A Griffon Named Gilda

by Hodd

The East Wing.

"But... But I don't want to go to East Wing!" The voice was Gilda's, still young, and afraid. The East wing was where all orphans went once they were old enough to begin school. She had heard stories about it; about it being cruel and unforgiving. She had known no other life than that of the Filly Wing, and was still terrified of change.

She was just old enough to begin school, but frankly, a little young to be put in the East Wing. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a griffon which was why the caretakers thought it necessary to move her up. Griffon or not, she was terrified of the East Wing. She had made friends, and was finally starting to build relationships in the Filly Wing (Most fillies were terrified of her for years up to this point, having never seen a griffon before).

"You are now at the age to require schooling," explained the caretaker. "You must go to the East Wing to begin your education if you ever want to survive in the real world." Gilda was taken back at this. Survive? She thought about that a moment, soaking in the caretaker's words. "Okay," she finally choked out, nearly to the point of shaking.

The caretaker leaned back in her chair, examining the small griffon. "Good," she said simply. "You'll start tomorrow." Gilda gasped. Tomorrow?

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The hallway leading to the East wing seemed to stretch forever, prolonging the journey to the place Gilda dreaded. Each step she took only heightened her fear. The doors themselves were made of some sort of heavy steel or iron material, as if to keep something in. Gilda braced herself, then went inside.

The interior of the East Wing was much the same as the rest of the orphanage. It was essentially another long hallway, slightly wider than the one leading into it, with doors on either side, and the occasional empty space filled with furniture, and other assorted objects.

Ponies from all ages were collected in this area. Some were her age, and some seemed to be nearly adults. The younger ones stared at her with apprehension, as she made her way to the end of the East Wing, while the older ponies gave her looks of could have been criticism, but had an underlying tone of malice.

She ducked her head, trying to no avail not to be seen by all of the new faces. Finally, she reached the office of the East Wing's "Warden," as the ponies here liked to call her. She took a deep breath and opened the door, still apprehensive of the whole situation.

"Ah yes, come in, come in. Gilda is it?" Gilda could only nod as the old white unicorn towered over her just beyond her desk. "Please have a seat, won't you?" she asked, meaning it as a command. Gilda complied and took a seet in the small, wooden, red velvet chair across from the Warden.

"Welcome to the beautiful East Wing!" exclaimed the Warden leaning back, and throwing her arms in the air as some sort of theatric attempt. Gilda only stared at her with a mix of confusion and apprehension. The Warden let a small, dry laugh escape her. "Not one for theatrics are you?" She didn't wait for Gilda to respond before explaining the situation in detail.

"Now that you are of age to be educated properly, you have been moved to the East Wing. You will remain here until somepony comes to adopt you, whenever that may be." That last part was unexpected, and stung. Gilda cocked her head in skepticism towards the older pony. The Warden continued regardless.

"Here you will be educated just as you would be in public school. You will have classes with other students, you will be given the proper shelter you require, and you will be cared for as best as the staff here knows how. Now, due to your unique... appearance, we thought it would be best if you had your own room, for the sake of the other residents," she explained.

Gilda cocked her head. "Well what is that supposed to mean?" The Warden leaned forward in her chair looking Gilda straight in the eye, a certain cold expression on her. "It means," she began. "That you aren't like us. You are different. We can't have non-ponies being roomed with regular ponies. It isn't the way things are.

The last statement stung her deeply. She had never really even considered herself different until now. Now I think I know why they call her 'The Warden,' she thought to herself. She hadn't realized that the Warden was awaiting a response from her. She forced out a reply. "So, uh... What now?" The Warden leaned back, looking down her snout at the young griffon, examining her with her small circular spectacles.

"Now," she explained, "you begin your life in the East Wing. Your first class is in room 348. Don't be late. Mr. Adams hates it when ponies are late to his class." With that, she got up, and started down the hall. Her mind replayed all of the stories the other fillies had told her. Let's hope the stories are wrong.