> The Gryphons
>  by gryphon88
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

The courier bolted across the desert, moving as fast as he could.

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

The sun had long since fallen, and the light of the distant lightning bathed the cold dry expanse in erratic, brilliantly flashing light. 

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

A groan escaped the courier’s beak, as his injured wing throbbed with pain. He ignored it, continuing forward with a frantic persistence.

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

The sound, like the steady machining of blades, grew ever nearer. The courier knew he could never outrun it, but he could make it far enough.

Not far enough for him, of course. But far enough for everyone else.

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

He could make out the dim light of his camp, on the horizon. A small desert-tent, a sleeping roll, and a curious blue lantern. He increased his pace, disregarding his own health for an increase in speed.

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

He was so close. He could make it out, now, even without the sporadic lightning–the dim light of the tiny, indigo flame, sheltered by a small cage of iron and glass.

Beside it, a pad of paper, pen, and an inkwell.

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

His claws and paws scraped against the flat expanse, as the gryphon’s camp drew further into view. The courier spared a glance behind him, peering at the encroaching enemy. In the dark, he could make out their hellish glare, piercing white eyes in the dark. Distant, growing closer.

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

He threw himself upon the camp, tumbling down next to the lantern. He desperately scrambled for the paper and pen, picking them up and hurriedly shaking the sand off. He grabbed the bottle of ink, only for it to spill out of his fumbling claws.

He swore, loudly, into the night.

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

Ink ran down his talons, dripping into his feathers. Desperate, he ran the end of the pen against his arm, leaving a sharp scratch, and picking up a small amount of ink. He put his pen to the pad of paper and began to write.

“Courier Fulmir Official Report, 9/33/71. Emergency. Immediately gather all militant resources to Courier’s last position.”

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

Fulmir cursed again, this time at the irritating diction with which his message used. But he knew full well what he needed to write, so as to be noticed by the Council.

He scratched himself again to gather more ink, ignoring the stinging.

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

“High-level emergency. Reiterate: immediate attention required. Potential risk to enti-“

The pen ran out. Fulmir angrily scratched down his arm one more, the put the pen to the paper.

“-re Republic. High-threat terror.”

Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak

He scratched down his arm once more to gain ink, no longer aware that the ink he now used was not black.

“Personal mention, Courier Fulmir. Cossima, I love you. Always remember that.”

NNNG-TAK NNNG-TAK NNNG-TAK NNNG-TAK

Immediately, Fulmir grabbed the blue lantern and jumped forward, turning to face his enemy. They were only a few wingspans away, now, and quickly closing the gap.

He would be dead soon.

The courier threw the lantern to the ground. It shattered, wreathing the paper and his tent in flames. The oil spilt over the sand and erupted, bathing Fulmir with a cyan light.

NNNG-TAK.

It also gave him a very clear view of his pursuers.

The courier’s screams could be heard for miles. They echoed into the night, ringing into the stars, where they were lost.

The blue flame went out.
> The Same House
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Dad was gone.

Heh, it’s sorta weird calling him Dad, you know? I never really got to know him that well. Except through Tirgum’s stories.

But yeah, he was out of the house. There were warnings, signals from the inland cities. But they had only come a couple of hours in advance–on the coast, as far away from the threat as possible, that was all of the warning we had.

Me and Mom, we were sitting at the table, eating something. It was getting late, and she was telling me not to worry. But then there was a large boom, that shook the house, and we could hear screaming in the distance.

She rushed me over to a closet space, quickly shoving me inside. It was dark, and I didn’t have enough room to even spread my wings. “Stay in here,” she said. “Stay in here until someone comes to get you, do you understand, Gilda?”

I nodded. She smiled, putting a talon to my chin. “Be brave, my little girl.”

And she left.

I sat in that little closet, trembling. There was a crack, along the door of the space, and I could see a tiny sliver of light, pouring through it. I could also hear more screaming, and explosions.

Also these sounds. Like dragging a claw against a carpet, then the striking of metal. Over and over and over. I was terrified.

And, of course, being a terrified little cub, I shut my eyes, pulling my wings around myself. I tried to think about other things. I thought about my parents, what I was having for dinner. That sort of thing.

I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke up, it was bright out. Brighter than it had been when the attack started. But most importantly, it was quiet. The sounds of the screaming and the weird repeating noises had vanished, leaving only the sound of waves, crashing against the base of the mountain.

I opened the door. Yeah, I know, stupid. But nothing as going on! I just wanted to look around. I called out for my parents, but no one responded. Just a big empty house.

There was cold food, still on the table. I was hungry, so I ate it. There wasn’t much else to do, anyway. It was a day old, at least, so it was kind of gross.

Eventually, I went to the front door, and peeked outside. The streets were empty, and it was clear. So, I opened the door completely, and hesitantly began to walk down the road.

Republic cities, at least most of them, are built directly on top of mountains. So, basically, really steep terraces. The streets curved alongside the mountainside itself, going in a sort of spiral up to the top.

I walked down the street. It was easier to walk downwards, so I did. To my left there were houses, alongside the mountain wall. To my right was nothing, just a flat dropoff to the next terrace. I could look straight out across the entire area, and see the next city over, along the coast. We were high enough to see it, even though it was fifty miles away, at least.

It was on fire. Orange, flickering light, bright even though it was morning, consumed the city. Tomparu, the place was called. Etched onto the top of the mountain, just like our own. A massive plume of smoke rose into the sky, like a gargantuan black pillar of cloud.

I stopped and stared at it for a moment, scared. I mean, it was so far away, but still. It was fire, y’know? The pillar of smoke just continued to rise.

But it was quiet. Nothing was happening over here, just over there. So I kept walking.

Eventually, I came to a crossroad. A stepped road, leading straight up the side of the mountain. I looked up it, and saw big, round white pile of buildings, at the very peak of the city.

It was the Citadel. I’d heard adults talk about it, but I hadn’t been there myself. Or if I had, I was too young to remember. Tir Wramuvel was the capital, and the Council members met at that very spot, once a week.

Thinking it looked official and safe, I started to climb the steps, towards the top of the city. Maybe I could find someone who knew what was happening, or maybe even just get a better view. I don’t know. It just seemed to make sense.

“Gilda!”

I heard my name being called, from behind me, further down the mountain, on the road of steps. I turn around and–

Yes, Dash, it was a gryphon.

Anyway, it was an old gryphon. I didn’t recognize him, but he looked old. I mean, really old. His face was wrinkled and his feathers were matted, and he was hunched over. He looked very... tired.

He jumped over to me. Not, like, a tiny jump. I mean he opened his wings, flapped them once as he shoved off the ground, and didn’t touch down again until he had moved a hundred feet to where I was.

I shrunk backwards. I was scared! But I looked him in the eye.

He exhaled, like he had been holding his breath. “There you are.” He smiled. “Do you know me?”

I shook my head.

“I’m Tirgum.” He picked me up, slo-

Yes, Dash, it was Tirgum. I’m getting to that.

He picked me up, slowly. “It’s alright, it’s alright. You must be pretty beat, kiddo.” He hugged me to his chest, and jumped off the side of the cliff.

Yep, right off the cliff. It’s what you’re supposed to do, actually. He opened his wings and began gliding downwards, spinning in lazy circles around the mountain.

I felt safe, and warm. Tirgum was protecting me. So I fell asleep.

When I woke up, we were in a caravan. A whole bunch of gryphons, some injured, all tired, trudging through a path in one of the foothills. I was in a cart full of supplies, being pulled along, towards the front of the caravan. Tirgum walked slowly beside it.

I didn’t know what else to do. So I went with Tirgum. I didn’t know who he was, but I trusted him.

We went through the trails, the ships, the commotion at Horseshoe Bay, and the long wait at Canterlot. Eventually we relocated here, and by then, he was family.

You know the rest.

* * *

	
Cloudsdale, Third Residential District, 999 AB


Gilda was sitting in her home in Cloudsdale. So was Rainbow Dash.

Rainbow whistled. “That’s a pretty impressive story, G.”

Gilda laughed. “Yeah.”

The house was modest, but not poor. A single story, combination kitchen/dining room, and a large living room, where the the pair now sat. Enchanted furniture adorned the walls, keeping bookshelves and carpets from falling through the clouds.

“But how come I’ve never heard it before?” Dash smiled a bit. “I mean, the Republic is like the...” she scratched her chin for a moment, counting on her hoof. “...third most frequent thing you talk about.”

Gilda sighed. “Ah... I dunno, Dash. It’s more than just a story, you know? It’s my life. I don’t usually share it with anyone. I mean-“ she coughed, “-I, uh, usually talked about it with, y’know...” she trailed off.

Rainbow Dash’s face softened, and she nodded, sympathetically. “I understand, G. How are you holding up?”

Horribly. Gilda waved a claw, brushing away her macabre thoughts. “I’m fine, fine. Thanks, Rainbow.” she spared a glance at the numerous bookshelves, lining the walls. “It’s been three months. I... I think I’m doing better.”

From one shelf, a framed photograph looked out at her. Tirgum, his feathers greyed and his eyes wrinkled, gently smiled back at her.

“Well, I’m here for you, Gilda.” Rainbow smiled. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Gilda laughed. “Pssh, I’m always cool, don’t you forget it.”

Dash laughed. “Oh, please. you’re about as cool as a fried egg.” She stuck her tongue out.

“Oh really?” Gilda teased. “Who beat you at a one-to-one race last Wednesday?”

“Nopony can beat me because nopony is as fast as me.” Dash smirked. “Mare of the rainboom, right here.”

“You’re right, nopony is faster than you,” Gilda answered, “but I can fly laps around you.”

“Oh, please. Remember when I said all you talk about is history? That’s because you’re a raging egghead, who ALWAYS turns in her homework on time!”

Gilda leaned in close. “Say that again.”

As did Rainbow. “Make me.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, they tackled each other.

Bang! Thump! The pegasus and the gryphon rolled around on the floor, each desperately trying to get a handhold on the other, both giggling incessantly. “Ahaha! Stop! No fair, you have hands!”

“And I use them to their full potential!” Gilda reached a claw towards Dash’s hoof.

“No! Not my hooves, not my-“ Gilda’s talon brushed the bottom of Rainbow’s back hoof, and she broke out laughing. “Bwahaa! Cut it out!”

Gilda was grinning. “Say uncle!”

“Uncle! Uncle I sweeaar! Ahahaa!” Dash banged a hoof on the ground.

Gilda released her, and they broke apart, laying on the floor and giggling. “Oh, man, G, I swear I almost had you that time.”

“Well, maybe next time you’ll grow some hands, or maybe some upper body strength.”

As they lay there, exhausted but happy, small thoughts churned in Gilda’s mind. Ask her now. Ask her now!

“Soo, uh, Rainbow,” Gilda ventured, cautiously.

Dash took a moment to catch her breath entirely. “Yeah?”

“You remember, some of the stories that Tirgum would tell, right?”

Dash nodded. “Yeah, yeah. About his adventures in the Republic?”

“Yep. Do you remember, uhh, when he mentioned my dad?” Gilda wrung her hands together.

“Sure do. They did all sorts of wacky stuff together. They were, ahh, whatsit.” She tapped a hoof on the ground. “Met-something. Met-Valtnu.”

Gilda blinked. “That’s... right, actually. Met-Valtnu, Life Brothers.”

“Yeaaah, cool stuff. Those were some great stories.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gilda nodded, drawing out the pause for a moment, unsure how to proceed. “Do you know what that meant?”

Dash shook her head. Gilda continued. “Well, it’s a pretty common thing in Gryphon culture. Basically, it means that the two will always have each other’s backs, and never abandon the other. Like, uh, a reaffirmation of loyalty, between two friends. Except, sorta solitary? Like-“

“Like best friends, except with a promise to always be there.” Dash nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I totally get that.”

“Right! That’s, wow, that’s way better than how I put it.”

Beat.

“So, uhh...”

Dash smirked. “Yes?”

“On that topic,” Gilda approached, “I was wondering, maybe, if you don’t mind-“

“Yes.”

“What?”

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Dude, yeah, totally. I think that would be super awesome!”

Gilda smiled, excitement bubbling within her. “R-really?”

“Why not?” Dash elbowed her friend. “Let’s be Met-Valtnus or whatever. You know you’ll always be my main girl, and I’ll always have your back.”

“W-well with the feminine phrasing the suffix becomes Met-Valtna because valtna means sister so it’d be life sister but that’s not really important because that’s super awesome and-“ Gilda clamped a claw over her beak, swallowing her rambling. “Yeah, that’s... cool.”

Dash rolled her eyes. “Well, alright then, my Valtna-amigo,” she said, “any special gryphon-y codewords or anything? How does this work?”

Gilda chuckled. “Well, just this, actually. We talk about it and agree on it.”

Rainbow beamed. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. Plus, on legal paperwork, you’re filed as family and have a predetermined place on my will.” Gilda fiddled with her talons a bit. “That’s pretty much it.”

The gryphon’s mannerisms were calm, but her heart raced at a mile a minute. Dash scooted over and put an arm around her. “This is pretty important to you, huh?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Gilda returned the gesture. “Yeah. Thanks.”

They sat on the ground for a moment. Gilda was smiling, thoughts running through her head. How could I have ever doubted.

Dash playfully punched her in the arm. “Hey, you know what would make you feel better?”

Gilda smirked. “What?”

“Celebrating with a night at...” Dash smiled. “Fossy’s?”

The gryphon laughed aloud. “Yeah, alright. Fossy’s it is.”

* * *

Fossy’s nightclub was not a terribly grandiose establishment.

Once upon a time, several years ago, it had been one of the most happening places in Cloudsdale. Famous musicians from all over Equestria played music there, and it had lines around the block, just to enter.

The nightclub Gilda looked at, however, was a club that was a tiny bit past its prime.

The neon sign, once bright purple, flickered slightly around the cursive S. A lone bouncer, reading a magazine, barely nodded to Gilda and Rainbow Dash as they entered.

The inside was no better. A scuffed tile floor, peeling paint on the walls. An old bar, that needed to be replaced. The faint smell of cleaning fluids.

Gilda grinned. Ahh, Fossy’s. No place like it in the world.

Several youths, freshly graduated from high school / flight school, littered the dance floor. Several more occupied the tables. A few of the pegasi waved to Gilda and Dash as the entered, sparing them a casual greeting.

They took a seat at one of the empty tables. A silver pegasus was leaning at the DJ booth, gently scrolling through a pre-determined playlist. Rainbow glanced over at her. “Is that Silvermine?”

Gilda spared a look, as well. “From Equish class?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Could be.”

The music drifted over them. Gilda drummed her talons on the table. “So what did you have in mind?”

Dash shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe some food, hang around a bit. Relax, you know, chat.”

“Yeah, totally.” Gilda shot a look over to the bar. “Think I can convince Weathered to give me booze?”

Dash barely suppressed a laugh. “Pfft-! Sure thing, G.”

Gilda frowned. “Hey, it almost worked last time!”

“Yeah, and you were kicked to the curb when your voice cracked.”

“Oh, look who’s talking.”

Dash smirked. “Pot can call the kettle black, but the kettle’s still bla-“

“Just you wait an see, Dash. I bet I can do this with my eyes shut.” With that, Gilda casually wandered onto the dance floor. 

Several ponies nodded at her as she walked past. An encouraging number of ponies ignored her completely, or didn’t care that she was there. And still, several ponies, (none of whom she recognized) stared at her, with one part curiosity, one part shock, and several parts fear.

Gilda looked straight forward, headed for the bar. Those ponies weren’t important, they never were. What was important was what was ahead of her.

Weathered Glare was gently cleaning glasses behind the counter, a perpetual scowl on his features. Gilda casually slumped herself into a barstool, leaning with one elbow on the counter.

Weathered stopped cleaning, and let out a long, heavy sigh. “Gilda...”

“Hey there, Weathered.”

The stallion turned to look her in the eye. “Gilda, you’re not supposed to sit at the bar.”

Behind her, Gilda could perfectly imagine Dash breaking into fits of laughter. “Oh? And why not?”

“Because you’re not old enough.”

“Really?” Gilda faked shock. “How old do I look to you, man?”

“Twenty.” He replaced the glass on the shelves. “Maybe twenty. If you quit acting so childish.”

“Naw, see, gryphons are cooler than that.” Gilda smiled, brightly. “We just look young, because we always look great. I’m 22.”

“Really?” Weathered gave a barking laugh. “Because I saw you in here for graduation just last year.”

“Maybe I started flight school late, hmm?” Gilda spoke. “You wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Weathered gave her his namesake Glare. “Gilda, go sit somewhere else.”

“Come on! Two drinks. Just two!”

“No.”

“One drink, we’ll split it.”

“No.”

Gilda pursed her beak for a moment. “Okay, okay, half a drink for me, for the price of a full one, and a free cola for Dash.”

“No.”

“Come, on, Glare! Give me something to work with, here!”

Weathered rolled his eyes, sighing again. “Ugh. If I give you both free colas, will you leave me alone? You pull this every other week.”

Gilda smirked. “Yeah but I get free colas out of it.” With that, she left the bar, whisking back to her table. “Thanks for the drinks, you old hack.”

He responded, yelling across the floor. “Bite me, you pubescent brat!”

Gilda returned to her seat, laughing softly. “Eheh. Well, that didn’t exactly work.”

“What, no booze?” Dash puzzled. “What were the drinks then?”

“The old dweeb gave us free cola if I left him alone.”

Rainbow once again broke into laughter. “Oh, cripes, G. You can’t just...” She shook her head. “Let up on Weathered a bit, hmm?”

“Nah, man, he’s cool with it.” Gilda fidgeted in her chair. “I was just messing around. He’s cool.”

At that moment, Weathered whistled at them, gesturing to two colas on the bar. Gilda spared Dash an apologetic look, then went to go fetch them.

She made her way across the dance floor, retrieving the two drinks. “Hey, Weathered... you know I’m just messing with you, right? You’re actually pretty cool. Y’know, for a pony.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Kid, I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”

Gilda relaxed. “Oh, yeah, I never-“

“-but you should learn to understand what ponies, or gryphons, or anyone, is trying to tell you, instead of how they see you.”

She paused, digesting his words for a moment. “...What?”

Weathered closed his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Enjoy your soda.” He trotted away, back to the bar.

Gilda rolled her eyes. “Wiseass.”

Dash kicked her under the table.

“Aipe! What?” 

“Gilda.”

Gilda huffed. “Ugh, he’s just being, I dunno...”

“Helpful?” Dash offered with a smirk. Gilda huffed. “Listen, G, as your Met-Valkner-“

“Valtna.”

“-I need you to trust me, right?” She smiled. “Besides, when have I ever steered you wrong?”

Gilda laughed. “You mean besides when we nearly hit a mountain?”

Dash smirked, but continued. “I mean, like, for real stuff. Y’know...” she elbowed the gryphon. “Met-Vattu-y stuff.”

“Valtna.” Gilda rubbed her chin for a moment. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll think it over.”

Dash leaned back in her seat, satisfied. She put her hooves up behind her head. Gilda snickered. “You’re really taking this seriously, aren’t you Dash?”

“Why? Should I not be?”

“No no no no,” Gilda quickly amended, “It’s great. I just didn’t expect you to take to it. It’s not very, I dunno, cool.”

“The way you explained it, Gilda,” Dash took a long sip of her soda. “I figure it’s no different than what’s already here.”

Gilda smiled, her heart warming to the words. Thanks, Rainbow. 

Instead of vocalizing her feelings, she leaned back as well, striking a cool pose in the old club. Things are pretty alright.

“...and that’s why I’m moving.”

Gilda snapped out of her reverie. “Hmm? What’d you say?”

Dash groaned. “You weren’t listening for that whole speech, were you? I was talking for like a full minute.”

“Eheheh...” Gilda fidgeted. “Maybe?”

Dash rolled her eyes. “You can never bash on me for tuning out your history lessons again, okay?”

Gilda nodded. “Fair enough. So what’d you say?” It’s crazy, I almost thought I heard her mention she’s moving. Hah-hah, she’d never-

“I’m moving.”

Internally, Gilda reeled. “W-what? Why?”

“Well, I just got my weather manager’s certificate, and I need three years of in-air experience before I can apply for competitive flight teams. So I put out an application, and they needed a weather manager in Ponyville, Neigh Jersey, and Appleloosa. Ponyville was closest, and Flutters lives there now, so it seemed logical.”

Gilda nodded dumbly. “Right. That makes sense. How, uhh...” Keep cool, Gilda. This is totally fine. “H-how long until you move?”

“One week.”

The warmth in Gilda’s chest flickered and died. “O-oh. Well, I get to help you pack!”

Rainbow smiled. “Of course you do! You get to do all the heavy lifting.”

The both shared a laugh.

Gilda hardly smiled for the rest of the night.

* * *

One Week Later

“This balloon is so slow.”

“It can’t go any faster, G.”

Gilda raised a claw in mock annoyance. “What’s this? The amazing Rainbow Dash, claiming to no be able to go any faster? I am in shock.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes, sitting down in the small basket.

Gilda was circling a large hot-air balloon, as it drifted lazily through the clear blue Equestrian sky. Patchwork fields of green rolled below the craft, as Rainbow Dash sat within, atop a small pile of precariously stacked luggage.

Gilda glided over to the edge of the balloon basket, clinging to the side. “Why couldn’t you have just shipped your stuff there?”

Rainbow laughed. “Everything shipped with Equestria Express to Ponyville gets beaten to all sorts of hell along the way, but nopony can really figure out why.” She patted a hoof on the bags, making the pile wobble slightly. “I’ve got important stuff in here!”

Gilda harrumphed.

“Besides, it’s not all that bad. At least it’s a nice view?”

Gilda glanced out onto the horizon. As far as she could see were the gently rolling hills and fields of Equestria. Further in the distance were the hazy outlines of a mountain range, including one central spire with a very familiar city upon it. “Yeah, it’s a nice view.”

Dash noticed Gilda’s gaze. “Hey, you used to live in Canterlot, right?”

Gilda shrugged. “For a little while. A year or two.”

“Miss it?”

The gryphon closed her eyes. “Nah. I mean, I wouldn’t mind seeing it again some day, but I’m in no rush. Y’know?”

Dash gazed towards the ground. “I guess. It’s just kinda weird, I guess. I’ve lived in Cloudsdale all my life, and suddenly I’m moving to Ponyville? To the ground? It’s not something I ever really considered.”

“Tell me about it,” Gilda muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

Rainbow sighed. “I mean, you’ve lived in like a million places-“

“Three.”

“-so I feel like I’ll be missing Cloudsdale a lot.” She once again put a hoof on the bags.

Gilda drummed her claws on the basket. “Are those gonna fall out?”

Rainbow waved a hoof. “Nah, they’re good.”

“If you say so.” Gilda smiled. “It’s really not that bad. You’ll be too caught up trying to get into a new rhythm of things, and before you know it, you’ll have been there a year! At least, that’s how it always went with me.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Rainbow sighed. “Sitting around doesn’t really help me feel any less nervous, though.”

“Why don’t you take a load off, then?” Gilda asked. “Fly around a bit, stretch your wings. I can watch your bags for a few minutes.”

“No way, G. It’s not like I can’t sit still for less than an hour.”

Gilda shrugged. “Suit yourself. I guess I’ll just have to relax for the both of us, then.”

The gryphoness shot off of the basket, zooming through the air like a bullet. She flared her wings upwards, directing the cool flow of the atmosphere to guide her upwards into the sky.

“Hey Dash!” she called out. “Check this! I call it the Grapevine!”

Gilda flapped her wings, reaching a high altitude. She then pivoted herself so she was facing downwards, tucking her limbs into her body. Then, the gryphoness dived, shooting downwards.

She flared her left wing slightly, sending her rolling to the right. Then, after a small moment of rolling, she tucked it in again, and repeated the action with her left wing. The result was a zig-zag dive, buffeting downwards in a nearly impossible pattern.

After descending several hundred feet, Gilda pulled up out of the dive, hovering just slightly above the hot-air balloon. “How was that, Dash?”

No response.

“...Dash? Rainbow?” Gilda frowned, flapping towards the side of the balloon, and looked inside the basket.

But instead of finding a cyan pegasus, congratulating her on her latest maneuver, all she found was a toppled pile of luggage, and a small amount of blood.

Gilda’s eyes shot open. She looked downwards, to find the minuscule form of Rainbow Dash, tumbling unconsciously to the ground.

In an instant, Gilda was diving, pumping her wings as fast as she could to gain the speed to catch up with Rainbow. The wind bit at her face like knives, but she continued diving. She had to save Rainbow.

Thoughts from Flight School echoed in her mind. Remember, everypony, nopony can dive faster than somepony falling at full speed. You should always go flying with a buddy, and that buddy should always remember to catch their friend as fast as they can!

Gilda gritted her teeth, the wind drawing tears from her eyes. She was gaining, very slowly, on the falling pegasus, and could make out now the individual colors in her mane. He eyes were closed, and he limbs tumbled randomly.

But Gilda was not going fast enough. An internal calculator, evolutionarily ingrained into the grypon’s head, told her that she would not reach the ground in time.

And whatever you do, children, remember–don’t go into a full dive at high speeds. You will be unable to open your wings again, and crashing into the ground head-first is an easy way to die.

Gilda closed her wings completely, straightening herself out into an aerodynamic projectile, rocketing towards the ground.

In almost no time at all, she had caught up with the descending pegasus. She grabbed her into her arms, holding her close to her chest. She then struggled to get her wings open.

Her wings would not budge. Gilda struggled and struggled, but the stream of air trapped her wings at her sides, preventing her from freeing them.

“Come on!” She shouted over the wind. Staring at the ground, she could see it coming closer and closer, an inverted plane of dirt above her head, coming down to crush her.

Suddenly, an idea struck Gilda. She grabbed Dash tighter, then pushed her outwards, holding the pegasus away from her body.

The limp form of Rainbow caught in the updraft, spinning the pair around so that the gryphoness was facing the sky, holding the pegasus above her.

Almost immediately, the air caught on the underside of Gilda’s wings, yanking them open. Gilda cried out as pain shot through her joints, but thankfully nothing broke.

The sudden descent suddenly made Rainbow very heavy in Gilda’s arms. She grabbed tightly, and thankfully Rainbow stayed in her grip.

She had stopped less than twenty feet from a painful meeting with the ground.

“Cripes, Rainbow,” she panted as she hovered in the air. “Don’t... don’t do that again.”

She quickly began to ascend, thankfully, away from the ground and towards the balloon, which had begun to drift freely in the sky.

* * *

“There’s Ponyville.”

Gilda looked out of the balloon, and saw a small town below, with a small train track running through it.

Gilda nodded. “Yeah. By the way, I saw some blood, in the basket. Are you alright?”

Dash nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine. When the luggage knocked me out, I think I bit my tongue.”

This relieved Gilda’s worry somewhat. “Oh, gotcha.”

Rainbow guided the balloon towards the railway station, where a large empty field sat empty, waiting for passengers of charter balloons such as these. Sitting on the edge of the field, waiting patiently, Gilda could make out a small, pink-and yellow pegasus.

The balloon touched down with a thud, and Gilda and Dash hopped out, quickly tying down the basket. They then went to the work of piling the luggage onto the grass. The pegasus walked towards them, timidly. Wh... that’s a few hundred feet, easy, why is she just walking? Fly!

Eventually, she reached the balloon. Dash put a hoof around the pegasus’s neck, turning her towards the gryphon. “Gilda! This is Fluttershy. You remember Fluttershy, right?”

Gilda eyes the yellow mare appraisingly. She seemed familiar, but nor overtly so. She experimentally waved her claws.

Fluttershy’s face was riddled with fear. She opened her mouth, made absolutely no sound, then shrunk into Rainbow’s arm.

“Eheh...” Dash laughed, “She’s a bit shy.”

Gilda nodded. “I’m sure she’s very... nice.”

“Oh, the nicest.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the balloon swaying overtly over their heads.

“So...” Gilda began, “I guess this is it? For now?”

Rainbow nodded. “Come visit sometime, eh? Soon, too.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Us Valtnu’s can’t be left hangin, right?” Dash joked, punching Gilda’s side a bit.

The gryphoness nodded. “Oh, you know it. Don’t, eh,” Gilda spoke a bit louder, to cover her slip. “Don’t get too lame without me, ey Dash?”

Dash nodded, slowly, her face showing a vague disappointment, then pulled Gilda into a large hug. Gilda was shocked for a moment, but returned it gratefully. “You don’t need to be cool around me G.”

“Hah...” Gilda laughed. “Because we’re the coolest.”

Rainbow broke away, disappointment returning to her face. “No, G...” she was silent, then waved a hoof. “Ah, nevermind. I’ll miss ya.”

“Me too.” they bumped hooves, then Gilda untied the balloon, and slowly floated into the air.

She sat on the edge of the balloon, leaning on the walls of the basket and gazing downwards. Hmm... Maybe Cloudsdale is getting a bit stale, she thought. I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.

And why not Ponyville? It’s not a bad town. And Dash is there, so it works out.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. Not, not that I’d move towns just to be with my best friend, she quickly backpedaled. That’d be waaay to clingy. Totally lame.

She scratched her chin. Maybe I’ll wait a bit, get everything sorted out in Cloudsdale. then I’ll go.

Hell, it’ll be just like old times.
	
> Somewhat Earlier
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Alligators?

Alligators were easy.

Or was it crocodiles? Tirgum scratched his head. At any rate, I don’t think it makes a difference, he thought. It’s still trying to eat me.

“Watch it!”

Tirgum hurled out of the way, as one of the giant crocodiles (alligators?) barreled past him, maw open wide. It ran into a tree, splashing about in the water as it fell onto its side.

Tirgum turned to his friend. “Hey! I thought you were taking care of that one!”

The other gryphon waved a claw. “Eh, it’s fine. He’s almost out anyway, look!”

They swiveled their heads in the direction of the crocodile. It had regained its balance, and was glaring at the pair with hungry eyes.

Tirgum blinked. “Wait, weren’t there three of these things?”

As if on cue, a second crocodile leapt out of the water, tackling Tirgum to the ground, knocking him over with a loud splash.

The other gryphon dove at the first crocodile, using his wings to leap onto the beast’s back. “Alright now, you bloody handbag. Let’s see how you like-“ he grabbed the thing’s leg, “-this!”

With a mighty heave, the other gryphon turned the leg, tabling the crocodile onto its back. The great monster flailed its legs about in the air, uselessly.

Tirgum was still preoccupied with the second crocodile. It writhed on top of him, trying to work its great jaw over his head without releasing him.

Oh no you don't you little- Tirgum wrapped his arms around the crocodile’s neck, pushing it upwards and out of the water. The crocodile’s limbs splashed about, but to no avail.

“Hah-hah!” Tirgum shouted, triumphant. “Who’s got you now, asshole!”

The crocodile’s tail whipped around behind him, and stuck Tirgum squarely on the back of the head.

“Ah!” Tirgum cried out, and the crocodile took the opportunity to push its way free from his grasp.

“How you doing over there, Tirgum?!” The other gryphon called.

“This is taking longer than we thought!” was the reply. “Aren’t you going to be late?!”

If the other gryphon did reply, Tirgum didn’t hear it. The crocodile opened its mouth, and proceeded to place it around Tirgum’s leg, pulling it backwards.

Tirgum dug into the ground with his other three limbs, and kicked the top of the crocodile’s mouth. It let go with a roar, and Tirgum took the opportunity to deliver another kick to the bottom of the jaw. The crocodile didn’t take it well, stumbling about as its senses were dulled.

Tirgum jumped into the air, and landed on top of the beast, striking its neck with his elbow. A loud crunch came from the point of contact, and the beast was dead.

Tirgum lay there for a moment, atop the crocodile, panting. Eventually, he got on all fours, and called over to the other gryphon. “Seriously! She is going to be really pissed at you if you’re late!”

The other was, at the moment, twisting the arm of his own crocodile. “I know!”

“And I don’t mean sorta pissed, I mean-“ Tirgum blinked. “Wait, didn’t you say there were three crocod-“

The third and final crocodile jumped on top of Tirgum, crushing him under its pale belly. “Augh! How the hell do crocodiles get so big in a bloody river?!”

The other gryphon was just finishing the first crocodile, pounding its head with a stone. “I dunno! How the hell do they get so big in rivers, Tirgum?!”

Tirgum’s crocodile pressed a stumpy foot onto his back, pinning the gryphon down in the water.

The other gryphon noticed. “Oh, shit! Tirgum! Hang on a second-!” He darted forward.

Tirgum was preoccupied by the crocodile, currently breathing down his neck. He reached a hand out to the scaled leg, but just fell short. Instead, he reached up with both hands, and grabbed the creature’s open jaw. With the jaw in hand, he pulled.

The crocodile pulled upwards violently as its mouth was pulled upon. As it reared, the other gryphon tackled it, sending it sprawling in the water. Tirgum was on his feet in an instant, trailing behind his friend.

The crocodile wasn’t moving. The pair spared a glance at each other.

Its huge chest inflated as it breathed in. The two gryphons flinched, stepping backwards. However, the crocodile didn’t move, only stayed there, breathing deeply. Tirgum ventured forward, and quickly inspected it.

“...It’s asleep.”

The other gryphon smiled. “Hey! Maybe we can sell it to a zoo.”

Tirgum cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re still late, buddy.”

He shook his head. “Pshaw, I can’t possibly be that late. These things always start late, anyway. It’ll be fine.”

Tirgum pursed his beak for a moment. Silently, he trudged through the water to the bank, retrieving his satchel from the base of the pine tree. He deftly removed an unassuming pocket watch, and clicked it open.

The other gryphon grew nervous. “Heh heh... what’s it say?”

Tirgum glanced at him. “It was supposed to start thirteen minutes ago.”

“Uhh...” He mulled it over for a moment.

Then, the other gryphon, and Tirgum’s friend, bolted into the air without him, quickly vanishing behind the canopy.

Tirgum chuckled to himself. Shaking his head, he slung his satchel around his shoulder, and quickly followed.


Tir Wramuvel Outskirts, Gryphon Republic, 971 AB


Tirgum watched as the other gryphon’s silhouette rocketed towards the city, laughing to himself. I should really hurry too, he thought, I don’t want to miss out on Cimme yelling him into a coma. He beat his wings harder, and rose into the air as well, turning to head for the city of Tir Wramuvel, capital of the Gryphon Republic.

Tirgum enjoyed the feel of the wind at his side as he flew, the ocean breeze carrying a cool air of salt and ocean moisture to his coat. The terraced streets of Tir Wramuvel wound up the jagged peak like a messy spiral, and he could spot tiny specks of the city’s inhabitants, flying about the sprawling cityscape and going about their business.

Atop the peak, the shining stone buildings of the citadel, central and highest building of the city. Filigreed with copper, the central dome was the meeting place of the Council, the forerunners of the Republic’s government process.

Tirgum flew high, soaring past the residential districts, and into the crowning commercial district, encircling the citadel at the top of the mountain. There, he spied a tall, spired building, wrought in metal and stone.

Tirgum slammed onto the thin cobblestone street in front of the church. He shook himself, clearing the water from his coat as he rose to all fours, and casually trotted towards the front entrance.

An old gryphon stood there, a no-nonsense look on his face. “Dammit, Tirgum. Where the hell is he? And why are you all wet?”

Tirgum had to fight hard to contain his laughter. “Seriously? Reverend Sargu, he left before me.”

The expression on the holy gryphon’s face went from annoyed to exasperated. “...You’re kidding me.”

Tirgum shrugged. “I suppose he also had to grab his cloak. I just came straight here.”

“And where were you? You’re soaked, and you’ve got a black eye.”

Tirgum raised a hand to his face, surprised. Sure enough, his eye felt puffy and warm. “Oh, well. He wanted to get rid of some stress, so we went down to that stretch of river over by the messenger trail.”

Sargu blanched. “You were alligator wrestling before a-“

“HERE! I’m here!” The gryphon in question slammed onto the ground, harder than Tirgum had. A navy cloak was pulled over his shoulders, and he held a gold-colored tie in one claw.

Sargu flinched at the impact, scowling at him. “You are nearly half an hour late.” He marched up to him, grabbing the tie from his claw and expertly tying it around the other’s neck. “Of all the thing-“ he pulled a loop around the gryphon’s neck, “-to do on this day-“ He pulled at the first half of the knot, tightly, causing the gryphon to gasp, “-to go alligator wrestling.” He finished the knot with another snug wrench, actually making the poor gryphon cough.

“Eh,” the gryphon said, “I don’t regret it. Now how do I look?” He straightened his neck, posing handsomely for the reverend to inspect.

“Like a ruddy fool.”

“So nothing’s changed, then.”

The reverend rolled his eyes, and the clothed gryphon smiled, giving him a quick squeeze on the shoulder before darting towards the door.

Sargu yelled over his shoulder as the gryphon entered. “Bless yourself, you bloody twit!”

He turned on a dime as he entered the church. “Ah yes right I-bless-myself-in-the-name-of-Veile!” He made to continue, but stopped and turned again. “No-wait-I-mean-uh-Svenuya-yeah-that’s-it!” he gave a frantic smile, and was gone.

Tirgum watched the entire exchange with a rueful grin. “Now you’re late.”

Sargu huffed, and began to walk around the side of the building. “Follow me.”

The two gryphons went into the narrow space between the church and the next building over. The cobbles gave way to the barren rock of the mountain face, and Sargu led them to a small door.

Inside was a tall, narrow passage. Tirgum could hear the bustling of a crowd, just beyond the thin wall.

Sargu put a hand on his shoulder. “Just through there. I need to come out another way.”

Tirgum nodded, and the older gryphon vanished down a hall. Tirgum took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

The church was packed, all full of gryphons of every age, all in formal hats and cloaks. The altar was adorned with gold-colored and canvas cloth, and two sets of three individuals flanked either side. A young light-colored gryphoness, adorned in a white gown higlighted with canvas-colored ribbon, stood off to one side. She fidgeted anxiously with her crown feathers.

Tirgum stepped in front of the row of gryphons on the left, subtly nodding to the gryphoness. She gave him a look of relief.

Tirgum glanced at the other wing of the altar. The darker-toned groom stood there, still slightly damp from the river, mirroring his fiancée’s expression.

Sargu appeared from a small door, set back behind the altar. The crowd’s bustling silenced, leaving only a few scant whispers.

The priest approached the altar, gripping his hands on the sides of it tightly. Before him sat a large, leather-bound book, gently smattered with ink. A small shard of clear quartz lay in front of it.

Reverend Sargu cleared his throat, and began to speak. “We are gathered here to today... finally... to witness the union of two souls.”

The two gryphons in question stepped forward from their hiding places, approaching the front of the altar, smiling. As they walked, the gathered broke into applause, enthusiastically clapping their talons together. Some even whistled.

After they reached the altar, Sargu allowed the applause to go on for a moment more, before raising a hand for silence.

“These two honorable gryphons, having come here today, represent the greatest of ourselves, and the greatest of each other.” With a practiced hand, he flipped open the book before him. Several notes in an angular, symbolic script crowded the pages. He turned to the end of the notes, where the inscribed half of the book met the blank.

He turned to the gryphoness. “Do you, Cimme kin of Dethviel, say true, that you are here of your own will and volition, and that you are certain in your own actions here today?”

She nodded. “I am.”

Sargu gently inscribed the book. After a moment, he turned to the groom. “And do you, Gildu kin of Gilda, say true, that you are here today of your own volition and will, and that you are confident in your own actions here today?”

Gildu closed his eyes and nodded, smiling. “Yes, father.”

Sargu once again inscribed in the book. “Exchange your feathers and cross your arms.”

The pair each removed a primary feather from their wings. They each cringed a bit as they plucked, the audience mirroring the expression. Gently, they exchanged their feathers, then replaced the feathers of their partner in their own wings folding them in with the other feathers. They then crosse their right arms at the wrist.

“See the rings at their talons, given at their time of promise, a promise of things to come. And see the feathers at their wings, given at their time of union, to remind them that they now share in all things.

“Do you both accept this promise?”

Gildu smiled. “I do.”

Cimme did as well. “I do.”

Sargu nodded, and removed the crystal shard from the altar. He took one talon and pressed the crystal against the runes he had script in the book. Then the reverend closed his eyes, concentrating.

The crystal began to glow. As did the words on the page. The shard hummed, vibrating in Sargu’s grip.

A small flash of white light emerged from the crystal, and zipped through the air, humming all the while. It shot to the new feathers in the couple’s wings, gleaming past them and shimmering out of existence.

Tirgum watched as Gildu’s eyes widened a bit, and he stretched out his wings, examining the new, lighter-colored addition to his wingspan. He always did like magic, Tirgum thought.

There was more cheering. Even Sargu was cracking a smile, much to Tirgum’s surprise. “And now,” the elder gryphon spoke, “by the powers vested in me by the Council of the United Republics of the Gryphon Kingdoms, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife.”

More cheering. Tirgum participated, enthusiastically, as two of his best friends kissed each other passionately on an altar.

The newlyweds proceeded down the aisle, bounding out of the church doors, and taking to the air. The gathered at the church followed them, joyfully winging towards the reception.

Tirgum lingered behind, to speak with Reverend Sargu. “You know, reverend, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say I saw you smile today.”

Sargu scowled. Tirgum laughed. “So will we see you at the reception? Cimme generously offered my own home, if you want to criticize my residence.”

“No, I’ll leave that fun to your conscious,” the holy gryphon replied. “You get to your party, they’ll be missing you there.”

“Well, if you change your mind, it’s probably going to be a long party.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when I’m sleeping through it.”

Tirgum shook his head, grinning. He departed the church and shot into the air himself, climbing the ocean winds. 

The sky was blue, and the air was cool. Tirgum sailed over the waves, content.

* * *

At the reception, Tirgum drank.

He wasn’t a heavy, drinker, not at all. But he did enjoy a distilled beverage when the occasion suited it.

And boy, it was suited.

The gryphons at the reception were all very happy. His house had a sizable courtyard, and it was perfectly suited for hosting such an event. Tables of food and drink lined the walls, and a loud, up-beat tune played on an imported Equestrian gramophone.

He glanced down, swirling the drink in its glass. I’m happy, he thought. This is a happy place, I am happy here.

Then, contrary to his own opinions, he let out a long sigh. Happy, dammit! 

Looking across the courtyard, he spied Gildu, laughing merrily. A long line of friends and family stood congratulating him, and a stupid smile was plastered across his face. He’s happy. You should be happy. Happy for him!

But he was not. Tirgum’s mind raced as he thought of his best friend’s future, and where he would go with his life. It ground to a halt as he thought of his own.

“Hey, Tirgum!” A younger gryphon pushed his way over to him. “Nice house.”

Tirgum nodded politely. “Thank you, Maverick. How are you enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, it’s great!” He laughed. “Great wedding too, eh? I never thought I’d see the day when Reverend Sargu cracked a smile.”

Tirgum couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, it’s quite the rare sight. He was very close with Gildu’s father.”

“Oh, aye?” Maverick shook his head. “It’s a shame, I never met him.”

“Well, hrm.” Tirgum scratched his chin. “Well, Gildu senior was very... different, from the junior.”

“How so?”

“Well... He was quite strict.” Tirgum rubbed his hands together anxiously. “And he didn’t like Gildu’s excitable nature. When Cimme announced she was getting married, he looked at me expectantly.”

Maverick cringed. “Ouch.”

“Yes, it was awkward. Especially considering we used to date.”

“Oh, gods.”

“Yep.” Tirgum patted the younger gryphon on the shoulder. “My advice to you is this. Don’t kiss and tell.”

“Kiss and tell? I hear someone talking about me!” The newly-married gryphoness but in to the conversation.

Tirgum laughed. “Oh, we would have probably turned to talking about you in a moment, Cimme.”

Cimme smiled, and waved a claw, before punching Tirgum playfully on the shoulder. “And what’s this I hear about what you were doing with my husband?! You were wrestling alligators, twenty minutes before his wedding!”

Tirgum smiled, shrugging. “Almost twenty minutes after, actually. I’m surprised nobody noticed his damp feathers.”

Maverick grinned. “Wait, you two were alligator wrestling, right before a wedding?”

Tirgum cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re eighteen, wiseass. Judge me when you’re late for your wedding.”

Cimme pursed her beak, but didn’t berate him any further. “Well, I’m gad he had fun, at least. You know how he can get.”

Tirgum nodded. “Yes, I do. That’s why we went out in the first place, to relieve stress.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But the crocodile wrestling wasn’t really planned, it just sort of happened.”

“Hah!” Cimme laughed. “You two never do anything planned. I’m just glad you were within flying distance of the damn chapel.”

“Where else would we be?”

Cimme cocked an eyebrow. “On a boat, halfway to the Pale Sea?”

“Wait what?” Maverick exclaimed.

“Shoo, you. Grownups are talking.” Tirgum batted a wing at the younger gryphon, who complied and left, laughing.

“And about the boat, that was one time,” Tirgum countered, “and you were there. We’d never go after sea serpents without you.”

They both laughed. “So how does it feel to be married?”

Cimme’s smile faded a little, which concerned Tirgum. “Honestly?”

Tirgum nodded. “Yeah.”

“I expected to feel completely different. I mean, I was a nervous wreck for a week before today, as you well know-“

“Oh, yes.”

“-but I got myself through it by saying ‘just imagine how it’ll feel when you’re married’. I expected my whole outlook to change, the second I said ‘I do’.” She shook her head. “But... it’s not.”

Tirgum digested the words for a moment. “Well, why should it? I mean, you love him, right?”

“Oh, of course!” She shook her head. “Yes, I do.”

“And you’re happy. So why should that change? Why would you want it to?”

“I... I suppose I had hoped that things would make more sense. Just, life in general.”

Tirgum couldn’t help but laugh. “Nobody can make sense of life, Cimme.”

Cimme scratched her beak, idly. “Yeah yeah. Maybe I’ll feel better after the honeymoon.”

From across the room, Gildu decided to cut in. “Hey! If it isn’t the two gryphons I came here to see.”

“Gilduuuu.” Tirgum embraced his Met-Valtnu. “You’re a married gryphon now, my friend.”

“Yes, it’s true. I have left the realm of the bachelor.” he faked a scoff, turning his head. Cimme snorted. “So when are you going to join the ranks, brother?”

Tirgum grimaced. “Ich, I need another drink for this conversation.”

“I’ll go with you!” Gildu announced triumphantly. Tirgum rolled his eyes, but smiled.

They made their way through the rancorous crowd, towards the beverage area. “Well congratulations again, valtnu,” Tirgum offered. “I’m very happy for you.”

Gildu smiled. “I’m hapy you’re happy. But now you need to get married, brother!”

Tirgum shooke his head, waving a claw. “I’ll get married when I want to get married. When I meet the right gryphoness.”

“You always say that. You need to be more social.”

Tirgum glared at his companion. “I am social!”

“Well, I suppose you’re getting better,” Gildu conceded. “I mean, you skipped a council meeting just to stay here a bit longer, so that-“

“What?!” Tirgum looked at Gildu in shock, putting a hand on the other’s chest. “What did you say?”

“...The council meeting?” Gildu asked. “I assumed you were skipping it because you were still here, and it starts in a few-“

Without a second thought, Tirgum leapt into the air, flying over the crowd. Many gryphons looked up in curiosity as he sped upwards, and towards the open window.

Storming out of a wedding wasn’t exactly polite, but Tirgum was late.





Yorva stood at the entrance to the library, waiting patiently.

The young gryphoness had several scrolls and books, piled into her forearms, and wore a simple cloak of storm grey, fastened by a bronze clasp bearing a single bar. A black coat gave way to mottled grey crest feathers, marking her as royalty.

Or at least, distantly related to royalty. In truth, Yorva had no connections to any of the more noble houses, and shared her queer pigmentation with six percent of the entire nation. However, it still caused some meandering eyes to be cast upon her.

A scraping sound drew her attention back to the path before her. Tirgum, cursing as he wrapped his own cloak about his body, hurried past her. Yorva blinked, then quickly followed, doing her best to keep the contents of her limbs in place.

“Councilor Tirgum-“

“Please, Yorva,” Tirgum interrupted, “just call me Tirgum.”

Yorva nodded, a tad uncertain. “...right then, Tirgum. I’ve got the finance reports you asked for, as well as the cultural survey records for the past century.”

The pair swept into the upper district of the city, where the large dome of the Citadel stood, gleaming. They passed pillars and arches of stone as they swept rapidly through the outer pavilion. “Good, good.”

“Sir, if I may ask, why were you late? You’re always rather punctual.”

Tirgum snorted in irritation. “Oh, I expect the courier who was to inform me of the change in schedule decided to drop one of his messages or something. Either way, someone didn’t want me there today.”

Yorva’s eyes widened, and she nodded. “Councilor Demauch, right?”

He cast a sidelong glance. “Well, Yorva, as you know, making such an accusation against a Councilor is an easy way to gain enemies, and bears a lot of implications for our fair government. Such things should not be said lightly.”

Yorva nodded, before speaking again. “So...”

“It was almost certainly Councilor Demauch who did that, yes.” They approached a large flight of stairs, and quickly began to bound up them. “Tell me, Yorva, what did the summons say? What are we speaking of?”

“Uh, Foreign Trade Parliam-“

“Foreign Trade Parliaments?! Again?!” Tirgum growled. “This is such a foolish issue, I cannot believe they just won’t let it die.”

Yorva quickened her pace as they continued down the quickly narrowing stone halls, pulling up alongside him. “What issue? I haven’t heard of this before.”

“Well, no,” Tirgum admitted. “You wouldn’tve, you were only elected onto the Council this year. The Foreign Trade Parliaments was a proposition, put forth by Demauch, to isolate national trading partners on an investigational basis.”

“Wait, what?” Yorva asked. “Investigate?”

“Demauch wanted to make a board to review and investigate each nation that the Republic trades with, and determine what regulations would be applied for each. He claimed it would help with national safety.”

“Oh.” Yorva puzzled over this for a moment. “And why was that an issue? I mean, I don’t think it’s a super smart idea, but why-“

“Think, Yorva.” Tirgum spoke with slight aggravation. “Remember what I said about the police regulations in Mevel?”

“Everything corrupts,” she recited dutifully. “You think the Trade Parliaments would have been corrupted?”

“I am certain they would have been. You see, that act was just another piece in a much older game that the Council has been playing for many years now.”

They arrived at the entrance to the large dome and strolled inside. Several staircases led along an interior curved wall. “And what would that be?” Yorva asked.

Tirgum smiled at her. “Hah, you’ll find out in a second. What is the time?”

The younger gryphoness looked at the sky. “...In about a minute, I’d say.”

“Right. See you inside.”

She departed up one of the lower staircases. Tirgum wasted no time getting to his own, one of the uppermost staircases, running high into the rafters of the domed building. He could hear the throng of gryphons on the interior side of the external passages of the dome, and rushed to get to the door.

Ahead of him, finally in sight, was the opening to his level of the Council terrace. Relieved, he rushed towards it.

A hand reached out from the shadows and seized his wrist. Tirgum gasped, turning to strike at his attacker with his free claws.

The figure effortlessly blocked them, before drawing Tirgum closer to his beak. “Councilor Tirgum.”

“What do you want.” Tirgum glared at the gryphon. He wore a black cloak with the hood drawn, obscuring his face. Tirgum could tell however, from his dark beak, that his attacker was of the noble bloodline.

“I am here to merely give you a warning.” The figure spoke with a deep, rasping voice.

“Warning? Warning of what?”

“To the East, Councilor,” the figure dictated. “You must cease the petty squabbling this government seems to relish-“

“-as much as I agree with you, I happen to be one of those petty squabblers, so if you could-“

“-and focus on the East. If you do not, your entire world will be at peril.”

A booming voice echoed from inside the doorway. “All rise, for the beginning of...”

Tirgum looked over at the door. “That’s my cue to leave, stranger. Now what do you-“ but when he turned around, the hooded gryphon was gone.

Tirgum grabbed his wrist, happy to have it free, puzzling over the mysterious encounter, before disappearing into the doorway.
> Much Earlier
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Flying flying flying flying flying flying flyiinnnng

Smith was beginning to struggle to keep up with the rest of the caravan, his wingbeats struggling to maintain pace. The forested landscape below him seemed to roll on endlessly, tiny hills and mountains and lakes and plains, soaring past.

Thankfully, the captain called out for a rest, on a nearby plateau. The young metalsmith collapsed onto the ground thankfully, carefully trying to hide his relief from the other members.

“Alright, we all know it’s a long-ass trek to pony country, so we get a ten minute break. Stretch your wings, eat some food, whatever. Stay on the plateau.”

Smith removed a small amount of hard tack from the satchel on his back, chewing on it gratefully. He slumped onto the dirt, relaxing.

He noticed a small group of gryphons, in a similar position to his own, gathered in a small circle, a few feet away from him. Shrugging, he pulled himself back up to his feet, and trudged over to the circle.

The gryphons greeted him heartily. “Hey, come sit,” on said from a crouched position. “You’re the blacksmith, right? I’m Vikgil.” the rest of the gryphons introduced themselves as well.

“Thanks. I’m, uh, Smith.” He grimaced a bit, before sitting down in the circle.

“Just Smith?” one asked.

“Just Smith,” he confirmed.

There was an uncomfortable pause, as the gryphons all digested the information. “Uh, well, Smith, we were just talking about the ponies.”

Smith gave a half-forced chuckle. “Well, that would be the thing to talk about.”

“I had a pony, or at least, my father did,” an amber-colored gryphon said. “And I won’t deny, he was damn useful.”

“Oh, they sure are!” said another. “My cousin’s owned a textiles shop for nearly eight years, and he’s had a pony for six. He doesn’t know where he’d be whithout a pony.

“Textiles?” Smith asked. “How can a pony help with textiles?”

“Oh, easy,” was the response. “You’d think they’d have a hard time, cause of the hooves, but a unicorn can weave a good cloak in under three hours.”

“Two if you work em!”

They burst into laughter.

Smith laughed along, uncertainly. “Eheh, yeah... isn’t it a bit, I dunno, uncivilized? I mean, I’m not complaining, but we’re basically keeping these ponies as... well, slaves.”

The small group fell silent. “Slaves?” One asked. “Man, I never really thought about that...”

“Well so what? If we keep them as slaves, they’re slaves! What’s the big deal?” Vikgil snorted.

The amber gryphon spared him a sidelong glance. “Well, I wouldn’t call it slavery, eh? More, like, I dunno, indentured assistants.”

“Yeah. And,” a tall gryphon added, “it’s a part of the war effort. You know, helping Talygryph prevail and all that.”

“There isn’t a war.”

“Not yet! And anyhow, how long has peace lasted between the ponies and us, hmm? Not much longer than a few decades, I’d say.”

Smith drummed his claws on the dirt. “So, what, we try to assimilate the ponies? I mean, I’m more than willing to have help in my shop, but that doesn’t seem like something to do to a people that you are enemies with.”

“Smith, you have a smithy, right?”

Smith nodded. “Heh, yeah, as I suppose you’ve gathered.” Smith had opened his shop after a period of torment in his life. At the age of 55, he was by no means a young gryphon, but here he was, flying for a pony with gryphons half his age. “Getting a pony was, erm, highly recommended by the smith’s union.”

“Well, it’s like manual labor in a prison. We can capture the ponies to combat their forces, but without actually killing the foals.” The gryphon nodded, smiling. “It’s like my-“

“Attention!” The captain called out across the plateau, silencing the rest of the caravan. “Your ten minutes are up. But to give you all a bit more time to lounge about, we’re going to be quickly going over exactly what it is we are doing here today.”

The captain took to the air, hovering over the rest of the gathered. “The number one rule of pony raids: do not dally. We should be in and out of there in four minutes! You have precisely that much time to find a foal, under eight years of age, and apprehend it. If you don’t find one,” he snorted, “Well, tough.”

He peered down at them, and continued. “And let me be clear- no shopping. This isn’t some market or carnival, and these are not goods to be appraised. Despite what any rumors have been flying about, all three types of pony work just as well as a servant.”

He crossed his arms. “Now, get your gear together, it’s another hour until we get to the selected pony settlement. And one more thing-“


Eastern Ranges, Equestrian Continent, 3886 PB


The captain grinned, donning his helmet easily. “Be a bit frightening, eh? A successful raid leaves the town in panic.”

“Now move out!” 

The captain turned and soared towards the horizon, quickly heading the caravan towards their destination. The rest of the gryphons took to the air less quickly, but continued to follow nonetheless.

Smith tailed the back of the caravan with some of the gryphons who he had spoken to. “Hey, what did he mean, ‘types’ of pony?”

Vikgil snorted, turning his beak haughtily at the blacksmith. “Cripes, you old bastard, how the hell don’t you know that?”

“Lay off,” another responded. ‘The ponies come in three types, Smith. Earth ponies ain’t got nothing on em, just four hooves and a face. The pegasi also have a pair of wings, and can fly just as well as you or me. The third type, unicorns, are like mages, except half of them can’t do nothing but levitate stuff.”

“Oh.” Smith nodded with mock comprehension. “I see.”

“Spirits, who would want an Earth Pony?’ Vikgil commented. “Talk about useless. How the hell are they even supposed to get anywhere?”

Smith was about to reply, but bit his tongue. I’m sure it’s not all that bad, he thought.

* * *

Night fell as the gryphon caravan reached their destination. The stars twinkled clearly above, and little light was provided by the new moon.

After another eternity of flying, Smith, could distinguish what looked like a small town, right in the middle of a forest, alongside a small lake. Peering closely, he could barely distinguish a few ponies, milling about their daily lives in the small town.

Before he could see more, he was pulled down behind the trees, where the caravan was assembled.

The captain adjusted his helmet. “Alright, everyone line up.”

All twenty gryphons got into a line, standing straight as they could. Nobody had given them the order to stand straight, but the captain’s commanding presence gave that impression.

“Alright. Now, the idea is simple enough. When I give the signal, you move there-“ he gestured towards the small town, not fifty yards away from them, “-as silently as you can. Try and grab a foal and creep back without being seen.”

“However, you will be seen. Without fail, within thirty seconds of our little expedition, somepony will spot one of you, and the jig will be up. At that point, feel free to abandon all semblance of stealth, and just grab the nearest foal you can see.” He marched towards the front of the group and held out a raised fist.

After a moment, he gestured forward.

The line of gryphons quickly crept forward. Smith accompanied them, keeping low to the brush as he tried to keep as silent as possible.

Luckily, the small houses began precisely at the treeline. Cottages, one or two stories, arranged in a semi-organized grid pattern, composed most of the small town.

The group of gryphons each went a different direction in the town, trying their best to remain unseen and in the shadows. Smith silently walked down an alley, a thin space between two tall homes.

As he approached the opening to the alley, he spied the perfect target- a small green filly, with a horn spiraling out of her head. She sat with an older, yellow pony, but the adult seemed to be occupied, only superficially watching the small child.

Smith waited until he was sure he would not be seen, then began to silently creep up to the chid. 

Step.

Step.

With each footfall, he grew closer, until he was just within reach of the tiny filly. He extended a claw...

“Gryphons!”

A cry rang out around the town. Smith paused, startled by the sudden cry. The yellow pony also glanced up, fear etched across her face. She whirled to grab the child-

-and saw Smith, poised to grab her.

With a mighty bellow, the pony tackled the child, before Smith could reach far enough to grab it. The weary gryphon cursed, lunging towards the pony to grab the child.

But the pony was already gone, galloping across the town, away from him.

Smith banged his fist on the ground. Stupid stupid stupid! He frantically glanced around, searching for another filly. Instead, he saw several of his compatriots, all running towards or away from the yelling herd of ponies, some with a foal in hand.

Smith scowled, then turned back down the alley Maybe some of them are trying to hide, he thought. It’d be easier than trying to-

A peculiar sight interrupted the gryphon’s train of thoughts.

There, standing in the alley, was a small blue filly. She tilted her small head at him, looking upon Smith not with fear, but with an earnest curiosity.

...What? Why is she- don’t ask questions!

No longer hesitating, Smith jumped and grabbed the filly in his arms, taking wing and rocketing back towards the treeline. The filly gasped, now properly scared as she should have been, and began crying aloud, calling for help.

The mournful cries tugged at Smith’s heart, but he tried to ignore them. Remember, Smith, these ponies aren’t going to be killed. They’re just enemies, and we need to show a message.

He repeated the weary mantra in his head several times, not truly believing it himself. Regardless, he continued back to the meeting point.

The captain nodded at him as he returned. “Good. You’re one of the last to get back,” he supplied, “so as soon as we’re all here, we can go.”

Smith nodded, then joined the rest of the gryphons, already standing at the ready. He made note of the way they all held their new prize.

Some gryphons held the pony like a sack of potatoes, slung across their backs in a utilitarian, but not uncomfortable position. Some held theirs by the tail, hanging the poor creatures upside down like animals.

Smith looked down at himself. He held the small crying pony in both of his arms, holding it close to his chest. He sacrificed his own mobility, but he felt that it was the best way to carry the poor thing.

Suddenly self-conscious, Smith turned away from the other gryphons, watching the village with an anxious expression. He counted nineteen gryphons, including himself, having returned from the village.

After another two minutes, the last gryphon returned, empty-handed, a scowl wide across his beak. The captain laughed at the poor soul, patting him on the back. “Hah! First time someone’s missed a damn pony in nearly two years!”

This did nothing to help the gryphon’s mood. He sulked as he ambled towards the rest of the group.

“Alright, move out, all! We are headed back to Hardhill!” The captain took to the air once again. “And I’m not going to be going easy on you just because of your damn cargo!”

The entire caravan jumped into the air, now holding their captive foals, all unconscious, tightly as they gained speed. Smith hugged the blue filly closer to his chest, shielding her from the biting nighttime wind. He did his best to shield her as long as he flew.

* * *

Eventually, the caravan reached the plateau once again. Now very late at night, the captain lit a torch, passing the flame between several of the gryphons. “Alright you lot, this is the first and only stop until we get back to Hardhill. You get another ten minutes, and then we’re off. So don’t fall asleep.”

Smith touched down, gingerly holding the tiny pony in his hands. He glanced around, and noticed several gryphons were tying harnesses for their new stewards, straps to keep their hands free as they flew home.

He also noticed the same circle of gryphons had convened. With nothing else to do, he walked towards them.

One of the gryphons held a torch, and was using it to inspect his pony. However, the light cast across the small circle, allowing the others to see just as well.

“Hah!” One gryphon exclaimed. “Pegasus. Man, I’m relieved. I don’t want to be hauling this thing around everywhere.”

“Hey, yeah, and they can make deliveries for you!” The other gryphon glanced down at his. “Man, that would be awesome, to just relax as a pony delivered everything. But a unicorn’s not bad, I guess. It can weave, right?”

To Smith’s dismay, Vikgil was not the gryphon who had failed to capture a pony. He was, however, inspecting his pony as one might a wheel of mouldy cheese.

“An earth pony!” he exclaimed. The small beige colt was shivering in fear as it slept, cowering in Vikgil’s hands. “Of all the lousy tricks! I grabbed you from unicorn parents, you insolent twat!”

The poor thing just shivered more. The gryphon who owned the textile factory glared at him. “Lay off the thing, would ya? Earth ponies are super strong, man.”

“Ugh, please.” Vikgil held the pony by his mane, making him wince. “Everyone knows that they’re just useless farmers.”

The other gryphons merely rolled their eyes, returning to inspecting their goods. “Hey, Blacksmith, what did you get?”

Smith blinked a bit at the question. “Hmm? Oh, I got a filly.”

“...No, I meant what type.”

“Oh.” Smith looked down at her, still clutched tightly in his arms. Gently, he opened them, to inspect the small pony.

She had fallen asleep. As Smith lowered his arms, she unconsciously shivered at the exposed cold, pulling herself closer to Smith’s breast-feathers. As she did so, a tiny horn poked at him.

Ow. Heh, so I guess she’s a unicorn.

He closed his arms once again. “Look’s like I got a-“

He stopped. His and felt something else, something odd on the filly. He looked downwards.

There, he saw his hand, where it draped protectively around the pony. It also touched a pair of midnight-blue wings, attached to the pony at the shoulders.

Smith blinked. “What?”

The others glanced at him. “Is something the matter?”

“Uh... can ponies be both? Like, I think she’s a unicorn and a pegasus.”

“What?!” Vikgil raged. “They can’t even-! And I get a bloody-!” He fumed silently as he glared at the earth pony in his talons.

The other gryphons all looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “I dunno,” one said, “I didn’t think that was possible. Or at least, I’ve never heard of it.”

“Can we see?”

Smith hesitated for a moment, before opening his arms, and exposing the filly, without drawing her away from him. Her wings, nestled by her sides, were just as visible as her horn, poking out from her light-blue mane.

The gryphon with the textile mill shrugged. “Dang, that’s lucky. I guess some do come with both.”

“Was anything different about her? Like, was she surrounded by guards, maybe? Or in an enclave?”

Smith shook his head. “No, not really. She was in an alley. But, when she saw me, she wasn’t scared or anything. No screaming, no running.”

“Maybe it’s a freak?” Vikgil offered. “It got wings and a horn, but its mind is all messed up.”

Smith cocked an eyebrow at him. While he had only just acquired the filly, and was meant to treat her with the disdainful respect of a master to a servant, he could not help but feel indignant at the remark. “We shall see when she awakens.”

“Yes,” one gryphon asked, “Do they all faint when they are captured?”

“Oh, gods no, many of them scream as they’re carried off. They usually pass out on the flight, though.”

The conversation continued in this manner, until the captain once again ordered the group to depart.

* * *

As the day progressed, the caravan eventually caught sight of Hardhill. A young town, perched atop a mountain as in the Gryphish style, was mostly ramshackle homes upon a mostly-untamed mountain with dirt roads, that housed most of the Gryphon colonists in the Western Continent.

While the gryphons stationed here were technically foreigners in this land, they had been settled on this mountaintop for three generations, and had no intention of surrendering it to the ponies.

Smith looked upon it with relief. It had been a hard days flight, and he was eager to rest his wings. And by the sounds of his compatriots, he wasn’t the only one.

The filly in his arms stirred in her sleep. He looked down at her with a worried expression.

“All company!” The captain shouted, “Halt at the landing platform of the base! Do not depart. You will have several minutes to talk to your new pony, set some ground rules, perhaps beat it into submission. Ready!”

Smith cringed a bit at such a casual mention of violence.

While they were there, very few gryphons in the caravan agreed with him.

The base was upon the south side of the mountain, hanging precariously over the canyon valley. the landing platform was a large, flat, stone area, off to the western side. Smith and the rest of the gryphons touched down with practiced ease.

The captain swiftly departed into the base itself, leaving the gryphons to collapse gratefully onto the ground, and begin unloading their various types of cargo. Several pieces of armor, cloth bags, and nineteen little ponies.

The gryphons all looked at each other with lost expressions. One gryphon finally got down to business. “Ey, pony, wake up.”

It remained sleeping. “Pony, WAKE UP!”

The colt started awake. It looked up at the gryphon, and began to cry out in terror.

This process was repeated by all of the gryphons on the platform. Soon there was a cacophony of cries, as the various ponies shivered with fear. Some cried, some yelled out, and some just shivered in their new master’s claws.

Smith looked down at the filly. She was sleeping, still, and Smith felt slightly guilty about waking her. He gently shook the poor thing. “Come on, little pony. Time to wake up.”

“Nnnng.” The pony wriggled around in his grip. “Five more minutes.”

Despite himself, Smith smiled. He quickly grew somber again before continuing. “Sorry, little filly. You need to wake up, now.”

The filly opened one eye, slowly. She frowned, then opened her eyes completely, craning her neck to look around. “...What?”

She looked up at Smith, who weakly smiled. Her eyes grew wide as she began to whine, her fear expressing itself in the high-pitched wail.

“Oh, no,” Smith said, his heart breaking. “No, little pony, it’s alright, it’s alright.” He patted on her back with his hand. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to be scared.”

The filly sniffled. “But-but-but you’re gryphons!” she cried. “We’re supposed to run away from gryphons and-and-and you take foals away to eat them and-“

“Hey, I’m not going to eat you,” Smith insisted.

She looked up at him with doleful eyes. “You’re not?”

“Nope.”

“Promise?”

Smith chuckled slightly. “Yes, little pony. I promise.”

“Hey, Blacksmith!”

Smith looked up, to see Vikgil calling his name. His beige colt was trembling on the ground beside him. “Don’t be so sappy, eh? You need to have a firm claw with these ponies.”

Smith nodded, slowly. “...Right. Thanks, Vikgil.”

Vikgil grunted and returned to his pony. His method of acclimating the poor thing seemed to involve a lot of bruises.

Smith glanced down at his filly, who stared back up at him. “You know what, I think he’s a bit of a meanie.”

She giggled, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hoof. “Heehee, yeah.”

“Well, I’m not going to be a meanie,” Smith added. “I promise that, too. My name’s Smith.”

The filly sniffled again, wiping her nose. “Smith. O-okay, hello Mr. Smith.”

Smith laughed. “You don’t have to call me ‘Mr’, little filly. Just Smith is fine.”

“Okay then, Sm-mith.” The filly shakily took a deep breath. “...If you’re not going to eat us, why are we here?”

Smith clicked his beak as he mulled over the thoughts in his head. “Well, you’re here to... uh. You’re here to be my helper.”

“Your helper?” She asked. “That’s it?!”

“Heh, that’s it. You know how, maybe, some of the older ponies in your village go off to fights?”

The filly nodded. “M-my sister talked about that sometimes... They fight you guys, don’t they?”

Smith nodded. “That’s right. Only, I don’t really like fighting that much, you know. Too hard.” He made a funny face, which caused the filly to giggle. “So instead, someone had the idea of catching little foals, to help us out. That way, it’s sort of like fighting, without actually fighting.”

“Oh.” The filly blinked. “That’s not so bad, I guess.”

“I hope not.” Smith sighed. “So, I’ll be-“

“Attention!” The captain burst onto the landing platform, calling out loudly. “Get in line! The King is coming to speak to you all!”

Smith cringed. “Oh, dear.” He looked down at the filly. “Alright, dearie, we can talk a bit more later, hmm? But right now, we need to be very quiet. Can you do that?”

The filly nodded, securing herself in Smith’s arms. He quickly jumped into line with the others, who had secured their pony similarly in some manner.

They all stood silent in the line. And from the doors of the fort, the King strode out onto the landing platform.

“ALL HAIL KING FUTHARK!” The captain bellowed.

“ALL HAIL!” the gryphons echoed.

Smith spared a glance from his stiff position to look at the King. He was a tall gryphon, head held high, draped in a regal violet cloak, and a copper crown upon his head. His coat was dark, and his feathers were a speckled grey, complementing his dark-colored beak well.

Smith straightened again. Gryphons with that coloration were few and far between, and were primarily found in the royal courts of the homeland, overseas. To record, only one royal was in the colonies at the moment.

King Futhark slowly walked past the assembled gryphons, looking at their catch with a discerning eye. “This is a strong bunch,” he commented. “Our men and their new wards both. They’ll do good on our kingdom.”

One of the ponies began to sob, quietly. The muffled sounds were quiet, but easily heard by the entire platform. It was a shaky, depressing sound, that really quite ruined the triumphant mood.

Vikgil broke his still stance to deal with the noise, which was coming from his colt. “Quiet!” he whispered. “Be quiet, you little shit!”

King Futhark frowned, before gently strolling towards Vikgil. “This is your pony?” He asked.

Vikgil paled. “Y-yes, your highness.”

Futhark gently turned the pony’s sobbing face with a claw, until the colt was looking right at the king. The poor thing’s eyes widened in fear, and he whimpered.

“Do not be afraid, pony,” Futhark dictated. “You will learn to be strong here. All the world may fall at the feet of the stalwart.”

Miraculously, the pony stopped crying. Futhark continued down the line of gryphons.

Quietly, Vikgil growled at the colt again. “You little brat! You ever try that again, I’ll...”

Smith stopped hearing Vikgil’s words, as the King’s drifted across the platform. “Wings are good. Pegasi can travel our cities with ease,” he commented to one gryphon. “Unicorns are difficult, but a good amount of training can make the most useful servant out of them,” he said to another.

Each gryphon would respond with a respectful nod, or mumbled thanks. The King did not stop at each one, quickly advancing through the line.

As he approached Smith, the still gryphon straightened his back further, staring straight ahead. Of course, he did not want to appear to be slacking in front of the King.

Futhark stopped in front of Smith. Smith did not look at the King, but saw out of his periphery that he had stopped. He waited for the King to speak and move on, so as to ease his nerves.

He did not. The King stood there, silently. Smith spared a small glance at the King’s face. Futhark’s gaze was trained directly on the filly, in his arms.

Smith cleared his throat. “...My liege?”

Futhark opened his mouth, but the words failed the regal gryphon as he continued to look at the small filly.

The filly, in response shied away, burying her face in Smith’s chest.

Futhark finally found it within himself to speak. “...Where did you find her?”

“Um...” Smith gulped. “I f-found her in an alley, sir.”

Futhark blinked, and continued to stare at the filly for a long while. “Right, then.” He sharply turned, and marched directly back to the fort’s door. “You are all dismissed.”

King Futhark vanished into the fort.

The captain blinked, before turning to his men. “Alright, you all heard him. Get out of here, I don’t expect to see any of your sorry faces back here again.”

One by one, the gryphons began to depart, taking their ponies and taking wing. Smith looked down at the filly. “Alright, we’re gonna head home. Or, uh...” he shrugged a wing. “Your new home, I suppose.”

The filly nodded. “Okay, Mr- I mean, uh, Smith.” she gulped. “Who was that guy?”

“That was King Futhark,” Smith informed her. “You won’t see him much.”

Smith re-secured his bags, then leapt into the air. He soared high above the mountain settlement, once again holding the small filly in his arms. She did not seem perturbed by the sudden aerial shift, and in fact looked out at the passing landscape with a relaxed sigh.

Smith began to head to his home. “Well, this was much easier than I expected it to be. How about you?”

The filly fidgeted a bit. “You didn’t eat me.”

“And nobody intends to, so don’t worry.”

As the buildings swept below them, Smith realized something. “You know what, little filly, I don’t believe I learned your name.”

The filly pursed her lips. “Luna. My name is Luna.”

Smith smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Luna.”

The old gryphon and the young pony sailed through the air, enjoying the sunrise.
> Telephone Telephone
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Gilda.”

I was young.

“Gilda.”

I was young and I didn’t know anything about anything.

“I’m glad we’re learning this today, but it’s very important that you pay attention.”

“Sorry, Tirgum.”

He just smiled, patting my head. “That’s quite alright, my dear.”

I was living in Canterlot. The refugees had been there for nearly a year already, and Tirgum had taken to teaching me some basic combat drills. We stood in a small, empty courtyard, behind one of the large buildings of the palace. The stone floor was overgrown with green vines, and tree roots dug into the tiles.

Mostly, before that point, he had taught me self-defense, close quarters combat. But today, he had something different.

“Gilda, this is a stick.” He held out a long, wooden stick, partially wrapped in oilcloth. 

I giggled a bit. Tirgum smiled. “No, it’s not really just a stick. This is called a ceveli-Talona, or ‘training-sword’. We’re going to be using it in today’s lesson.”

I brightened a bit at that. “A sword?”

“No, just a practice sword. But we might get to a real sword eventually, if you practice well.”

“Okay!” I bounced up and down on the ground, I was so excited.

“Wonderful. Now, I’ll need you to stand like this...”





It was a cold morning.

Gilda was standing alone, on a flat rock outcropping, a few miles east of Cloudsdale. There, on the barren surface, was a black scorch mark, faded, but still stubbornly visible, even after all these months.

She repeatedly damned that damned book and that damned passage and her damned pride. A fucking pyre. But it had felt correct, and she had gone through with it. Tirgum shouldn’t have been without his culture, even at the end.

Gilda’s mind trailed back to Rainbow’s words, last week. How... had he found me? How did he, one of the best warriors in the city, avoid the battle?

What did he want me to do?

Gryphon funerals were very intimate affairs. Typically, one individual, rarely two, would take the full responsibility of the mourning and burial process. Said individual would not communicate with the others who mourned the dead, carrying the final burden of their closest companion in place of the deceased, so that the rest of the survivors could weep in peace.

Gilda had not really taken to that part of the customs. She spoke and talked and confided in Rainbow Dash regularly, in the weeks following his death. Gilda tried, she had, to keep to the customs. For Tirgum. But in the end, she had gladly given over to her own sadness.

On that note, it was fucking freezing oh my gods why is it so cold

Gilda took to the air, her large wings pushing her off of the ground, taking her back home to the city in the sky.

Flying was one of the few things that Gilda always, undoubtedly, indisputably, liked doing. She couldn’t help but smile as she reached altitude, and began to gain speed as she gilded forward. Cool morning air rushed past her coat, the cold bite no longer seeming to matter. The wind was exhilarating, and the freedom of movement was invigorating.

She coasted to a glide, laughing softly to herself. Dawn mist was hanging over Equestria, and the sun was just peeking over the horizon, casting long shadows and a tentative warmth into the air.

Gilda enjoyed the scenery for a moment more, before coming in to Cloudsdale proper. The city’s arching cloud pillars were inviting, and she flew towards them with a steady content.





Gilda walked up to the front door of her house, removing a key from her satchel and inserting it into the lock. As the tumblers turned, a memory floated into her mind.

“Stand like this, Gilda. Now, take the sword in your hands. Both of them.”

She pondered over the image for a moment, then glanced inward, toward the house. Where is Tirgum’s sword?

Tirgum’s sword was a very solid fixture in her day-to-day life, growing up. Tirgum was always practicing with it, or cleaning it, or telling her to practice with it. And most recently, it was in his hands when he-

No, Gilda, don’t think about that.

Shaking her head, Gilda went inside the house. Tirgum had slept in the back room, and she hadn’t bothered going inside, or even opening the door for three months. With a determined canter, she proceeded through the narrow halls of the small home, and arrived at the plain, white door.

The knob turned and the door slid open without a sound. Inside, the lights were off, but it was still visible by the ambient light, coming from the hallway.

A plain bed, neatly made. More bookshelves, albeit with less books than in the living room. A small closet, a bedside table. A pine dresser. And atop the dresser, a broadsword, poised neatly atop a display rack.

Gilda trod gently into the room, her feet making silent sounds against the oriental carpet. She reached out and grabbed the sword with one hand.

The blade’s hilt pressed into her hand, giving a familiar weight and feel to Gilda’s arm. She subconsciously adjusted her poise to better compensate for the instrument in her hand, the feel of the sword running from her wrist to her shoulder to her hips.

The sword itself was unique. An otherwise plain, steel broadsword, with an otherwise plain, leather-wrapped hilt. However, copper wires and iron clasps, positioned regularly around the hilt, guard, and base of the blade, distinguished it from most other weapons.

Gilda could not help but smile to herself. She turned the blade in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship, and reveling in the warm memories it brought. A small amount of light glinted off the sharp metal.

Turning it over in her hands, Gilda was about to depart, leaving the still room to its silence, when she noticed something else.

On the base of the small display rack, there were numerous small items, piled casually by Tirgum. A few receipts, a ticket stub, a bottle cap. Spare change. And a small, unassuming, brass key, on a short loop of twine.

Gilda took the key in her talons, looking at it as she dangled it from the twine. It spun freely in the air. The key was nothing astounding, a round head and a seven-pin tooth, but upon the head there was a small, stamped number.

2941

She peered at it, curious. “So is this for like a safety box or a...”

She trailed off, suddenly acutely aware of how out-of-place her voice sounded, in such an otherwise silent room. Depositing the key in her satchel, she quickly turned tail, and exited to the living room once again.

The door to the empty bedroom swung shut without a sound.





Back to the relative safety of the living room, Gilda settled into an armchair, Tirgum’s sword across her lap, and inspected the key more closely.

After several minutes of inspection, she returned no more information than she had gleaned from inspecting it before. A brass key, 2941, string.

The numbers weren’t a mere serial number, however. The depth of the engraving and the style of the letters implied that it was a label, indicating what it was that the key opened. So, that was something she got from examining it more.

Maybe it’s a safety deposit box, she thought. Anyway, I bet the ponies at the bank could tell me what it is, even if it’s not that.

Gilda glanced downwards, spying the sword on her lap. A sudden sense of duty overcame her.

Maybe I should sharpen this.

She blinked. After a moment, she deposited the key to her small satchel, then returned the blade to her hands. Running a claw along the edge, she judged the sharpness. Not much use in the past months, so not bad. Could be better.

Gilda rose to her feet, sword in hand. On three legs she moved to the kitchen, and quickly rummaged through the shelves until she found what she was looking for. Taking the whetstone in hand, she placed the blade sideways, across her arm.

Without ceremony, she gently placed the stone to the edge, and drew it across the length. A satisfying grating sound, of stone on metal, cut through the house. Gilda smiled, then repeated the action.

After several minutes, paying close attention to all four edges of the blade, she held it up again. It gleamed in the light, playing off of the copper wires and steel engravings. Another test of the edge with a claw proved that it was once again capable.

Experimentally, Gilda returned to her feet and swung it through the air. The motions, a few months out of practice, returned to her fluidly, giving a comforting warmth to her joints.

The action of cleaning and caring for the blade suddenly made it feel real, like more than a memory. Gilda fetched the key from her pocket, and looked at it. 

2941





The mare at the bank was remarkably effectual about the whole thing. “We don’t have that box here, hun.”

Gilda raised an eyebrow at the pony behind the teller’s booth. A young, pink mare, with a shiny blonde mane. She regularly blew bubbles with the gum in her maw.

Gilda drummed her claws on the table. “You don’t? You didn’t even check, how do you-“

“Listen,” she said, her mouth smacking on her gum with every breath, “I’m sorry to hear bout your dad, miss, but-“

“He wasn’t my dad,” Gilda suddenly interrupted. 

“Sure,” she continued, nodding. “But anyway, it’s an obsolete cause. I think it would be fruitful to continue your endeavor elsewhere, hon.”

It was quite amusing to hear such vocabulary uttered with such an accent as this pegasus had, but Gilda was too annoyed to laugh. “And why is that? How do you know that-“

The mare rolled her eyes. “We’ve only got about a thousand boxes. They’re numbered 001 to 999.”

“...Oh.” Gilda’s ears flattened in embarrassment. “Well-“ she huffed, wringing the key’s string around her talon. “Fine. Bye.”

“Wait, wait.” The mare held up a hoof. “Look, Miss, I can say with a fair amount of certainty that that’s the key to a mailbox.”

Gilda raised an eyebrow. “Mailbox? Mailboxes don’t have-“

“They do at the post office.”

Gilda blushed, embarrassment catching her off guard once again. “O-oh. How do you know this is one of those keys?”

The pegasus smiled, either oblivious or kindly ignoring Gilda’s discomfort. “I have one myself. ‘Cept the number, it could be identical. See?” She raised up another key, on a curly pink keychain. It was the same make, size, and color as Gilda’s, but bore the number 1764.

Gilda looked down. “Oh, uh, okay.” She paused. “...Thanks, I guess.”

The mare smiled. “Don’t mention it, hon. Need directions to the post office?”

Gilda scowled. “No.”

The mare tightened her lips a tad. “Well, okay then. Have a nice day, Miss.”





The Cloudsdale Post Office was one of the more extravagant public buildings to grace the cloud city. Being one of the centers of pegasus commerce, and one of the oldest buildings in the city, it was decorated with many swooping arches, and lots of fine filigree. 

Several private delivery services owned and operated from central sections of the Post Office. Pegasus mail was the fastest way to get mail delivered, and it could turn into a very lucrative business. Next-day delivery was the slowest selection available, while some services could get your package across the country within the hour.

For the right price.

Gilda walked in through the high cloud pillars, and to the section of private mail boxes. Each delivery company that located itself in the Post Office has a section devoted to mail boxes, and each type of mail had a different key.

Unfortunately, Gilda didn’t know which company. She walked up to the nearest delivery window (Manehattan Parcel Services) and held up her key. “Hey, do you know which office this is for?”

The pegasus looked at it. “Yeah, that’s Equestrian General.”

Equestrian General. The most basic, limited, and unremarkable delivery service available. Packages and letters could sometimes take up to a day and a half to reach their destination. The only upside of the business was that, as a government department, standard postage was only five cents.

Gilda moved to the Equestrian General office, then headed directly for the mailboxes. There were several more than she had expected, but Gilda quickly returned to the task at hand. She proceeded down the rows of boxes, all stacked one atop the other, until she arrived, finally, to box 2491.

It was small, only about a foot in length, and maybe six inches deep. Gilda inserted the key, and turned, which (to her relief) opened the lock and allowed the drawer to slide free.

Gilda slid it open and looked inside. Four letters, all addressed... to her, lay at the bottom.

She scooped them up, and examined each one. There were three, which had her name typed, and were quite thin. Each of them was also dated one per month, for the past three months. The fourth had her name, hoof-written, and was quite a bit bulkier.

Each envelope came from the Equestrian Finance Bureau. 





Back at home, Gilda put the letters on the kitchen table, lining them up in a row. She set her bag down, sat in a chair, and proceeded to open them.

She decided on opening the large, hoof-written one first. Gilda tore the seal easily with her claw, and pulled out three folded pieces of paper. The first paper was a letter.

Dear Gilda X, 

We regret to hear, that your father, Tirgum X, has passed away. This letter has been sent to indicate our condolences and alert you that the Finance Bureau will cease sending his support checks, as per Section 4 the GAR of 955. Included is a small boon of severance, to aid you in your time of grief.

Your own support checks will continue monthly.

The Finance Bureau wishes you a pleasant wake and a happy evening.

-Lessie Smiles, Finance Bureau, Canterlot Offices.

Gilda re-read the letter three times. “Not my father,” she grumbled, but only half-heartedly.

...Wait, monthly checks? Does that mean-?

Gilda grabbed one of the letters, and quickly tore it open. Inside was a single check, addressed to her, for- Wow that’s a lot of bits.

Opening the other envelopes, she confirmed that these, too, contained checks, each for the same amount per month.

Gilda was floored. So this is how he afforded the house? And, well, food. And anything, I suppose.

In retrospect, it was a bit peculiar that Gilda didn’t know what he did for a living. She had just assumed the old gryphon was rich.

Gilda sat there for a moment, pondering the existence and contents of the papers she now held in hand. “Wow, this is... wow.”

Two other papers remained unread, the two papers included with the letter from Lessie Smiles. She picked up the one closest to her. It was another check, for a bit more than the others. In the notes section, Lessie Smiles had penned ‘my condolences’. 

Gilda added it to the others before picking up the next paper. It was of a considerably thicker stock, and the grain of the paper felt rough under her sensitive talons. The top of the letter was embossed with deep red ink, and the rest was written in formal calligraphy.

Gryphonic Aide Rulings - Section Four, In-Country Aide

“Article Five

If a Gryphon citizen-in-refuge should die, whether through natural or unnatural, though unintentional, circumstances, the funding mentioned in Article Two will be terminated. A boon shall be given to immediate relatives, up to but not exceeding eight-thirds of the typical funding, at the discretion and financial ability of Equestria at the time of death.”

Officially Duplicated Portion of the GAR, certified and ratified, Lessie Smiles, 999.

Gilda puzzled over the contents for a moment.

...I guess it makes sense, she thought, that Equestria would have protocols for dealing with refugees. But they have a separate set of rules for gryphon refugees, specifically? 

She looked at the paper again. Rules that were made in 955?!

The Gryphon Genocide hadn’t begun in 955. The Gryphon Civil War hadn’t even begun in 955. Something here was not right.

Gilda shook her head. Why should I care? she thought. This is nothing, it’s perfectly fine. 

...Right?

The young gryphoness drummed her talons on the kitchen table, staring intently at the letters.

Gilda saw two options before her. One, the most appealing one, said forget about it. Take the money. Take a vacation, maybe. Wait around a bit, move to Ponyville.

Two. She could dig just a bit deeper, and see what this was about.

Gilda sighed. One one hand, she didn’t want to look into this. She didn’t care. Gilda just wanted to fly, and read, and have a good time with Dash. On the other hand, she felt as though if she were to leave this behind, she would be abandoning Tirgum. Abandoning the gryphon who raised her.

Gilda slumped back into a chair. “Uunnngh. You’re dead, you old coot. Can’t you just leave me hanging with shit like this!”

The room did not answer. Gilda sighed.

How would I learn about this thing? Whatever it is.

Contrary to the belief of almost all who knew her, (except for Dash) Gilda read, quite a bit. It was an irritating habit she had picked up from Tirgum, and she was often embarrassed to be seen with a dusty old book in hand.

She had, however, read most of the information on the later history of the Gryphon Empire. Particularly after Tirgum’s death, (when she had found herself grasping at straws for Gryphonic burial customs) she had scoured down every piece of the Cloudsdale Library she could for information. There was no mention of these GAR.

Gilda thought back, trying to remember when she had made the voyage from the Republic to Equestria. What had happened? Had anyone mentioned these rulings? What were other gryphons saying about-

Of course! Realization struck her. I can just ask someone else!

Nearly giggling with glee, she practically leapt across the room, towards Tirgum’s dusty bookshelves. I don’t know anything, but I’d bet diamonds to donuts that another gryphon does.

Quickly, she found what she was looking for. A slim, spiral-bound book, a light blue in color, easily fitting into her palm. The words Address Book were embossed on the front, in a tacky, fake-gold lettering.

Gilda flicked through it quickly, opening somewhere in the center. It was blank.

She paused. What the-? Gilda had often seen Tirgum looking through this tiny book, before picking up the phone. She looked through it again.

Ah. The book wasn’t empty, per se–but it was damn close. Only the first ten or so pages, one page per five people, was filled in with black ink, done in Tirgum’s tiny, hasty handwriting.

Gilda looked through the names. Let’s see... Emergency Services? You just tell the operator that you have an emergency, Tirgum, you don’t actually need an address. She read the rest of the entry. ...’no address, just tell mare you have emergency’. Wow, Tirgum.

She read the rest. Ambergriss, that’s a pony. Curtain Call, pony, Crimson, maybe? ‘Mare who lent me her shears’. Damn. 

Finally, she found a name. Vornier. 2299, Alto street. 

Gilda got up, book in hand, and walked over to the phone in the kitchen. She picked the ear and mouth pieces, and pressed the button.

“Operator.” A no-nonsense voice sounded the other end.

“2299 Alto, please.”

“Please hold.”

Gilda heard a faint ringing sound, from the other end. It sounded for several seconds, before she heard a receiver pick up and answer. “Hello?”

The voice was male, and young, which surprised Gilda greatly. “Uhh, hello?”

“Yes, how may I help you?”

“Umm...” Gilda glanced down at the book. “...I’m trying to reach Vornier?”

The voice sounded inquisitive. “Vornier? No Vornier lives here, sorry.”

Gilda’s mood dropped. “What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I...” the voice trailed off, before picking up again. “Wait a minute, that sounds like a gryphon name.”

Gilda scoffed. “Duh, Vornier’s a gryphon.”

“Oh, well then, I know just where your friend is.”

Gilda smiled. ‘You do?!”

“Yeah. Pretty sure he’s the guy who died when I got this apartment.”

Sucking in a breath, Gilda managed to reply. “...What?”

“Yeah.” the voice sounded annoyed. “Old bastard. Left feathers everywhere, took me a week to clean up. And I’m still finding them in my furniture.”

Gilda’s anger flared. “You damn pony, don’t you know you’re talking about a guy who died?!”

“Why should I care if he died? Pegasi know how to preen themselves properly, dammit!”

“Screw you!”

The pegasus hung up. Gilda flung the receiver down, snarling angrily. Damn asshole! 

She noticed she was breathing heavily. She closed her eyes, and forced herself to calm down. After a few steady breaths, Gilda began to think. Alright, so, whoever, this was, this Vornier, he’s dead. Not a big surprise, actually. A lot of gryphons Gilda remembered were older than Tirgum. She was one of the youngest.

Shakily, she once again picked up the address book. Rifling through the names, it was only when she was near the end of the entries that she found another. Tulmiel, 369 Stratos.

The name struck a chord in her mind. Images of, years ago. A thin, blonde-coated gryphon, wearing a pair of thin glasses. He would often stop by the house for dinner, but Gilda saw less and less of him as she grew more and more independent, instead choosing to spend her evenings out with Dash.

Gilda allowed herself a morbid chuckle. “Heh, hopefully this one’s alive.”

She picked up the mouthpiece of the phone, and was once again greeted by the operator. “369 Stratos, please.”

“Please hold.”

The line began to ring. It rang several times, leaving Gilda to believe she would not receive an answer. Finally, someone picked up the phone.

“Hello? Who’s this?” A male voice, slightly raspy, that sounded breathless, like the owner had just run a great distance.

“Uh, hi.” Gilda paused. “M-may I speak with, uhh, Tulmiel? Is he there?”

There was a pause. “This is him speaking. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Y-yeah, sorry, you might not remember me.” Gilda chuckled. “My name’s Gilda.”

“Gilda?!” the voice asked, frantic.

“Um, yes.” Gilda swallowed. “Is that a problem?”

“Oh!” Tulmiel laughed. “No! No no no not at all! Haha.” He paused. “How are you?”

“...Fine?” Gilda was a bit miffed at the friendliness. “Um, actually, I just wanted to ask a quick question about-“

“I haven’t seen you in years. Last time I was over for dinner you were out with that friend of yours. Rainbow Bolt? Rainbow Crash? Something rainbow.”

Gilda exhaled. “Rainbow Dash. But seriously, I just wanted to-“

“Have you ever met my wife? I mean, you probably met her, over in Canterlot, but you were just a tiny kid back then, you didn’t really see her that much. And me and her didn’t really hang out, so there’s no way you’d piece us together.”

Gilda growled. This idiot wouldn’t stop talking. “Listen, buddy, I just wanted to ask you a question, alright? Could you shut up for two seconds?”

“Flarewing formation.”

Gilda almost dropped the phone. “...What did you say?”

“That was it, wasn’t it?” Gilda could almost make out Tulmiel’s smug face over the phone, though the other gryphon’s voice remained steady. “It was a broadsword stance that was very unique to Tirgum. I saw him teaching you, sometimes, in that courtyard by the kitchens.”

“...Yeah.” The words ‘flarewing formation’ left Tirgum’s beak regularly as he taught her, but Gilda knew nothing about the heritage of the style. “Um, what else do you know about Tirgum?”

“Was that the question you wanted to ask so badly?”

Gilda cursed. Tulmiel hummed into the phone. “Tell you what. Why don’t you stop over by my house? I could answer your questions, and we could talk a bit.”

“Lame!” Gilda scoffed. “Oh, no way!”

“Oh, please?” Tulmiel pleaded. “I’d love to have a chat. And my wife would be there.”

“No.”

“She knows close-quarter combat. You want some first-hand practice?”

“Really? What’s her- I mean, no.”

“You don’t sound so convinced,” Tulmiel laughed.

“I don’t want to hang with some lame old adults.”

Tulmiel hummed again. “We’ll make steak?”

That gave Gilda pause. Steak. Gods, she hadn’t had steak in ages and ages. The most succulent, tender piece of food she had ever had the pleasure to eat. Her eyes grew half-lidded just at the thought of it.

“...Gilda?”

“Huh? What?” Gilda snapped back into reality. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I invited you over for a steak dinner and a conversation.”

Gilda drummed her claws on the receiver for a moment. “...Fine.”

“Wonderful!” Tulmiel’s voice could hardly contain its delight. “Tonight? Sometime around six thirty?”

“Woah woah,” Gilda rebuffed, “Tonight? That’s a bit-“

“Are you doing anything?”

“Well, no, but-“

“See you at six thirty! Bring your sword.”

And he hung up.

Gilda scowled, banging the reciver back down into it’s hook, she stormed back to the address book, flinging it against the wall. She angrily flopped down in her chair.

She took a few deep breaths. Gradually, she began to calm down. 

She glanced at the sword, leaning gently on the side of the chair. She picked it up, gazing once again at its polished surface.

Bring your sword.

Gilda laughed. Tirgum’s sword. My sword.

She spared a glance at the clock, hanging on the wall, which proclaimed the time to be three fifteen.

Might as well go, she thought. But I should bathe before then. And deposit those checks.

With her errands in mind, she got up, and got to work.





I practiced as many times as I could. I lost count of the number of times I went through the steps, and instead focused on getting the whole thing right. The stick grew heavier and heavier in my hand, but I continued anyway.

Tirgum came out, sometime later. He was pleasantly surprised at my devotion. But he did correct my stance. “You’re not wielding a tool, Gilda. The sword is an extension of yourself, like a talon. You can’t feel it, but still vital. It’’s not like a bat, to be swung around. It’s you.”

I frowned. “But how can it be me? It’s not attached to me.”

“Lots of things aren’t.”

I kept practicing.