//------------------------------// // Chapter 3: Of Graktelmekt and Jon Anderson // Story: Born to be Wild // by PeaceColt112 //------------------------------// The early morning wind clattered trough the open car windows, carrying a few pieces of paper around the cabin. One of them made it's way to the back seat landing on Feather's nose. He sniffed loudly, trying to blow it away. Suddenly, he lost balance, a misplaced hoof missing it's destination. With a loud “The fuck?!” Feather landed himself on the floor, hind legs in the air, wings flapping like crazy. Morning sunshine, it reminded him of past hangovers, something he'd rather forget. To this day he swears that he didn't know it was a male griffin. Maybe he did know, maybe he did swing both ways... Feather shook his head, clearing his mind before that train of thought reached its unfortunate and rather inevitable conclusion. With a swift and obviously practiced move, Feather grabbed a bag of weed and opened it with his teeth. Nothing better then a peanut butter sandwich coupled with a nice bowl of Sour Diesel, minus the sandwich. With a deep breath, his day trip began. All around him the colors sprang to life , the usual grumpy morning smirk replaced with a wide, weedy grin. Somehow he felt as if he forgot something. He directed his view towards the driver's seat, currently empty. Flower must have been outside, probably taking a leak. Feather threw a quick glance at the dashboard clock. 4:53. Well, he was asleep for a few hours, but not too long. Something growled. Feather was hungry. What does a stoned pony do when he's hungry? He takes a walk. Why? It didn't matter. Weed just works like that, man. Outside there was nothing but dust, Flower nowhere to be seen. There was only one way to check where he went. With a grunt, Feather lifted himself onto the car roof. It took three tries for him to get it right. The first two times he just fell over on his ass, laughing like a madman. He looked all around. To his right, the road, gray and endless, leading to lands unknown. The only thing that stood out was a rock, big and clunky, sticking out of the surrounding landscape. Something was on top of it, something gray with long hair. What the fuck was Flower doing up there? How did he get up there? To this day, nobody knows. Feather trotted over to the rock, running his hoof over it's surface. It seemed to talk to him, whispering. He leaned in, placing his ear to the warm surface. “I like you” He closed his eyes, awaiting instructions from the rock “Lick me” He recoiled, gasping in disgust. Feather a rock-sexual? Never. Except sometimes. Again, his mind was telling him that he forgot something. Oh, that's right, food. He leaned in to the boulder. One must consult the oracle to continue. Either that or pay sixty graktelmekt. Whatever the hell that was, Feather couldn't afford it. Either that, or it wanted marmalade. No matter, both were far to precious to sacrifice. Marmalade, he liked marmalade. Well, ever since that breakfast in Los Angeles some time during the last cycle. Macrobiotic stuff. “I need food” His whisper echoed trough the soft, rocky surface, spreading all over the sky. It was all so green, so fucking green. He liked blue better. The rock didn't respond. It hated him now. Well, he loved it anyway. He hugged it and declared it's undying love to the moon. Something gray plumped down next to him, grunting and gasping. It was Flower, blown to the moon on acid, making snow angels in the desert. Silly Flower, only Jon Anderson can make snow angels in the desert. There was no time. This was parasprite country and brave runners like Flower and Feather were not welcome. Feather needed to act and he needed to act now. Getting down on his knees, he blew into Flower's ear, hoping to drive out the cows that lived there. Nothing. Time to up the ante. He spoke to Flower, words of wisdom pouring over his purple lips. “Dude, they're onto us” Feather's voice shook, not knowing whether his speechcraft was leveled enough to complete this quest “You gotta move man, they are seriously pissed” Feather shot to his hooves, hugging the great rock, promising it valleys and planetoids. His whispers were well-directed but misused. This was not the time. The ring was still missing and Mount Poon was moving over land and sky with startling speed. If it was to find them, there was no telling how they would meet their end. Death by snu-snu was by far the worst concept. Before Feather could say anything, the great love-pony known to some as Flower spoke. “THIS ISN'T A ROCK MY DEAR” His voice boomed in the desert, scorpions leaving their day jobs just to listen to him “THIS IS A BOULDER, A NICE STURDY BOULDER.” Feather's eyes were opened. It was like he was blind all along. Now he was deaf as well! Oh, the many blessings the stone has bestowed upon him. He was ready, ready to complete his initiation. It was time for him to speak! “YOU'RE RIGHT, MY GOOD SIR!” Feather's voice soared as high as the fresh morning love-makers in the motel down the road “THE PIONEERS USED TO RIDE THESE BABIES FOR MILES!” It was time, time to move. They tried pulling the boulder towards their ship. After about half an hour and twenty unsuccessful screams of “BEAM ME UP SCOTTY!”, Feather gave up. This boulder was far to ancient and powerful, it's mysterious sexual experience keeping it rooted in place. The mark of the toad was useless and Feather resigned himself to quiet defeat. Flower, on the other hand, wasn't nearly ready to give up. He still heaved, repeatedly pitting his psyche against the strong force of the rock. There was little he accomplished. Mount Pooon was drawing close, Feather could smell it. Acid was nothing compared to the powers that thing had. They had to move. He grabbed Flower's back legs, using him as a cartwheel. They were working in perfect synergy, both attempting to reach a common goal. Well, at least they believed it was common. Flower plopped on his face, diverting his gaze towards a small scorpion that was crawling around the sand. It was probably headed towards a bar. Maybe a strip club as well. Damn, those scorpions had it good. Feather flipped Flower onto his stomach, gazing deep into his amber eyes. He spoke, the words rolling of his tongue, heading straight towards Flower's receptacle. Flower gripped his head in pain as guttural screams of wisdom pierced the sky. “OH PENTACLES, SCULLY!” He bellowed, making the geckos re-elect their president “I WANT TO BELIEVE” More power was required. MORE. POWER. Feather pushed his hooves onto the sides of Flower's head, squeezing as hard as he could. There was no pain, only Yes and their marvelous celestial Relayer. Flower screamed in ecstasy, his own boy accepting the truths of the universe. YES, IT WAS SO CLEAR! “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!” Feather wished best for his fallen comrade, urging him to rethink his logic “WE ARE ALL GUILTY!” With that Flower collapsed, his eyes darting from left to right, bouncing of the inside of his skull. The wings, they were beautiful. He finally knew the truth, he finally knew... It was long before any of them spoke, both of them still in the throes of pure, unbridled knowledge. This was it, this was the paragon of wisdom. Flower broke the silence, beads of sweat running down his mane. He licked his lips one last time. “Ca-ca-can...” He was barely keeping up, his mind singing in tunes unknown “Can Loca ride?” And she did