around to face me, running her eyes down my form.
‘You don’t as look good in the dark; the red and yellow stand so that they're garish, in my opinion. If you don’t mind me saying... Not that it matters,’ the griffin muttered at the end.
She tutted at herself for the bold remark, though there was no issue to be found in it. One wouldn't expect a creature of fire and ashes to look particularly good in moonlight but it was the first time anyone had commented on it that I could remember. An owl hooted from the forest, rippling the tranquil ambiance. Out of the blue, she yelped as she sprang up, giving me a borderline heart-attack as I fell over the back of the bench and slammed into the hard ground below. Fortunately, it wasn’t long until I realised it was a harmless prank. Even shorter a time before she peered over the bench and burst into snorty laughter. After I’d gathered my senses, I joined in, trying to stop myself from awkwardly twitching from some remnants of shock. Though laughing certainly didn’t help with that!
‘Oh, I got you there, oh did I get you bad!’
She said between spasms of laughter, while periodically slapping the bench in amusement. This one liked to laugh, huh? Didn’t mind taking me down for it, speaking in the most innocent terms plausible. By the time she’d stopped, (which felt like several minutes) some of the lights from the round windows were back on. In them were ponies whose expressions ranged from mild amusement to a sleep-deprived grumpiness, even suspicion in some! It would have to be one pimp of a drug-lord who had a phoenix willingly at his or her side. No, Philomena, this griffin isn’t one of them -- probably.
‘Looks like we woke the neighbors up, er, phoenix? I don’t know what to call you.’
Upside-down, a grey pony with a small mustache clothed in a distinctively blue uniform rounded a distant corner. He looked quizzically at the pair of us before knocking on one of the lit houses that were now multiplying at an alarming rate. The griffin’s eyes were keenly locked onto him, determined not to let him of out her sight, apparently, but as soon as she saw him knock on the door she whispered to me:
‘Cops, run!’
And so we fled. The speed she sprinted at made me think she really did have something to hide.