After I’d had my spat with Tempest in the shed, I felt I needed a distraction. In situations like this, I always found myself returning to that one chore I genuinely enjoyed: Cooking.
I enjoyed spoiling Gamila in this way. Most parents would expect their kid to eat whatever it was they fancied cooking that day, and if they didn’t like it, well tough luck! But tonight, I was not one of those parents—my and Gwendolyn’s favorite dish involved roast goose loaded with one of my family-secret stuffings (in the end, I owe most of my cooking ability to my ancestors), but for whatever reason, I could never put a smile on Gamila’s face with this dish. No matter; while the bird roasted, I could quickly whip her up one of her favorites—macaroni and diced shrew. It would have the knock-on effect of letting me and Gwen have a more intimate dinner together, like we always used to.
Or maybe I was lying to myself. Maybe I just wanted to set the playing field, before I broached a delicate subj—
“So, would I be wrong in assuming this is your way of currying my favor regarding the workhorse?” she asked with a keen smirk.
She had preempted me, bringing it up after her very first bite of the goose. “I suppose I wasn’t very subtle about it, now was I?”
“Don’t fret, honey, subtlety is overrated.” Blissfully, she dined on another hunk of the bird.
“You’re right. As long as I can put you in a good mood, what do I need to be subtle for?”
I expected her to offer some playful comment in response, something I could segue smoothly onto the question of the “workhorse.” Instead, she simply continued to feast angelically on the meal in front of her. I guess the hint was, I would have to abandon any hopes I had of subtlety and just be upfront about it: “About Tempest, yeah, I’ve been thinking: After all this time, I still don’t understand her. I apologize on her behalf for whatever nonsense she got herself into last night with you. I figure it’s about time I ask you for your opinion on her, and, well, what we should do with her.”
“I appreciate the candidness,” she said, candidly herself. “I’ll admit that I didn’t quite have her figured out before last night’s incident. But now that I’ve had time to think about it, I would say her purpose here is actually rather simple.”
“Oh?” Her tone on the subject confused me, for as far as I could tell it carried neither scorn nor compassion. “Frankly, she’s the most unpredictable creature I think I’ll ever know.”
As if on cue, the pony in question made herself visible through the dining room window, off in the distance. Gwen and I spent an amusing moment together as we watched her labor over not more than half an inch of snow caking some forgotten garden path of ours.
“Her reason for coming here,” Gwen elaborated, once she’d tired of the pony in favor of the goose, “isn’t to scam us. But it isn’t to help us, either. It’s not to atone for her past sins, and it’s not to temper her ambitions. It’s not to spend some time away and come away from it the better pony. Be a dear and pass the steak knife, Gel?” She sawed into the juicy, savory ribs of the goose, soaking her plate in a puddle of blood and melted fat. “Her purpose here is self-limiting, whether she ultimately achieves it, or simply gives it up; that’s why I don’t particularly care if you’d like to continue housing her, as she won’t be here long. After all, she’s no danger to us.”
I felt as uneasy as I did confused. I looked down at my plate: I still hadn’t taken a single bite. “I’m afraid you’ll have to spell it out for me, Gwen—subtlety, as we’ve learned, isn’t my strong suit.”
“Why, her reason for coming here, dear,” she sang sanguinely, “is to die. Nothing more, and nothing less.”
~~
Tempest stood in the center of the town marketplace, feeling conspicuous and more than a little self-conscious. Despite the midday timing, the market could hardly be called bustling—at any given moment, only a griff or two could be spotted amidst the jagged crags. Some carrying produce or meats to or from a dingy vendor’s stall; others empty-clawed, merely passing by; but all of them casting a sidelong glance at this suspicious unicorn who they may or may not have recognized as the former head lieutenant of the dreaded Storm King.
Anxious of confrontation, she drew her hood further over her face. Clutched protectively at the saddlebag of gems under her cloak. She was just here to pick up some groceries for the family (chief among them, the oats and the walnuts she had gorged on during her recovery). Quite a simple chore, compared to all the others she had put herself through over the past couple weeks. Yet she felt an uneasy anticipation in the pit of her stomach… perhaps in waiting for a certain special visit she hoped to make after her grocery stop.
Just before she started to get desperate, she finally spotted a griff matching the description Gelfand had given her: A sharp-eyed fellow with the head of an osprey and a maroon coat. As hoped, he was manning a stall lined with bags overflowing with golden sheaves of wheat. He had to be the grain vendor Gelfand had in mind.
Based on his eye contact, he had located Tempest long before she had him. An eye contact, which he maintained unto and beyond the point of impoliteness, all the way until she found herself laying a friendly hoof on his stall. Careful to keep as much of her face enshrouded as she could without looking suspicious, she began:
“Good afternoon, griffon sir. I’ve heard you’re the only grain and legume farmer around these parts. And quite a good one, at that.”
“Skilled enough to be the only one this town has needed for two generations and counting, yes,” he spoke in a satisfied, croaking tone. “But your reputation precedes you as well, now doesn’t it, commander?”
The off-hand comment struck Tempest at her core as she felt her limbs lock in place. She took a breath, and as diplomatically as she could, pulled down the hood of her cloak.
“Yes, thank you, I do like to see eye-to-eye with new customers of mine. The name’s Gaul.” Finally retiring his penetrating glare, he closed his eyes and ran his claw through a graying mohawk. “Now what’ll you be buying?”
Sheepishly, Tempest browsed through Gaul’s wares. Recounted her mental shopping list. Inquired about the relevant prices. Settled on a gem-to-bit exchange rate. The pricing was incredibly unfavorable at each step, but that much was to be expected in the present season, in this country, in this remote locale... and who she was.
She had just finished the exchange and was retiring what remained of her gem purse when Gaul spoke up: “No bartering with me at all, eh? Don’t you feel me wringing you dry?”
“I’m aware it’s the griffon custom. But given my circumstances, it just doesn’t suit me.”
“Somehow I figured as much,” he said, pulling a loupe from his pocket and admiring the chatoyant band of a cat’s-eye. “Don’t tell anygriff I did this, but I offered you my post-barter prices. Others won’t be so kind with pony folk, y’know.”
“I understand these goods don’t come cheaply around here; thank you.”
Tempest turned to leave, took a few steps, and then changed her mind. Trotting back, she continued:
“I wasn’t upfront with you about my identity earlier. I apologize.”
“‘Tis no trouble.”
“...but I also would like to know, how is it that you knew who I was?”
“Ha, word’s been out for a while now that the Gelfand family has had some help the past couple of weeks. That the former commander of the Storm King has finally gone soft… ‘as much in the heart as in the head,’ Doc told me. But now having met you, I’d say you’re borderline crazy at worst, huh?”
“Doctor George? I see. About him, actually, I wanted to ask—”
Gaul had already lifted a wing and claw to point out a direction. He shook his head in amusement. “Oh Georgie, you have such an uncanny mind for these things, now don’t you… He told me you might come asking for him. Look for his cottage in the west part of town, a one-storey place next to a big bristlecone tree.”
“Thank you. You’ve been a indispensable help for me today.”