//------------------------------// // 0: Prologue (T-rated) // Story: Feathered Hearts - Continuation and Chronicles // by Firesight //------------------------------// Soaring high above the foothills of the Foal Mountains on the strength of her broad, brown-feathered wings, Grizelda Behertz—called Gilda by those who knew her—felt her lithe half-eagle, half-leonine form shiver as she spotted the silhouettes of the moderately-sized houses in the distance; their dark forms contrasting sharply with the piercing rays of the Celestial sunrise that appeared in the east. Her shivering wasn’t because of the weather, which the ponies carefully controlled to the point of obsession. While it was the Running Of The Leaves Season—a rather ridiculously long name considering the Gryphons just called it Artumnus—and a step closer to Winter, the frosty predawn temperatures were not the reason for her discomfort. She was, after all, a sky griffon of the North; even the freezing bite of the wind was no match for her thick coat and feathers. No, her discomfort was a product of the town itself—Ponyville. It was a quaint little settlement in the Sovereign Realm of Equestria, situated in the foothills of the mountain range where the Equestrian capital city of Canterlot was located. From her position, she could see the river that cut through the center, the big red building that served as its town hall, all the equally colorful houses with bright yellow roofs, and the outlying farms dominated by a giant apple orchard. She had visited the town before only once, and it was not a pleasant memory. She’d lost her best friend, and with her, the only reason she had to stay in Equestria. The years had passed, and so many things had changed since then. She'd even made peace with that former friend, fighting back-to-back in the air against a mutual foe. After her stormy and admittedly misspent youth, all was now well in both her personal and professional lives; she was content with what she had and what she was. Yet the trepidation of returning here remained. Was that the reason why she hadn’t stopped by the town yesterday, making an excuse that the travel had exhausted her? Gilda stared at Ponyville from her hover for a few more seconds, with no answer springing to mind. Were the memories of her hurt still too raw? Did she fear encountering ponies who remembered her? Or was she too afraid to even think about it, even after fighting a war and facing down death a thousand times over? In the end, she turned her back on the town, reminding herself sharply that she was no longer the immature and insecure eagless she was then. Her powerful wings flapped with practiced gracefulness as she soared higher and higher towards the overlooking foothills that built towards the distant Foal Mountains. As dawn broke over the misty hillocks with an orange glow that touched their peaks first, her eagle-sharp eyes shifted from left to right, trying to find the cavern where they set up camp. It took her a moment, but she soon spotted it: wisps of red-orange embers, dancing inside an open maw almost a kilometer away. The wind shifted as her wings began to fold the air around it. With a powerful push of her sky griffon wings, Gilda dove for the opening at breakneck speed; her eyes narrowing as she weaved through the clouds with expert ease—expertise she’d gained in both races with Rainbow and battles for the survival of her very race and nation. Before she knew it, she was at the mouth of the cave. Smiling, she spread her large wings outwards, immediately causing the air to drag her back hard. The wind resistance slowed her descent enough to plant her claws on the rocky mountain ground, sparks flying from stone as her talons skidded across the surface. Her momentum was still pulling her forward as she shifted her body without difficulty, her hind paws moving diagonally as she then slid to a stop. With such an entrance and her wings spread out, she was the very image of a graceful griffon: mighty, majestic, and “just plain awesome” in the words of the one she was returning to. The first thing she heard was a series of sharp clapping sounds, causing her to cock her head slightly, like those damn griffon models she absolutely hated. Then again, she couldn’t really begrudge it, either—her companion, her chosen mate, was a special circumstance. She never really had a problem being a bit girly for him. “Nice entrance,” he said, reminding her instantly of how his deep and throaty voice always sent a thrill through her. “I’d give it a 9.5. Have to dock you a couple points for low degree of difficulty and not quite sticking the landing. You also dragged your tail a bit.” “Who asked you?” She growled in mock ferocity even as she felt a touch of flush build in her cheeks. She’d never really understood why she liked his teasing when she hated it from everyone else, but coming from him, it was somehow endearing; a mark of deepest affection. Trying her best to ignore the feelings his mere presence brought her, she approached the makeshift lodgings they had built the previous day. The cavern that sheltered them from the cold was a former dragon hoard, though Gilda was certain it had been long abandoned. If it wasn’t, their stay would have been short indeed when the dragon got back. She had checked the whole place before they set up, and whatever wealth had once been there had long since been looted; there was nothing remaining except strong and ancient stone. The camp, she noted again, was definitely different from the usual griffon setup, which usually consisted of a few dry twigs for the fire, firegems, and leaves for bedding. The basic materials were still there, though some additional amenities were needed because of her mate. At the center of the camp was a small fire contained within a hastily constructed fire pit. The usual one-time use firegems were missing, instead replaced by human tools. Her mate called them fire-starters, which only consisted of two parts. One was the ‘flint lighter’, which was a simple-looking metallic stick with a wheel at one end. It could cause sparks with a simple flick of a finger—or claw, in her case—and unlike firegems, it was also reusable. The second were termed ‘fire-tabs’; little cotton knotted ropes that caught fire quite quickly, even when wet. These tools were far more usable and much more simplistic than the off-at-times firegems that needed a vial of liquid magic or a strong impact to work. It was thus no surprise when the ‘fire-starters’ had almost single-handedly replaced the traditional magical gems back in the Griffon Kingdom. These had, in turn, become popular on the human world of Earth for providing a ready source of light even when their usual methods of powering lights—electricity, they called it?—were absent. Also, instead of the usual leaf bedding, there was a tent in place. But unlike pony tents, which were costly and required magic, this one was far simpler, using one of those refined strong aluminum frames as its skeleton. How humans developed them were beyond her, given it usually took a team of unicorns or griffon metalworkers—called blackbirds—to refine the lightweight metal to a usable form, and even then, it was generally far too soft for most purposes. The humans also developed interesting fabrics that they used to cover the tent. Her mate called it ‘nylon and other stuff’. It was thin, but it kept the insides toasty warm even if she didn’t quite like the smell. While it seemed impossible to accomplish without magic, it was unimportant in the end. After all, the tent was big enough for both of them—wasn't that enough? Speaking of her mate, there he was, sitting by the fireplace and stoking the flames as he prepared to make breakfast. Since the cavern and the fire were more than comfortable, he was not wearing the gold-yellow and red hooded jacket, pair of brown pants and thick ‘steel-toed’ boots that made up his typical traveling attire. Instead, he wore short pants and that thick fur vest she had given him as a gift some time ago, showing off his well-muscled golden brown arms. She remembered a time not long before when she was so busy with her military duties that it was hard to get enough free time to hunt animals for their fur. Worse, she had the bad luck of only starting the search a month before his birthday, when she desperately wanted to be able to present a coat made for him. She failed, but her gift was enthusiastically received nonetheless, and judging by the wear-and-tear, he wore it nearly every day. It was just another reminder of why she loved him. Remembering made her neck and face feel warm, and it wasn’t because of the flames. Approaching him, she laid her kill down next to the campfire, licking the blood off her beak before she faced him. It didn’t show while he was sitting, but he was a tall, bipedal creature and unless she reared up herself, she’d only stand as high as his chest. The brown skin of his face was muted by the low intensity of the fire, but it made the white teeth of his smile much easier to see. Approaching him, she nuzzled his neck affectionately. He rubbed his cheek on her neck in turn, his teeth nibbling at the sensitive surface she wouldn’t bare to any other griffon, making her throat involuntarily trill. “Morning, Gilds,” he greeted. “Morning, Marco,” she answered back. She settled down on her haunches beside him, and he automatically grabbed a brush from his pack and began to groom the lion half of her body, smoothing out the fur and removing a few specks of frost. She groaned with pleasure, her spine arching with the brush’s passing. “Nice catch. You need me to skin it for you?” her mate asked. It took her a moment to realize he was talking about her kill. “Not unless you want some,” Gilda replied distractedly. While she had discovered a far greater appreciation for how humans prepared meat—who would have thought cooking it could make it taste better?—griffons were more than comfortable eating it without any preparations. Plus, skinning the kill herself was quite an enjoyable task, letting her be the predator she was. “Eh, thanks, but I’ll stick with eggs and sausage. This jerky’s good, too,” he said as he placed a cast-iron pan on the fire to let it start heating. Gilda rolled her eyes. “You’d really pick that mush and a piece of dry and briny meat over my fresh kill?” she asked, and this time, her reaction wasn’t entirely feigned—it was always something she’d say every time he’d eat the ‘jerky’ on their travels, which was what he called the dried and salt-preserved surplus griffon military rations they’d procured. Surprisingly, they had been a hit with their human guests, who found them close to snacks they enjoyed back home. And, as always, he would give his usual smile as a reply. She looked at him for a second before turning away, with a fake huff. “I can’t believe you actually like that stuff. Humans really are masochists. The whole lot of you are weirdos.” Her unperturbed mate just chuckled. “I don’t see why you’re complaining, Gilds. Especially if...” He let his words linger as he slowed down his brushing in a particularly sensitive spot near her shoulder. Gilda hiccuped a squawk of surprise and pleasure before she cuffed him with her wings. “Stop that!” she ordered him, feeling her face flush. He backed off, but only barely, keeping his efforts tantalizingly near the erogenous zone at the base of her wings. “If I wasn’t weird, would I be able to make you feel this good?” She felt her face flush harder, trying to stop her twitching wings from going erect. “Oh, just shut up and brush me.” “Only because you asked so nicely…” He gave a sound that was surprisingly close to a feline purr. And brush he did. Up and down, back and forth; his hands steady as he worked a rhythm of even strokes. They were very practiced motions, honed by months of repetition. Gilda always enjoyed his grooming ministrations, even when he wasn't initially that good at it. Thank the Ancestors that he was such a fast learner, at both that and... Satisfied, she tapped his leg with her wing, signaling him to stop before he got too amorous. With the pressure off her coat, it was time to return the favor. She walked behind him and draped her forelegs over him, her claws lightly scraping through the fur vest as she rubbed her neck and beak over his head, shoulders and scruff. She closed her eyes and lost herself as she breathed in his scent deeply, finding it as pleasantly warm and spicy as always. Her stomach suddenly rumbled. Her eyes flew open as she felt her cheeks heating up, from embarrassment this time. She suddenly felt his fingers glide over her feathered neck, his lips kissing her throat. “Sounds like you’re as hungry as I am. So go eat, Gilds. And thank you.” Gilda gave a very fake huff of annoyance, and immediately stalked her kill near the fire. Before she dug in, she looked back at him for a moment; her eyes shifting. “Are you sure you don’t want...?” she motioned to her kill. “I’ll be okay with the jerky for now,” her mate replied with an easy smile. “Save me some slices and I’ll do them up as steaks tonight. Besides, with Ponyville so close, I can get some potatoes, too.” “Ugh, Ponyville,” Gilda spat out before she began to eat her breakfast ravenously, tearing meat off the bone with her beak. “Hey, slow down, Gilds! I don’t want you to choke,” he advised with a laugh. Gilda rolled her eyes as she ate her meal. Still, choking to death was a much better prospect to her than going to Ponyville. Who knew; maybe it would convince him to let someone else represent him. “Better to choke now before I enter that Ancestor-forsaken town,” she muttered between swallows of fresh flesh, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Why did I agree to come here, again?” “Because I have to meet up with the town council to finalize and secure the new trade routes, while you volunteered to escort me as the Kingdom’s military liaison. You also claimed you wanted to protect me from amorous ponies,” he replied, chuckling as he cracked some eggs into the pan. “Claim, nothing! I’m definitely going to protect you from those in-heat dweebs,” she replied through a mouthful of meat. “Funny, weren’t you the girlfriend of one of them?” he teased, earning him a hiss and a swat with a wing. “Honestly, Gilda, I don’t think they’re that bad.” She licked her beak clean before facing him again. Her mate wasn’t afraid of a little blood, but had told her that he was still a bit unsettled seeing it on her. Oh, the things she would do for him. “Not that bad? They’ve actually built companies to hire out male humans for sex with mares!” He laughed loudly at the reminder. “Okay, you got me there, but I still say it wouldn’t be that bad. Haven’t you been reading those articles in the Manehattan Post? Sounds like mares really go for human guys, given how few stallions there are. And besides, it’d be nice to have some additional affection.” As soon as those words left his mouth, Gilda stopped eating. Her neck straightened; her eyes narrowing. The tone of his voice indicated that he was teasing, but the idea of having to share him? Her thoughts began to zoom around her head. When she imagined seeing him with those stupid ponies or even other griffons, her blood began to boil. “Additional affection?” she asked in a low, deathly quiet tone. “Well, sure! I mean, a man can never get enough, you know! And neither can pony mares, if those articles are any indication. Wonder if they’re as fun in bed as the author says?” He made a show of being deep in thought, considering the question carefully. A low leonine trill vibrated from the deepest confines of her throat, echoing throughout the cavern. She turned, leaving her breakfast on a flat stone near the fire, and stared straight at her mate, who was wearing a goofy smile on his face. He was egging her on and she was playing right into his wings—er, hands—but she didn’t care. How dare he imply that she should share him! Wasn’t she enough? Her hind paws kicked up a bit of dirt behind her before she pounced him, her wings spread to make her look as intimidating as possible as she knocked him to the ground and stood over him. Her talons bit lightly into his shoulder, sharp enough to cause him to yelp, but not enough to pierce his flesh. She would not hurt him, but he needed to be taught a lesson! Far from alarmed, he put up no resistance even though he had proven himself more than capable of offering it, letting her pin him on his back. She settled her haunches on his thighs, staring at him for a few seconds before her claws moved towards his vest. She then slowly kneaded them on the furred surface, a little rougher than her earlier actions. “Okay, okay!” Her mate stiffened at her aggression, yelping quietly as her beak darted quickly and bit him on his neck, more sharply and painful than the usual nibble of affection. She wouldn’t let him up, though. Using her claws to force him down, she slowly traced the outline of his shoulders, nipping in particular places, feeling satisfied every time he gave a half-muttered apology. “I give! I give. Can’t a guy even make a joke?” “You are mine, Marco Lakan!” she whispered harshly at his ear after a fifth bite. She earned only a weak affirmation, so she bit again, earning another yelp. “Now say it!” “I’m yours,” her mate replied agreeably, then spoke more clearly and emphatically at the look in her eyes. “I’m all yours, Grizelda Behertz.” “And don’t you forget it,” she said, her throat growling low. “Swear to God,” he replied, with his arm moving and positioning itself perpendicular to his prone form, palms facing upwards from the ground, open. A human gesture, she had learned long before. “Swear to me!” Gilda ordered, now settling on all fours, letting her full weight rest on top of him. She could feel their shared warmth; feel his beating heart beneath his chest as she deeply inhaled his scent, his body intermingling with hers once more. She lowered her face; her beak almost touching his nose, internally smiling as she felt him squirm under her weight. It was an ages-old gesture of griffon dominance; a lesson to show him her displeasure. A normal griffon response was to expose their neck in a sign of trust and submission. Instead, he kissed her on the beak. Gilda stared at him, her eyes crinkling. Later, her face followed. “Ugh, whatever,” she muttered, trying to force the smile from her face with an uninterested tone. She stood up off him, letting her mate sit up. She then rubbed her neck on his back and over his shoulder. “For teasing me like that, you owe me some preening.” “Preening, or preening, Gilds?” Marco asked meaningfully, a little lust entering his tone as he began to give soft kisses on her feathery neck. Gilda felt like she was struck with lightning, her breath catching and spine stiffening. “What do you think, dweeb?” she whispered huskily, sensing her passions rise along with her wings. His only response was more feathery kisses against her beak, chin and neck, sometimes with a little tongue. His hands moved with precision as well, one towards her neck, massaging it with his digits, while the other rubbed her sides and the more sensitive areas of her shoulders with practiced motions. She sighed happily and finally surrendered to his efforts, baring her own neck while lowering herself on top of him. As affairs quickly turned more intimate, all she could think of was the time they had spent together, and the unlikely means by which they had initially met and bonded. It was an impossible tale, one almost worthy of the sickeningly sappy romance novels the ponies favored crossed with the heroic griffon legends of old. A tale that was not always happy, but one she would remember for the rest of her life. By my Ancestors... she thought as she felt her pleasure build to its inevitable outcome. How did I get so lucky?