Tracy was glad they had somewhere else to go, and nowhere too private to hide in. As frustrating as these last few months had been, he wasn't quite ready for anything too extreme, and it felt like Rose probably wasn't either. It wasn't like he needed much time to get to know someone he'd already been living with for months, but...
Still, it was a good thing when a distant bell finally distracted him from Rose long enough to realize he was about to be late.
They hurried across Canterlot after that, climbing between ramps and spiral staircases. Eventually Tracy hurried through the doors of the flight school, mane disheveled and completely out of breath. Instead of taking up one of the first chairs in the room, he was relegated to the back. But that was probably for the best.
Tracy had been half-expecting them to leave the classroom immediately and start jumping off cliffs, at least from the way Giselle spoke last time. But no—their entire first hour was review, mostly of techniques that he clearly couldn't employ, given they relied on control of specific feathers to change direction, or slow down, or stop.
But that was a little longer for the review he hadn't had a chance to make, skimming through the rest of the book until he got to the section on landings. Might as well start with what he knew the least.
Too bad I can't ask Sable about some of this stuff. She could probably summarize these chapters in a few words. So far he'd found nothing inconsistent between the advice he received and the contents of the book, though of course one had been presented to him in a far more memorable manner.
Eventually the review was done, and Giselle actually picked up the chalk, sketching a simple diagram in front of them. "This is your first jump. It's off High Horse peak, a short walk from here. It's half a kilometer to the lower city below." Instead of drawing the tops of buildings, or angry spikes ready to catch the unwary, she sketched a cartoonish, fluffy cloud.
"None of you would be in my class if you were comfortable with this, so I want to make this clear. At the bottom of our jump-arena is five meters solid of the densest cloudbank Cloudsdale can manufacture. I've heard rumors it's thick enough to catch an earth pony, though I do not invite any to try it. But each of you—no matter how much you feel like your wings are made of lead, you still belong in the sky. Cloudwalking does not require conscious effort. If you fail to glide and fall, you'll sink, and the ground-crew will dig you out, unharmed.
"Worst injury we ever had on the first jump came from somepony who tried to change their mind halfway through, and ended up scraping along the cliffside all the way down."
A series of winces and pained mutters echoed through the room at her words. Tracy could imagine the bloody smear something like that must've left.
"That's why the jump works the way it does. Walk to the end of the plank, away from the cliff, and glide. If you move in a straight line, you'll coast all the way to our sister office on the south side. If you fall, you get the march of shame back up here. About half of you will fail your first time. It's the ones who go that second and third time who graduate."
"We'll do it!" exclaimed the youngest student, a filly in the front row. "We're ready to fly, Miss Giselle!"
"We'll see." She laughed, then gestured for the door. "We'll go by row. Can't have you jumping at the same time, or you'll smack into each other. That... goes as bad as you think it does. First row, up. Stairs. Everyone else, move up and make room. Ponies who fail will be back. Ponies who fly, lesson's over for the day. Good luck."
So it began. Tracy watched the first wave go, feeling a growing gnaw in the pit of his stomach. Now he'd done this before, it was true—but he also had coasted down a hill, not jumped off a cliff. There wasn't just grass and rocks if he went off course. What if he crashed through a window, or got skewered on a spire?
After the first group, Giselle returned to class, leading away the next. It took longer than he'd expected, and being in the back of the class, Tracy had plenty of time to stew with his fear.
Then the first wave of ponies came back from their failed jumps. Well, one did. The orange filly, who had been so excited earlier, slunk back inside. Her tail dragged, her ears were pressed flat, and she barely seemed to see the room around her. None of the other students were here.
Maybe he should've just let her sulk. But he couldn't help himself. "How was it?"
She looked up, eyes wide and watery. "Are you saying I—" Then she stopped, finally seeing his face. "Oh. Sorry. Not good."
What have you been through, kid? He shuffled back a few places in line, so that he was now last—only in front of her. The other students just moved up, visible impatience growing.
"The way I see it, you're ahead of the rest of us," he muttered. "You're the youngest one here. The rest of us have been stuck on the ground longer than you've been alive."
I think. I still don't actually know how old ponies get. For all he knew they aged like horses, and the people in front of him would be lucky to see forty. Would that mean Rose was only a few years old? I know what I'm asking her when this is over.
The kid looked up, expression hardening. "You're trying to make me feel better. But it won't work. You ponies never cared about flying. But I've been trying for years now. Eight or... nine or... as long as I can remember. Never could."
Tracy breathed a silent sigh of relief, though her actual words were filled with disappointment and pain. You're a young teenager, thank God.
But the young pony was watching him now, enough to puff out her chest and spread her wings in defiance. "What? Are you gonna make fun of me after all?"
"No, sorry." Tracy took a few nervous steps back, looking away from her. "I can't imagine what that's like." He eyed her wings, which looked short and stubby even for a younger pony. More like something from a hummingbird than the songbird wings more typical to ponies he'd seen. It wasn't an age thing either—he'd seen ponies much smaller than this one flying all over Ponyville.
Clearly he'd stepped on something far more complex than he understood. Should've just kept my stupid mouth shut. "Good luck, uh..." He trailed off awkwardly. "I'll be rooting for you."
"Scootaloo," she muttered. "You too."
Finally Giselle returned, leading his group away. They passed more returning failures in the hall, a much larger crowd this time. Despite her worries, Scootaloo wasn't the only one who had trouble.
Tracy caught one look at Rose in the waiting room, waving weakly to her before crossing out to the back of the school.
Everything was basically as Giselle had said it was, with a railing positioned precariously over a sheer, dramatic drop. The city's lowest, sprawling level was far below, with streets and carts and power lines. What it was supposed to do, Tracy couldn’t be sure—but there was a patch of thick cloud directly below, kept unnaturally square by powers beyond his imagination.
It must not be the same stuff, even if it looks like clouds. That filly looked like she really fell, even if it was just her pride that was injured.
"You, bat." Giselle approached with heavy, deliberate steps. There were other ponies orchestrating the jump—a pair of pegasus ponies who hovered in the air beside a vertical plank maybe five meters long.
"Saw you slink to the back of the class today. I hope you did your reading because you're not getting out of this if you didn't. Falls build character, make you better at doing your homework next week."
She was so huge. If she'd been standing on her hind legs, maybe even as big as his friends looked on the wrong side of the door. Only with two razor sharp claws and a beak that could tear out his throat without effort.
"What, swallow a bug?" Those gold eyes narrowed. "Look at that, only one jump left ahead of you. Say your last prayers to the moon if you need to."
"I..." He glanced over the railing, his limbs going stiff. "Oh god. That's... that's so far."
"I was joking about the prayers, they won't help." Giselle wrapped one wing over his shoulder, squeezing him with surprising warmth. "It's height, isn't it? All that time in caves has you spoiled. Makes you think flying is just walking in the air."
He opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't manage anything more than a frightened grunt. Apparently that was enough confirmation for her.
"I can't tell you what it's like to fly with those wings. I can't even tell pegasus ponies, tell you the truth. It's all theory and rehearsing what pegasus trainers have taught me. But here's one piece of advice that every griffon hatched learns: watch your target. If you look down, that's where you'll go."
She walked with him, up to the gate. A pegasus stallion wobbled out onto the edge of the platform, spread his wings, then sunk like a stone, screaming as he fell.
Tracy gulped, and his legs began to shake. He watched the fall, as the pegasus struck into the cloud with an explosion of fluffy white.
Moments later, and he crawled out onto a... platform, made of clouds.
"I've been gliding before," Tracy whispered, mostly to himself. "I can do this. It's just... gliding."
"That's the spirit!" Giselle pulled the gate open with a claw, shoving him out onto the platform. "Jump quick, fly straight. Longer you're out on the platform, the harder it is. Just spread your wings and take a running start. You'll thank me."
Tracy nodded, though he didn't thank her as the gate shut behind him, smacking into his rump. He yanked his tail free, taking a few nervous steps forward. This was nothing like what Sable had done. He could see ponies far, far below, like toys. Well, more like toys than they usually looked.
Nothing for it. Tracy spread both wings as Sable had taught him, taking a few nervous steps forward. It wasn't a run, but he did speed up as he approached the edge.
A hovering pegasus mare nodded to him, encouraging. "Go on, bat! Straight out. It's a kilometer glide, that's all."
He sped up, driven by fear and adrenaline. The edge of the plank was three meters away, then two. Both wings were rigid, ready to glide as he'd already done. Besides, it wasn't like he would get hurt even if he fell, right? If the kid could fall, he could fall.
Then he got to the edge of the plank, and the uninterrupted view of the city below hit him. Tracy screamed in protest, legs locking up in a desperate, futile attempt to stop.
There just wasn't enough of the polished metal, not enough resistance from his hooves. He slid right over the edge and out into open air.
Both wings were already open, held rigidly in place—but he was tilted down. What might've made for a comfortable glide when he held his body horizontally took him into a twisting, accelerating dive.
Tracy began to accelerate, the cliffside blurring by faster and faster. He screamed, kicking out with all four legs in futile resistance. It did him no good.
"Pull up!" somepony yelled. It was the same white and blue pegasus from before, diving after him with both forelegs reaching out. "Pull up! Spread your wings!"
He did, but the stress against untrained muscles was just too much. They bent back all the way, sending him tumbling to the side. Tracy saw a blur of tiled rooftops rushing to meet him, then nothing.