//------------------------------//
// 5 - Romantic Confusion 
// Story: Summer Days 
// by Nicknack 
//------------------------------//

My first patrol with the new armor was so exciting, it gave me chills. Maybe it was because I could move easier, breathe easier, or walk easier, but around the third hour, I realized I needed to make a conscious effort to keep from smiling at everything.
 
Personal feelings or no, I was a guard, and I did have protocols to follow.
 
That evening, after both our shifts, Iron took me to Spud’s Duds, a potato bar in the Business District. That restaurant’s big deal was that you could buy a baked potato and top it with anything you liked from a long row of choices on the back wall.

When we sat down, Iron questioned my plate. “Two potatoes... but no toppings at all?”
 
“Nope.” I shook my head and started counting off fingers. “I don’t do dairy...” I paused, remembering that week when I tried milk. “Vegetables are boring, and... what else is up there?”
 
“Bacon bits?” Iron offered.
 
I shook my head a second time. “Not after that ham last week.” Iron nodded, but his face got a little longer as he looked down at his own carefully constructed potato. I pointed to his plate. “I mean, that... That looks good, and it might even taste good, but I probably couldn’t keep it down.”
 
“There’s dozens of restaurants in this town; we’ll find something you enjoy,” Iron promised.
 
I raked two talons through my potato, then drummed all three fingers across my plate, spearing a chunk on each talon. “Potatoes are fine.” I shrugged and ate part of it. “Besides, I come here for the company, not the food.”
 
Iron grinned and nodded back at me. “I can imagine. So, how was your first day with the new armor?”
 
“Pretty awesome,” I replied. “It fits like a glove, I actually have gloves... and it's got ventilation.”
 
“Ventilation?” Iron repeated.
 
“Yeah. Like, I didn’t notice them at first, but there’s tiny holes running up and down the whole thing. It breathes,” I gushed, flaring myself up to annunciate things.
 
Across the table, Iron burst out laughing.
 
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
 
He shook his head. “I’m happy for you, I truly am.”
 
I grinned back, then ate another chunk of potato. When my mouth was clear, I asked, “So, how was your weekend?”
 
Iron’s right ear fell down, and he gazed off to the right. “Between you and I,” he whispered, “like interrogating a brick wall.” I sat there and waited for him to continue, but he shook his head. “Sorry. I really can’t tell you any specifics. Someone might overhear.”
 
I looked around; there were a fair number of customers there, all enjoying meals. Everyone had some toppings, I mused as I ate the last bit of my first potato.
 
Either way, Iron gave me an apologetic glance. “But, the events of last Friday notwithstanding, is there anything else you’d like to talk about this evening?”
 
I racked my brain for a good conversation topic. Then, I remembered a question from Friday, but I didn’t know if it counted as an event. I asked, “Actually, there’s one thing from Friday I want to know about.”
 
He shrugged. “There’s no harm in asking, I suppose.”
 
“What happened to your old lieutenant?”
 
My question almost killed Iron. Or at least, he gagged on his potato a little before he washed it down with a hard swallow of water. “Who...” He cleared his throat. “Who told you about Lieutenant Spade?”
 
“After the arrest on Friday, Sherry told me to ask you about him.” I left out the part where she had batoned a defenseless prisoner; that didn’t really seem relevant to the point at hand.
 
Iron grunted acknowledgement. “Well, then... okay, you at least earned that story.”
 
Hearing it put that way piqued my interest, and, after a long drink, Iron began, “My advancement within the Guard was quicker than usual.” He shrugged. “However, I also had the help of ‘fortune...’” He made little air quotes with his hooves. “If you want to call it that. I joined the guard at age fifteen, then was promoted to sergeant at age eighteen, then lieutenant at twenty-one, and finally, captain at twenty-two.”
 
I raised an eyebrow. “One year as lieutenant?”
 
He closed his eyes and nodded. “Don’t remind me.” It sounded harsh, so I hunched down a little. Iron looked at me and apologized, “Sorry, but I heard that line quite often, back in the day.”
 
I nodded back at him, and he continued, “Anyway, the story of Lieutenant Spade... my involvement in it begins with my promotion to sergeant. That was when I started to get to know Sherry more. She was always friendly to me as an officer, but it was never anything personal, you see.”
 
As I listened, I started on my second potato and thought back over my—three weeks, had it already been?—with Sherry. I knew exactly what Iron was talking about. She joked around and was pleasant, but I didn’t know anything about her personal life.
 
“What really struck me as obvious, in hindsight, was her romantic involvement with our lieutenant.” Iron put his hooves out in a wide shrug. “I mean, I thought they hated each other at first. But by the third or so time she mentioned she was getting dinner with him after work, I figured something must have been going on. I asked, and she ‘admitted’ it, but then again, she hadn’t really been making an effort to hide it.”
 
Iron sighed, then paused for a moment with downtrodden eyes. “They dated the entire time I was sergeant—three and a half years, almost to the day—but they had been together for six years before that. They finally got engaged, about six months before... well, they got engaged. They were happier than I had ever seen them, even though they always seemed to be bickering. But they weren’t serious fights, they were more... comfortable fights, you know? Like between siblings?”
 
The only fights I ever had were with Gerard, and they always ended with both of us bleeding profusely. However, I didn’t want to change topics, so I nodded a lie.
 
“I still remember the day that the tip came in,” Iron continued. “One of the Hooves siblings was going to be at the caravan yard, personally overseeing a shipment of stolen weapons. Lieutenant Spade went with a small task force of guards; anything larger would’ve given themselves away.”
 
He paused before continuing on, “I’ll spare you the details, but they were ambushed. We’re not sure if someone was helping them, or if the Hooves sibling won a three-on-one fight with the element of surprise...” Iron shrugged, shaking his head. “All three guards died that evening. We still don’t know which of the Hooves it was.”
 
“It was Red,” I responded flatly.
 
Iron raised an eyebrow. “That’s a tad presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?”
 
“His sister, the one I caught on Friday... she was too... soft.” I shook my head. “As soon as I caught her, it was over.”
 
“Fast Hooves has been known to get desperate in dire situations,” Iron corrected me. “Once, she was surrounded by guards during a robbery in the Residential District. She ended up burning two homes to the ground, rightfully assuming that the officers on the scene would help the families inside, rather than pursuing her.”
 
“Huh.” I nodded. I hadn’t expected that from the wimp I caught earlier. I finished my potato in silence, and Iron dug into his masterpiece. Sherry’s actions made a lot more sense to me now, at least. And if Fast Hooves had killed three guards because she was afraid of being caught?
 
That sort of weaponized cowardice made me wish I hadn’t taken my baton back so early.
 
I shoved the thought back down, though; beating a defenseless prisoner wouldn’t fix the past. But speaking of the past, something else from Iron’s story made me wonder, so I pointed at him. “Let me guess. You were one of the officers there?”
 
He swallowed and shook his head. “Starfall, Scabbard, and Scales. That was the night shift, after all, which I never did because of... personal preferences.”
 
For the rest of the meal, it was my turn to learn about Iron’s past. He spent nearly a half-hour telling me about some of his arrests as an officer—and a sergeant. Apparently, some sergeants opted to do half a patrol on top of their paperwork-related duties.
 
Most of his stories came with a nostalgic tone, so I asked, “Do you miss it?”
 
“Yes and no,” he answered. “I miss helping citizens directly, but I’m in a position where I can do more good from behind the scenes.”
 
Soon after that, we were both done eating, so we left the potato bar. As we walked down the road, Iron asked, “Well... it’s still light outside... do you want to see something interesting?”
 
I agreed with a shrug.
 
He led me to a clothing store near the east wall. When we were inside, all the stupid, frilly saddles that wouldn’t fit a griffin made me question his decision and definition of the word “interesting.”
 
However, Iron ignored the clothing and waved at the shopkeeper. “Can I borrow your roof?”
 
The shopkeeper gave him a strange, raised eyebrow, but he nodded and bowed, sweeping a hoof to the back of the store. There was a door back there, which led to some stairs. Once we were on the roof, Iron hoisted himself up onto the outer roof of the stairwell. I climbed up, too, and I finally saw what Iron meant by “something interesting.”
 
We could see the whole city from there.
 
True, the wall or guard towers would provide a better vantage point, but those were off-limits to civilians. My next thought was an aerial view—flying from high above, out of the range of the netters—but then I realized that wasn’t really an option for Iron. So really, our current spot was probably one of the best places he had to look out over the city. That made it mean more, somehow.
 
“I’m not so naïve as to say everything here is perfect,” Iron said, turning to me, “but all things considered, it’s still very beautiful.”
 
I looked out over the city, where all the buildings formed neat, winding rows. The sun was low enough in the sky to give everything a soft, orange glow. Some of the streetlamps were already twinkling, and as I looked out, one street’s lamps were being lit, one after another. I couldn’t see the pony who was doing it, which gave it a strange, whimsical appearance.
 
“Yeah,” I agreed with Iron. “I think I see what you see in this place.”
 
We stayed on the roof for a little while longer, watching the city get ready for the night. It reminded me that I needed to get going, too. I gave the eastern wall a cursory glance; it was close enough where I could probably make the flight before getting netted down.
 
I shook my head; the high altitude was mixing up my thoughts and instincts. Instead, I joined Iron in climbing back down to the store’s main floor. Then, we walked to the eastern gate.
 
After we said our goodbyes and made dinner plans for Wednesday—a little soon, I guessed, but it didn’t bother me—Iron started to say something more. I waited for it, but he reconsidered with a quick shake of his head. With one last, small hand wave, I took off flying for home.
 
The flight home felt much longer than usual, even though it was only probably an extra half mile or so to leave from the east gate rather than the south. My eyelids started drooping, and I chalked it up to how long of a day it had been.
 
As soon as I got home, I nestled on my blanket. I was pretty grimy, but bathing could wait until the morning. With my head bowed down on my chest, I went over the day’s events in my head: new armor—I’d have to leave early to get suited up before my patrol, I reminded myself—easier walking, dinner with Iron, at a potato bar, of all the silly pony things.
 
I wonder where we’ll go for our next date, I thought sleepily. Maybe somewhere with fish. I smiled; that wasn’t very likely. My mind grew blank for a moment, then I shot awake.
 
“Our next what?”
 
When I was drowsy, the word came so simply and naturally, despite its huge meaning. Now I was awake, I realized just how shockingly true that word was.
 
“Date.”
 
While I had always sort of hoped I would get to experience dating and romance and stuff, the numbers had always been against me. In my tribe, there had only been three suitable males—which was a generous term I used to describe any non-family members who weren’t fifteen years older than me. At any rate, I never really met Daniel, despite our tribe’s size; then, there was that one jerk whose name I forgot.
 
But the third, he was already accounted for...
 
A shudder ran down my spine as I heard Gerard’s song. Even from a distance, it had been captivating—a sad song, filled with anger and bitter hate like a winter’s gale. At the same time, it was joyful, hopeful, and it declared a damned love that burned with the fury of a dead forest’s blaze.
 
By the time I worked out who he was singing to, I had wandered dangerously close to the two of them. A twig snapped underfoot as I turned to leave, and like a flash, my brother was on top of me, fearful, panting, and with two talons pressed into my neck...
 
Stephen saved my life when he told Gerard to let me go.
 
I walked out to my landing, tired, but the memory of that afternoon, five years ago, had done a good job of waking me up. I’d been returning home from one of Father’s lessons when I found out about them. Between our laws and our race’s extinction, they were forced into the worst kind secrecy. It was the sort of thing that someone could die over.
 
From what I heard in Gerard’s song, it was the sort of romance worth killing over.
 
With a sigh, I turned my head up to watch the stars. It gave me an immense feeling of solitude. Back in my tribe, when it was warm outside, a lot of adults didn’t go to sleep until long past midnight. I wondered how many of the Sharfkral were out tonight, and that included curiosity as to what my brother and Stephen were up to.
 
Instead of invading their privacy with my thoughts, I imagined the massive plateau next to the ridge that housed hundreds of empty caves compared to the seven that were lived in. We used the plateauit as a communal plaza for feasts and celebrations; on nights without a fire, on a night like tonight, griffins would be spread out along the edge, sitting and gazing at the sky. Some would be in pairs, most would be alone, but everyone would be thinking about the same thing: our future, or more specifically, our lack of one.
 
Once, I asked the Records-Keeper why she did what she did. After all, within a few centuries, there wouldn’t be any griffins left to read our records. She had answered me in her usual bluntness, “I know the Beute have no interest in our affairs, but even their existence will come to an end. As will it be for the race that follows them. But when I think about it, I would rather not be judged by history as a member of a tribe that forsook its own culture in order to, what, buy a century’s worth of time? Two centuries’? No thank you, miss; I would rather we face oblivion than to have our cowardice resound throughout the ages.”
 
Her words echoed back to me now, as ominous as ever. They brought me back to a very important question: Who was I? The first answer that came to mind was that I was a seventeen-year-old—almost eighteen—female griffin living in exile. Even that definition had problems. I knew my age, gender, and species, but was I living in exile? I had been exiled at one point, but how about now?
 
Who was I: Gilda von der Sharfkral, or Officer Gilda of the Farrington Guard? I still felt it was the former, but I wasn’t certain anymore. I wasn’t a citizen of Farrington, but Captain... Iron... He had helped me through the application for a work visa, which was apparently a step or two below full-fledged citizenship.
 
All of that just brought me back to the source of my cultural uncertainty: Dating Iron Bulwark.
 
The words sounded foreign to me, so I said them out loud in his language: “Dating Iron Bulwark.” After a moment without any profound realizations, I scoffed to myself, Well, now they’re double-foreign.
 
With a hard shake of my head, I refocused and thought harder about what it’d mean if I started looking for a romantic partner within pony society. Finally, I realized the harsh truth: There’d be no going back once I made my decision. It wouldn’t be instantaneous, but once I started to look at ponies as romantic partners, I’d end up living with them.
 
As for a family... I made a treaty with my mind that I’d worry about that whole deal later. For now, I focused on the mental half of things, and how dating Iron would open up an entirely new realm to me. I wasn’t sure where it’d take me.
 
I started from a simple starting standpoint: Would I feel okay with myself if I dated a pony? It was weird to think about; Dash proved that I was able to be friends with ponies, and that it was an equal friendship type deal. Did that apply to romance, though?
 
My usual approach to morality was useless—none of my tribe’s myths centered around any sort of unconventional romances. Most of them started with a male trying to win the heart of a female that he liked, but then something like a mythical beast or a dragon war would get in the way.
 
Since our myths were a no-go, I thought of my older sister, Gretchen. I doubted that she’d have a specific answer for my situation, but she would have at least had some advice for me.
 
That just made me remember how she wasn’t there, and how far away she was. My throat tightened, futilely, as I realized that I’d never see her again, or talk to her, or laugh with her.
 
Tears stung as I forced my head down. The only thought that resounded in my mind was an empty, burning desire: I wish you were here!
 
Three years. Three years’ worth of solitude and yearning for home rushed over me, and all I could do was sit there and cry like a child. My family was dead to me. Worse, I was dead to my family. How had they dealt with that? The thought of my siblings having to cope with Father’s arbitrary rulings just made me sob all the harder.
 
I lost track of time, but eventually, I stopped crying. As soon as I did, I came to a stark realization: there weren’t any answers to my current dilemma that would come from my griffin heritage. Gerard and Stephen operated outside of our tribe’s traditions, at any rate, which made me realize I had to do the same thing.
 
It all made sense. I had turned my back on my culture by taking the job in the first place; now, I was suffering the repercussions. As much as it disturbed me to acknowledge it, I had to look at the part of me that wasn’t completely griffin anymore in order to find an answer: my Equestrian side.
 
Pony society would look down on such a pairing. Heck, we already got weird looks from other ponies in the city. They didn’t like me, and I wasn’t dumb enough to think that dating Captain Iron Bulwark would elevate me to a level of “acceptable.” Us dating could only bring him down in the eyes of the citizens of Farrington.
 
Would it be worth it to him?
 
His best friend hated me, and so did his sister. Those were two very important ponies in his life, so I’d only make friction for him. And speaking of things that were important to him, there’d probably be some Guard-related ramifications if he openly dated an officer. Then again, I remembered his story about Sherry dating her lieutenant, so I guessed there was a protocol for that.
 
Still, I kept pondering about Iron’s reaction to us dating until it finally struck me that I had no idea whether he was even interested in me romantically or not.
 
I laughed out loud when I realized that; here I had been brooding on my ledge for over an hour, but I had forgotten to even think about how he felt about romance! He was friendly, true, that was probably just polite curiosity mixed with more pity than he admitted to. When I thought about our interactions in that light, I was certain that he was just being friendly and that I had blown everything out of proportion.
 
I smiled, turned around, and headed back to bed. It wasn’t the fastest I’d ever resolved a problem, but it was good enough for me: Iron just wanted to be friends, so there was no need to worry about romance. I chuckled at the simplicity as I lay back down on my blanket.
 
But what about you? What do you want? my treacherous brain asked. Apparently, a “simple solution” wasn’t worth a full night’s rest yet.
 
I answered out loud. “I want...” As I thought about it more, I slowly came to the conclusion that I might not mind, entirely, returning those feelings that Iron might not have. That meant that maybe I wanted to be more than friends with Iron. “Damn it,” I whispered.
 
Romance was completely out of my area of expertise. However, I was exhausted, and didn’t want to spend another hour trying to pin down what I wanted out of a relationship. I resigned to the fact that I needed to ask someone for advice, even if my older sister was unavailable.
 
I started going through the list of ponies I knew, starting with Iron. That would be an awkward and dangerous conversation. If the end result was that I shouldn’t date him, then I didn’t want to have the embarrassing tension of rejection hanging over us during every future interaction.
 
My next thought was of Sherry, but given how her relationship with her superior had ended, it didn’t feel right to ask. I also didn’t really know her that well; from the two-and-a-half dinners I had eaten with Iron, I learned that all of my superiors seemed to have different personalities than their “authoritative personas.”
 
Lieutenant Starfall, on the other hand... He seemed to be fairly consistent between how he acted on- and off-duty. He also had the benefit of being Iron’s best friend; asking him would probably get me the best possible approximation of how Iron would feel about me. And heck, it wasn’t too late; if I left now, I might be able to catch him before...
 
I shook my head furiously. That was a terrible idea.
 
On the subject of best friends, though... As soon as I realized who I had overlooked, I punched myself in the forehead. I needed advice, and even though letter wouldn’t be as good as asking her in-person, Dash would probably have something to say about my situation.
 
With a smile, I planned out the letter that I would send her. I could do it tomorrow, if I got to the city early enough. I closed my eyes and scoffed at that idea; it was late now, so I was going to be tired when I woke up.
 
Still, I could send a letter on my lunch break. With that solution in mind, I finally put my worries aside, then fell asleep.
 



 
Ponyville was over a twenty hour walk from Farrington, just to deliver one stupid letter. I was three hours into it. That meant I had seventeen more hours of travel before me. Sure, there were a few cities along the way; I’d probably sleep in Trottingham, which was still four hours away. It’d still be after dark when I got there. On a Tuesday. That bitch...
 
On one hoof, I knew it wasn’t worth it to get mad. I mean, at least it wasn’t Stalliongrad, I shuddered. Either way, I couldn’t do anything, and Iron... he wouldn’t. That was the worst part. Some “protector of the citizens” he was; all he ever did was let that griffin walk all over the city.
 
I remembered his shouting match with me before I left the city:
 
“Max, for the last time, I’m not going to ban her from sending letters at the post office!”
 
While I walked along the empty, boring dirt road, I replayed that whole argument over in my head. I had time. I had twenty hours of it. He didn’t want to see how much of a threat to Farrington his new friend was. That was the worst part; once he was convinced of something, he never changed his mind:
 
“Stop leaving your books out in the living room I refuse to let you pay for so I can order you around like it’s mine.”
 
“You need to finish school so you can end up in a crappy job delivering letters for stupid rich ponies.”
 
“We need to stay in this city because I don’t want to go to Canterlot with our uncle.”
 
He was so... stupid sometimes. Like... I screamed. I couldn’t even think about it.
 
And he’s showing her around the city, I reminded myself. He had blown off our dinner plans on Monday to do it, too. I wasn’t even offended anymore; but for his part, it was creepy, and borderline sick. Of course, he insisted it wasn’t. “It’s not romantic or anything, Maxie.”
 
“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” I had replied in the quietest manner his idiocy allowed. When his implication sunk in, I added, “And that’s disgusting to even joke about!”
 
I shook the argument out of my head. At the very least, if he was convinced that they were “just friends,” he’d stay that way. I grinned, and hoped she found that out the hard way. With how she acted towards me in the post office, she needed a little hardship in her life.
 
With a glare, I levitated her scroll—she didn’t send letters like a pony should—in front of me, spinning it slowly. Like every time, I considered throwing it away and just going back to the city, quitting my crappy job, and speaking my mind to everyone.
 
Like every time, I fumed, but put it back in my saddlebag. Seventeen hours, I mused. Seventeen hours, then I can hand this off to the moron who works there, then head home.
 



 
Wednesday morning, Captain Bulwark waved me over to his booth with a grave expression.
 
My stomach fell out, and instantly, I knew what had happened: his sister had read my letter, and told him, and now we were going to have that conversation. That annoyed me, but I was more worried about the now-awkward conversation that we were going to have.
 
His face showed his answer, too, which made every step towards him heavy with the anticipation of rejection. When I got into conversational distance, I managed to croak out, “Good morning, sir.”
 
He waited a moment before he could say anything. “Not really,” he finally spoke, shaking his head. “But I suppose you have a guess as to what I’m going to talk to you about?”
 
I nodded, and braced myself for it.
 
Captain Bulwark returned the nod, saying, “I just want you to know this isn’t a decision I made lightly.”
 
My annoyance at his sister sharpened, and I used it to try to save some of my dignity. “Look, I’m sorry...”
 
He held up a hoof, shook his head, and I shut up. “It’s not your fault, Gilda. I don’t care how or where you send your mail. It’s Maxie’s...” He let out a heavy sigh. “Problems.”
 
Wait, what? Suddenly, it felt like we weren’t on the same page together.
 
“Anyway,” he continued, “from here on out, I’m going to have to ask that you send all your mail through the Guard’s private mailing system.”
 
“Oh!” I felt a small rush of... relief, was it? “You... I... Oh!”
 
Iron raised an eyebrow. “Vowel practice?”
 
I didn’t laugh; I just jittered. “Heh, uh, yeah.”
 
He didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged it off and asked, “So, are we still on for this evening?”
 
I blinked, but then I remembered our da—dinner that evening. Or is it a date? Either way, it would give me a chance to find out what angle he was playing. “Yeah. Six-thirty...” I pointed at the south gate. “Meet here?”
 
He nodded, I nodded, and then it was time to get started with my Guard duties for the day. I still didn’t know what Iron wanted, or what I wanted, or what I should do about that whole thing. I almost gave his sister an ounce of respect, but then I realized that it shouldn’t really be out of the ordinary to expect her not to stick her nose in the business I paid her for.
 
Either way, I put it out of my mind; the only other thing I thought about my letter was how I hoped Dash would write back sooner rather than later.
 



 
I woke up, late Wednesday morning, or early Wednesday afternoon... Anyway, somepony was knocking on my door. Without opening my eyes, I groaned: did anypony in Ponyville know my training schedule? Tuesday nights were the only time I could do late-night training. How was I the only pegasus who remembered?
 
Brushing orange and red hair away from my face, I opened my eyes. “I guess everypony wants a piece of Equestria’s number-one flier,” I yawned the words as I crawled out of bed. I had built my own house, but it would’ve been too big if I gave myself room to fly everywhere. While I was walking over to the door, whoever was outside knocked a second time. I called out, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”
 
When I opened the door, Ponyville’s mail carrier, Ditsy, was standing outside. Her squeaky voice bubbled when she announced, “You’ve got mail, Rainbow Dash!”
 
I chuckled at how happy she always was to deliver my mail. “I didn’t order any mail, Ditsy.” She giggled, then handed me a scroll. I felt a twinge of guilt when I realized who it was from, but I didn’t want to kill the her usual bubbly mood, so I told her, “Thanks!”
 
“Bye-bye,” she sang as she took off. When she was out of sight, I closed my door and looked at the scroll in my hoof. It was held together by a sticker that had the emblem of Farrington printed on it, but I already knew it was G mail. She was my only friend who sent scrolls; everypony else just found me during naps.
 
Before I opened it, I looked over at the hallway table where her other letter sat, the one that had come two weeks ago. I had meant to get around to writing a reply, it was just... I had been really busy lately.
 
One of the better things that happened when G visited Ponyville was that it reminded me of something that I had almost forgotten I could do: the Sonic Rainboom. I pulled it off when I was a filly, but even right after I did it, I had never been able to do it again whenever ponies were watching. But when G had tried to... well, when she needed me to catch her, I didn’t even have think about doing it: it just happened.
 
None of my other friends had heard it or seen it that time, either: we were almost fifty miles away from Ponyville when it had happened. Still, if I could pull it off at the upcoming Best Young Flier competition, I’d win for sure! After three straight weeks of trying, though, I still had no idea how to overcome the huge pocket of air that built up in front of me at those speeds. The competition was coming up, too: not this Sunday, but the next. I needed to figure it out quick.
 
I shook my problems out of my head, and walked over to the couch to read what G had written. I’d figure out the Sonic Rainboom soon; I was too awesome not to. So right now, I promised to read and respond to G’s letters. She was my friend, and I had really let her down over the past few years by blowing her letters off. Sure, she had a lot of other problems going on, but I hadn’t helped by ignoring her letters.
 
It had been scary to see G snap like that.
 
I knew she was aggressive and had a bit of a temper, but I never thought I would be on the receiving end of it. Serves you right, I told myself, treating her like that the first time you see her in three years. I had known right away that she was feeling sad about something, but I had let Pinkie Pie talk me into trying to cheer her up at her party, and I had definitely gone overboard on the pranks.
 
I plopped down on my back, set the scroll down on my chest, and rubbed the right side of my neck with a hoof. There were still three bumps there, just like there was one bump on the left side. Definitely overboard, I thought.
 
I tore the sticker off, unrolled the scroll, and braced myself for reading one of G’s letters. She never liked to say exactly what was on her mind when she wrote to me. It made my head hurt to try and figure out everything that she really wanted to say, which was most of why I put off reading and responding to her letters in the first place.
 
I read what she had written this time:
 


Hey Dash,
 
I haven’t gotten a reply yet from earlier, but I know you’re busy with work and stuff. If you did send a reply, it hasn’t gotten here, at any rate.
 
I’m in a bit of a weird situation, though. I think my captain... you know... likes me, but I have no idea if I’m just misinterpreting things. I guess I wouldn’t mind if he did, but I don’t know how to make sure. I mean, it’d be way weird if I just sort of came on to him and he didn’t feel the same way, right?
 
This whole thing makes my head spin: do I risk it and ask him, or do I play it safe and enjoy what I have?
 
Hope to hear back soon.
 
~G.


 
I sat up, still holding the letter. I wrinkled my nose at the paper and admitted, “Huh. Didn’t see that one coming.”
 
Even three weeks ago, she still seemed mostly like her old self from Junior Speedsters’: indifferent, but kind of sad. She had mentioned that she still hadn’t found any boys, but thinking back to everything that happened to her and griffins in general, that had probably been a dumb question for me to ask in the first place.
 
It was weird, after how she acted during summer camp, to see her having this problem. It wasn’t that she didn’t like ponies to begin with; it was more that she just didn’t really fit in.
 
I knew how she felt.
 
Then again, the way that most of the other pegasi at Junior Speedsters’ treated her, I was surprised she didn’t have a full-on hatred for ponies. Back then, she didn’t really have any interest in the colts there, but I had just chalked that up to, well, the griffin thing.
 
Anyway, she was about the last friend I had who I thought would ever have “stallion troubles,” and between Twilight’s eggheadedness and Fluttershy’s... Fluttershy-ness, that was saying something.
 
I thought about her question for a minute, then I realized I didn’t have an answer, either. She may have developed an interest in stallions over the past few weeks, but I was still too busy being Equestria’s number one athlete; between the Wonderbolts and the Best Young Flier competition, I didn’t have time for a relationship to tie me down.
 
Still, G had written to me for advice, so I had to try to help. I didn’t want to mess things up for her any worse, though, so I needed to ask around. I got off my couch and walked to the door. In terms of my oldest friends, the choice was between Rarity, Fluttershy, and Applejack.
 
Rarity would probably hook me into modeling some new fashion for her, though, and I could already imagine her advice, “Oh, but if it’s true love, then nothing can stand in the way! Gilda should ask him, no, she simply must ask him!”
 
Fluttershy didn’t have any dating experience either, and she’d probably be too scared to commit to one side or the other for a guess. Plus, she was still mad at Gilda for scaring away all of her duck friends, and it took a lot to get Fluttershy mad.
 
That left Applejack. She was probably my best friend, if I had to label it like that. Also, I couldn’t just guess what her reaction would be. That included how she felt about G, which made me hesitate. They’d gotten along okay at the party, before all my pranks ruined everything, but G had left in the worst, most insulting way possible.
 
With a shrug, I figured I probably shouldn’t mention G by name anyway—it was kind of a private problem, really. I left my house and darted down to Sweet Apple Acres. I didn’t know where Applejack was that early in the afternoon, but I figured that she’d still be out working.
 
Sure enough, I eyed her pulling weeds in the carrot patch. She was facing away from me, so she didn’t see me fly up and hover behind her. I heard her muttering, “And you nasty little suckers best be gettin’ outta my carrots. That rainwater’s for them, not you. You’re weeds.”
 
“Hi, Applejack!” I cried out, right when I landed behind her.
 
She let out a startled yelp as she jumped almost a foot in the air. Turning around, she pointed a hoof at me and frowned, “And consarn it, Rainbow Dash, what have I told you about sneaking up on ponies?”
 
“Not to do it when they’re holding a bushel of apples?” I rubbed my chin as I tried to remember what her exact words had been. It had been a while ago when she yelled at me the first time.
 
“You know what I meant!” Applejack shouted back at me, but there was a smile on the edges of her mouth.
 
I chuckled before I said, “Sorry, Applejack. But I got you good.”
 
She laughed quietly, “That, you did.” After a short pause, she added, “So, what’s up? I reckon it’s pretty early on a Wednesday for you to be up and about.”
 
I rubbed the back of my head with a hoof, “Yeah, Ditsy woke me up with a letter.”
 
“A letter?” Her smile faded. “Is everything all right?”
 
“Yeah, everything’s okay,” I said quickly. “The letter was nothing. But it made me think...” I added a bit of seriousness to my tone. “Listen, Applejack, I’ve gotta ask you something, but it’s gonna sound a little...” My eyes wandered around before I decided on the last word: “Weird.”
 
Applejack raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything other than, “Okay... shoot.”
 
I sighed. It was going to be tricky to get the question across without mentioning G by name. “I’ve got this... uh, friend. And she’s kinda confused right now, because she’s got this, uh...” I didn’t really want to mention it was G’s boss, either. I settled on: “this other friend. And she likes how they’re friends, but at the same time, she kinda thinks they might be more than just friends.”
 
I finished by adding the main problem that G had written about, “But she’s not sure if asking about that would mess things up between them, so she’s kind of confused as to what to do.” I felt myself rambling, so I decided to end by asking Applejack, “So, uh, what do you think she should do about it?”
 
As soon as I got done asking, Applejack’s ears and mouth both sagged a bit. “Oh, I, uh... I see,” she said quietly as she turned her head to the side and rubbing one foreleg. After thinking about something for a moment, she looked back at me and spoke gently. “That took... guts, to say that, I reckon.”
 
“Guts?” I asked. It felt as if I had been left a few laps behind in our conversation.
 
“Guts,” she repeated. “And as much as it hurts me to say, Rainbow, I just don’t feel the same way about you.”
 
Never mind a few laps; we were in completely different events. “What?” was all that I could manage to shout out.
 
She looked at me with a knowing grin, “Come on now, sugarcube, d’you really think you’d fool ol’ Applejack with that ‘my friend’ business?”
 
“What... no! That’s not what I... UGH!” I shouted in frustration. Applejack could be so dumb sometimes.
 
“It’s okay to be upset, Rainbow. Just know we can still be friends.”
 
I shut my eyes and wiped my hoof down my face. As I did, I opened my eyes back into a glare at my friend. “It’s Gilda, Applejack. I was talking about Gilda,” I said joylessly. I felt like I had betrayed G somehow, but this conversation wouldn’t go anywhere unless I cleared this mess up.
 
“You’re in love with Gilda?”
 
“N... no!” My face burned as memories from camp came back. “She wrote me, saying she’s got problems with somepony I’ve never even met!”
 
Applejack nodded, then looked down at her stack of pulled weeds. “So, I take it she did find a ‘cool new friend to hang out with?’” she asked in an accusing tone.
 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I countered, pointing a hoof at her. I knew her well enough to know when I was being quoted.
 
“Well...” She looked back at me. “It ain’t none of my business, but y’all said some things back then that were downright hurtful. I know Gilda made a horse’s rear end out of herself, but that doesn’t give you the right to say the things you said to her.”
 
As frustrating as it was to have her point out the obvious, she was right. “I know, Applejack,” I said, looking away. “I already told her I’m sorry.” I left out the part where I had effectively kicked G out of the town in doing so. I had to, but it still felt... bad.
 
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” she said back, patting my still-outstretched hoof. I put it down, and Applejack asked, “As for her problem, uh... you mind runnin’ that by me again?”
 
I repeated myself; this time, it was easier to keep track of everything using G’s name. When I finished, Applejack nodded slowly. “Well, ain’t that an age-old question? Appreciate what you’ve got, or go for somethin’ better? Still, it sounds to me like she’s afraid of losing her friend, so I’ll say this: anypony who ends a friendship over something so small as misplaced feelings wasn’t really friends in the first place.” After a pause, she grinned slyly at me, “I mean, we’re still friends after you confessed your feelin’s to me, right?”
 
I felt my glare return before I asked, “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
 
“Maybe after these here carrots are ripe,” she said with a chuckle.
 
I shook my head. She was ridiculous. Still, all I could do was smile. “Thanks for the help Applejack. I’m gonna go write back to G now,” I said, glad to have a reason to leave. She was my friend, but if I stayed for much longer, I’d probably get roped into helping her weed her carrot patch or something.
 
She smiled and nodded. “Good luck, Rainbow Dash. And let me know if you want to come over for dinner sometime; our doors are always open to friends.”
 
Nodding, I waved goodbye and flew back to my house. I thought about how to translate Applejack’s advice into something that G would appreciate. Inside my home, I got the paper and pen ready to write. “Shtoohid hen,” I muttered. Unicorns had it so much better when it came time to writing stuff down.
 
I thought about putting a date on the letter, but for some reason, G wasn’t in the habit of doing that, so I didn’t, either. Still, when I looked at the calendar with G in mind, something clicked, and I racked my brain trying to remember what date, three years ago, we had cut camp activities to hang out with each other for a day.
 



 
Just as expected, Wednesday’s dinner... date... thing... sucked.
 
Maybe I was imagining it, but Iron seemed distant. My first thought was that he still felt bad about our conversation, earlier that morning. And true, the more I thought about it, the less I liked how his sister finally managed to get me kicked out of the post office, but I’d survive.
 
What really bothered me was sitting there, staring across the table at someone, when I didn’t know why they were there. I kept listening to what he was saying, trying to pick up on if he was talking about Farrington with me in a friendly manner or a dating manner. Then, I’d realize that I hadn’t heard anything he just said, which made me feel too guilty to ask him to repeat himself, so I’d just sit there, nodding.
 
Finally, he asked, “Gilda, what’s wrong?”
 
“Huh?”
 
Iron pointed a hoof at me. “Er... that. You’ve been distracted all evening... and even this morning. Is everything okay?”
 
I blinked a few times. “It’s, um...” Ask him, my mind urged. “Just some stuff going on...” I waved off at the south. “Home stuff. Well, not home home stuff, that’d be...” I looked down at my plate and widened my eyes. “That’d be worse.” I waved to the northwest. “And that way.”
 
“Mm hmm,” came Iron’s reply. He nodded his head slowly, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.
 
Luckily, it didn’t take him long to finish eating; after that, we left the restaurant. By then, I was so embarrassed and confused that I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into my cave and never come back out. Iron also seemed put-off by the whole fiasco, too, but he still asked, “Well, er... do you think you’ll be in good shape by Saturday, for dinner?”
 
“Yeah,” I answered before I realized what I said. I thought about changing my answer, but then I noticed how relieved Iron looked. I didn’t want to ruin that for him, so I stuck to my rushed decision.
 

*              *              *

 
I spent Wednesday night berating myself for my inability to come out and ask Iron about our position. It almost felt like I was lying by not asking him, but still, I didn’t know what asking him would bring. I was stuck.
 
Thursday morning after failing at catching breakfast for the first time in what felt like forever, I used the east gate when I entered Farrington. That just made me feel miserable; I was avoiding him because of how awkward I thought it would be to try and have a conversation with him.
 
My crappy mood started to trickle down to the rest of my life, too. Patrolling sucked, despite my new armor, and flying got harder, which made hunting almost impossible. When I got back home on Thursday evening, I couldn’t even catch a sleeping tortoise. It must have woken up or something when I overshot it by a few yards, because when I turned around to find it, it had vanished.
 
On Friday I missed breakfast again, and by the time I got to the Citadel, my lack of food was starting to catch up with me. When I got to the citadel, everything felt distant and hazy; it took a lot more effort to stay focused on everything while I received my orders for the day. When she finished, Sherry gave me a quizzical expression. “Are you going to make it through today?”
 
I nodded. “Yeah, just a rough night.”
 
She grunted, knowingly, then pulled an envelope out of a bin on her desk. “You got mail.”
 
That got my attention. Excitement made everything snap clearer, and I took the envelope from Sherry. Using one of the metal talons at the end of my gauntlet, I tore open my mail. It wasn’t as clean a cut as my bare talons would have made, but it did the job.
 
I pulled Dash’s letter out and read:
 


Hi G!
 
Sorry I didn’t get around to your first letter; there’s a lot going on with the weather job right now, especially with summer coming up. I KNOW thunderstorms are dangerous, WHY do I have to sit through an hour-long lecture on them?
 
Anyway, for the thing with your boss... I say go for it! You’re already friends, so I figure he’s cool he’ll probably let it go if he’s not into you like that. And if he makes a big deal over it, tell him to get stuffed and move on! Farrington’s a big place, I’m sure there’s somepony there for you.
 
Good luck!
 
~Dash
 
P.S. Happy Almost Birthday!


 
After I read her letter a second time, my first reaction was relief; I was glad she was still the same pony I met at Junior Speedsters’. Dash hated the safety lectures; she preferred to make her own mistakes.
 
At the same time, I knew exactly why she had crossed out the words “he’s cool” on the letter. Things were different between us, and she was still torn up over what she had said to me that day. It was a waste of her energy, though: I was the one who had screwed everything up that day by lying about everything.
 
What’s done is done, I told myself bluntly. I mean, if you really felt bad, you’d go back and apologize to everyone. However, I still felt that wasn’t an option—I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not even for you, Dash, I thought, hating myself for it.
 
“Anyone die?” Sherry cut into my self-loathing.
 
“No.” I shook my head.
 
“Anyone get beaten into the hospital with their own baton because they’re still standing over my desk when their shift started ten minutes ago?”
 
I almost shook my head a second time, then I realized what she was saying. “Right. Sorry, I’m leaving.” I threw the letter away, then turned around to start my patrol.
 
Out in the Business District—one benefit to those “random patrols” meant I was getting a lot of practice at learning them all—I contemplated the main part of Dash’s letter. She was right, I realized. I was making a huge deal over Iron’s reaction, when really, he was one of the most level-headed and down-to-earth individuals I had ever met.
 
At any rate, I’d have to tell him goodbye tonight, to make sure we were still on for Saturday, and then... then I’d ask him about us.
 

*              *              *

 
Halfway through dinner on Saturday, I was frustrated with how difficult it was to ask Iron what was, admittedly, the most important question between us. Every time I thought I got the courage together to come out and ask him, I got cold feet at the last second, then asked something completely different.
 
Iron was slightly less annoyed at my newer tactic of “asking a bunch of random questions” than he was of Wednesday’s “ignore everything he was saying,” but I could tell by his weary expression that he wasn’t having a good time.
 
I hated the irony: I was so worried about my question ruining our friendship that it was ruining our friendship.
 
As soon as I saw it like that, I realized I didn’t have anything to lose anymore. I was still worried, but since not asking was now a guaranteed failure, I had to ask. One last time, I steeled my nerves; this time, I actually voiced the all-important question:
 
“What is this?”
 
At first, Iron frowned; I had just interrupted one of his stories about the founding miners of Farrington. However, his expression softened when we met eyes, and he responded, “What do you mean?”
 
It was now or never. I took a deep breath and continued, “I mean, we keep eating dinner together and stuff. Is this just ‘meals between friends,’ or is this something more?”
 
Iron’s eyes grew wider as his mouth curled down, and my fears over the matter were confirmed. We had just been friends, I had just misinterpreted everything, and now, I had made an awkward situation for everyone. I felt ashamed for being so dumb; I should’ve known he was just being platonic.
 
Silence grew across the table. Iron finally broke it with, “Did you want this to be something more?”
 
I wanted to lie. I remembered Ponyville. “Maybe. I mean, I like you. But at the same time, I don’t know if there’s something more going on here.” I looked him straight in the eyes. “I want to know if this is friendship, or if it’s romance.”
 
“What is the difference to you?” he asked. It wasn’t combative, it was... curious, almost.
 
“If we’re just friends, I can live with that,” I began, fighting to keep my voice from trembling. “We don’t hate each other, and it’s fun to have someone to hang out with outside of work. But if I’m dating you... or anyone in this city, no offense... well...” I shrugged. “It’s kind of like admitting I’m never going to go back home.”
 
Iron tapped his forehooves together and rested his chin on them. “Are you willing to do that?” His tone was still open and curious; it gave me a small glimmer of hope.
 
“Like I said, I don’t know. Maybe. Are you willing to be ‘that stallion who’s dating a griffin?’” I countered.
 
He let out a quick chuckle before responding, “Yes. Yes I am. In my mind, I’ve been that stallion for the past two weeks now, and I’ve found it’s not too bad of a thing to be.”
 
At his words, I felt an outpouring of relief and... joy. With a little chuckle of my own, I felt myself smile. I didn’t know where romance would lead us, or even what difference it made, but at the same time, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
 
Then, I noticed the timing involved in what Iron had just said. “Two weeks? You’ve been playing that angle from the start?” I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.
 
“‘Playing that angle’ is a gross oversimplification,” he answered in a slightly offended tone. “I simply made my mind up that I wouldn’t mind too greatly if this turned romantic.”
 
“Right,” I tried to vocalize my understanding. “I didn’t mean to ask it like that. I’m just saying...” I shrugged and waved my hand. “This week sucked. I mean, if you would’ve said something earlier...”
 
Iron defended himself, “I did that for your benefit. You’re new to the city, and I’m your superior in the Guard. If I put everything on the table like that, I was worried it might have been too much, too soon.”
 
He knows me, I agreed with a nod. “Okay, yeah... that would’ve been...”
 
“Predatory,” Iron finished. When he realized what he said, his eyes shot open and he continued in a rushed voice, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a predator; it’s just—”
 
“It’s wrong to hunt things of a certain level of intelligence,” I interjected. Amusing as it was to see him flop around, I didn’t want him to dig himself any deeper.
 
“Is that how it works?” Iron asked.
 
“Depends who you ask...”
 
As I delved into my explanation about hunting ethics, I noted how much easier it was to talk with Iron again, now that I had the air cleared between us. And now that I was talking easier, he was listening easier, and that cycle made everything so much more enjoyable.
 
After dinner, we went to the bridge over the reservoir lake. As Iron explained, Farrington was getting ready for the Summer Sun Celebration—the main event was being hosted in Fillydelphia that year, but it was a national holiday, so every town had its own decorations and stuff.
 
In Farrington, they decked out the entire reservoir park with hundreds of candles: in the trees, near benches... Iron even told me they’d even have little boats with candles. They weren’t lit that night, because the decoration committee or whatever was still getting things ready, but I could use my imagination.
 
Iron was pretty adamant about the need for us to be there on that night. “I mean... it’s Wednesday of next week. I’ll pay for your hotel room, or you can find someone to cover Thursday...”
 
“I’ll think about it,” I answered with a palm of surrender. It sounded pretty cool, and I figured that I’d probably end up going no matter what, but still. Living out in the Jägerwald didn’t make it easy to enjoy things that happened after sunset.
 
When the time finally came for me to head home for the evening, Iron and I walked to the south gate. “I wish you safe travels home,” he said. “And I’m not trying to force you to go to the celebration next week...”
 
I shook my head and chuckled. “All right, all right, I’ll go. I mean, now that we’re dating and everything...”
 
At that, he lit up with a smile. “It really is one of the best nights of the year. You won’t be disappointed.”
 
I nodded, and then he brought his hoof up, waved it at eye-level. I was slightly confused, but then he reached over and patted my shoulder a little. I didn’t shy away from it this time; he had warned me, for which I gave a grateful nod. Then, in reply, I rubbed his foreleg a little.

It wasn’t the grandest of gestures, but I definitely felt it was a start. And all in all, I was in a much better mood for the flight home than I had been for the days leading up to our date.