Gilda yawned, scratching her chest as she finished packing her rucksack with her few possessions, preparing to move out of the barracks. Her headache, which began that morning, was persisting, and the latest developments were not helping.
When they reported back to Tribune Narada after their first day in the company of the humans, she informed Gilda and Fortrakt that they would be moving into the Winged Hall Inn to stay with their new charges. Ambassador Strenus had advised her that his human counterpart had found some free rooms where the two griffons could stay, and they “were invited” to avail themselves of the offer.
It wasn’t technically an order, but coming from Narada’s beak made it so.
The Tribune was also quite busy, swamped with written complaints in regard to her announcement forbidding any fighting with humans earlier that day. So, she told Gilda that whatever she and Fortrakt had to report, they could put it in writing and submit it to her tomorrow.
The parchment sheet lying in front of Gilda remained blank. It was not because she was lacking on any material to write about—quite the contrary, she reflected somewhat ruefully. It was just the first day; they’d had nothing more than an introduction, meet and greet followed by some food and a human movie. And yet, she had already learned a great deal about humanity from both.
Certainly, their food preparation was interesting enough—though she’d never admit it to Fortrakt, their ‘bacon’ treatment of slim strips of flying boar was surprisingly tasty for being pan-fried and slightly salted, as were the eggs for having been fried in the rendered boar fat after—and they’d been promised more examples of human fare later. That they called themselves apex predators without being able to eat raw meat seemed incongruous at best, but at least she could say that they were definitely carnivores and had learned to work around the restriction.
Though odd, their education of humanity had only truly begun in earnest with the movie Marco had shown them, once they’d cleaned up breakfast. It was simply called Warrior, which was undoubtedly a title that would entice any griffon. But it was in fact a human film that centered around the lives of two estranged human brothers. It was an eye-opener on many levels, not just for the story, but for how they were able to watch it.
The box with the lens was what she could only describe as a very advanced projector, but instead of using film, it was connected to that light-blue rectangular human machine. Marco had tinkered with it a bit, unfolding it while Fortrakt watched over his shoulder from a hover. The Second Spear had an awestruck expression as Marco explained to him in slightly nonsensical terms what he was doing, which if memory served Gilda correctly, never left the young tiercel’s face for the entire day.
When asked later, her partner could only describe the machine as some sort of ‘magical window’. Marco had also connected black boxes to it, which he explained were speakers; something Gilda had not expected to see in such small sizes.
Curtains were drawn before the movie played, projected directly against a smooth white wall, which they removed the mounted pictures from to provide a uniform background. As for the movie itself, Gilda’s first impression was that it was… clear. Very clear. She’d normally have expected some sort of fuzziness around the sides of the film; maybe some black spots or general graininess. And considering how small the speakers were, she was also surprised by how smooth and sharp the sound was.
The film itself showed a fair amount of the human world called ‘Earth’, or at least the nation from which most of the humans hailed. It also showed a window into human social and family interactions, delving into a bit of their culture. Once she’d gotten over her surprise at how crisp the projection was, Gilda could barely believe the images she saw, most notably the glittering waterfront city that figured prominently in the story’s climax. It consisted of a long sandy beach fronted by towering buildings made of stone, glass, and many multicolored lights.
The movie itself had taken nearly half an hour more than its actual running time to play. The reason was that it had taken her and Fortrakt a while to comprehend everything they saw, much of which required some explanation. More than once the movie was ‘paused’; the picture freezing in mid-motion while the three humans answered a question or explained some aspect of the film their griffon viewers found confusing.
To begin with, their society had ‘cars’, which were personal chariots of some kind; self-propelled machines she could only describe as miniaturized locomotives. When she’d been unimpressed by what she was told was their typical speeds or amount of cargo, which seemed to travel somewhat slower and haul far less than a griffon air coach could, she was informed that they were just vehicles for individual transport—that there were other, far larger and more specialized ones for hauling families or even what amounted to a mobile dwelling.
“Do humans travel by air?” Fortrakt had then asked, and was quickly assured that they did, through ‘airplanes’ that ranged from small to giant and could travel at speeds far in excess of even the fastest sky griffons, or the military airships the Kingdom’s Navy used. Unfortunately, such vehicles were never shown, and the only information she was able to glean on that front was that dirigible airships existed in their world but were not widely used.
But how, then, did they keep control of the air in war or give support to surface units without airships? Or was the air simply not a battlefield to them, given their wingless forms?
She didn’t press the question, for fear of prolonging the too-frequent pauses and potentially giving away that they were trying to get information from their hosts. Deciding there would be plenty of time to explore the subject more later, she focused more on what she saw of human society instead. The movie demonstrated that human culture could be at least roughly described as a vague cross between griffon and pony societies, with most of their members taking after the far more peaceful and social ponies while also having some number of specialized warriors like the griffons.
They were clearly not all taught fighting as griffons would be, but learning it seemed to be a personal choice.
Most of the humans in the film spoke Equish, which humans actually called ‘English’. Gilda found it particularly odd that the two languages were arguably identical, with the exception of a few expressions. Most, but not all, she reminded herself—at least once, she thought she heard a language she identified as some form of Sponyish, which had been spoken by mules and burros who hailed from Mexicolt.
She found that strangely disquieting—that they spoke one language from Tellus was odd enough, but now two? Does some part of human society speak the griffon tongue as well? she couldn’t help but wonder with a glance at their human hosts, suddenly worried it wasn’t safe to speak Aeric around them.
Still, she couldn’t deny that the movie had held her interest well; the pauses for explanation becoming far less frequent towards the end as they watched the surprisingly compelling story unfold. It culminated in a series of very physical and even brutal duels as the two human brothers inevitably collided in single combat, meeting in the championship bout of a fighting tournament as the story reached its emotional end.
There were at least a few scenes that gave her some insight on how humans waged war. One of the brothers was a former Marine, and the movie did show a glimpse of what looked like human soldiers taking cover from a spray of incendiary bolts fired from repeating crossbows, accompanied by a water rescue involving a metallic vehicle that looked like some exotic and highly advanced variant of a Minotaurian tank.
To her disappointment, there was not much to see of actual warfighting; just what looked like an army encampment in a desert where exclusively male soldiers were housed—which, despite speaking the same language, was a complete reversal from how the female-dominant ponies did things.
The military aspect was actually secondary to the primary story, but given the primary story’s theme, she concluded that Fortrakt was correct in his assessment: humans did seem to specialize in close-quarters combat.
Gilda’s mind went back to the very stylized bouts and “Mixed Martial Arts” fighting tournament the movie had centered on, ending with the climactic battle between the two brothers; each determined to win the tournament to take home the prize money for reasons that were anything but selfish.
Their story and motivations, she noted, had been only slowly revealed over the course of the movie. The two brothers had been well-acted—not overacted, as the typical Kingdom theatre troupe would do, but realistically portrayed—and the moviemakers had taken pains to make clear that each had their own crippling character flaw and a very good reason to dislike the other.
They learned late in the film that the younger brother was a former Marine who had deserted his unit—a capital offense in the Kingdom’s military—but that he’d also done so to take care of his best friend’s mate, whose death had left her without her partner and a means to support their cubs. She’d been disposed to dislike him both for that and his seemingly uncaring attitude to everyone around him, only to later learn that everything he did was to help his former comrade’s family.
In contrast, the older brother had seen fit to lie to his mate about their financial situation and what he was doing during the evenings after his teaching job—humans apparently used large and well-lit classrooms populated by several dozen students, she noted in passing—fighting in what Gilda gathered were some very shady matches for money.
But he, too, was doing what he thought he had to in order to provide for his family, and though she didn’t appreciate his willingness to lie about it or his wife’s initial refusal to accept that he was fighting—what griffon would ever mind a mate who fought well?—she granted that he, too, was trying to act honorably in the end, and had eventually won her over.
She’d also be lying if she hadn’t related to the two brothers’ severely strained relationship with their father, feeling an echo of her own innumerable issues with her sire within them. Much like hers, their father demanded perfection and didn’t take well to any perceived failings among his multiple offspring, but unlike hers, he was at least trying to make amends for what she gathered was a past involving too much drink, taking it upon himself to train the younger son personally.
And yet, though the dynamic between them was certainly interesting, what fascinated her most of all were their bipedal fighting styles. It seemed to center on shallow kicks, blunt force foreleg strikes, and some surprisingly well-developed grappling arts. The younger brother rarely had to resort to the latter—he had been an incredibly instinctive fighter who was just sheer speed and raw fury; so wickedly fast he could floor you in one blow and who initially advanced through the tournament bouts with ease.
The older brother, however, was a far less gifted but more… nuanced fighter who lacked the raw speed and striking power of his younger sibling, but he made up for it with pure toughness and relentlessness as well as some excellent takedown techniques. He simply refused to back down even in the face of what seemed a vastly superior opponent; he could take massive amounts of abuse while waiting for an opening to apply a visibly painful submission hold that could break a limb or worse. More than once, he turned a bout he’d been losing badly on its head in a matter of seconds, converting certain defeat into stunning victory.
She found herself rooting for him hard as he faced arguably the most dangerous fighter short of his younger brother, perhaps because his monstrous opponent spoke Ibexian. That was something guaranteed to raise the hackles of any griffon, given the Kingdom’s longstanding rivalry with the aggressive goat-like race on the other side of the Pearl Mountains.
Wait—that meant there were now at least three Tellusian tongues that humans actually spoke!
While the younger brother usually walked away unscathed from his matches, the older one ended up increasingly bruised and battered, yet always unbowed. And at the end, when the two finally faced off for the championship, each needing the prize money as badly as the other…
They hadn’t held back at all. In fact, they’d gone at each other with their proverbial claws out, taking out a lifetime of abuse and betrayal, both real and imagined, on the other. She cringed when she remembered a particularly notable scene where the younger brother received a dislocated shoulder halfway through the final bout. But then she watched in disbelief as he simply wouldn’t give up, refusing to surrender despite the pleas of his older sibling; fighting on despite his visible pain with his unwounded arm alone.
She couldn’t help but grimace at the memory. As it would cripple their flight muscles, and thus their all-important wings, most griffons wouldn’t even be able to stand up on all fours with such an injury, let alone on just two legs to continue fighting. And yet the grounded, wingless humans showed that they could.
If she had to guess, it was most likely due to their bipedal nature and the way they expertly coordinated their bodies in combat, used to balancing on two legs as they were. Gryphons could stand upright for short periods by flaring their wings for stability, but without their use, they were badly unbalanced and could be knocked over quite easily.
They moved with an agility I’ve rarely seen, Gilda thought as she finished packing, reviewing the events of the movie in her head. And it wasn’t just the movie, either. Reyes’ finger coordination, the way they twist their bodies in subtle motions... She recalled the former twirling an item artfully around his blunt talons, or just being able to snag the small object right out of the air when it was tossed to him.
Gilda swiped the air with her right set of talons, trying to remember how the humans used their arms to jab or swing their enclosed fists forward against their enemies. They’d also fought with padded gloves, not too dissimilar from what griffon cubs used when playing with pony foals. The only possible reason to do that would be for safety—because their bare fists were far more dangerous to each other; their visibly hard and protruding knuckles hitting with the potential impact of a thrown brick. It was then the words of Ambassador Strenus came back to her:
They are not the biggest or strongest beings on their planet. Nor do they have any sort of natural weapons or magic. Yet they number in the billions!
Gilda found herself nodding slowly at the statement. Because they have constant practice. When properly trained, their bodies are very injury-resistant and quite flexible. While they don’t have real teeth or talons, they have rock-hard areas like their fists, elbows, and knees. They can even launch powerful kicks with their hind paws, which have long reach and can do real damage to an unwary opponent.
And yet, the extent of their fighting abilities didn’t end there. Even without their striking surfaces, they can just wrap their limbs around you and use the leverage of their well-balanced bodies to put you in painful holds and locks, Gilda recognized, unconsciously tapping her throat as she remembered some of the human fighters going for chokeholds, attempting to cut off the flow of blood to their rival’s brains.
All in all, it presented a slightly unsettling picture to her, and even allowing for movie-making hyperbole, she concluded that maybe the humans weren’t as weak as they looked.
All of which was lost on Fortrakt. Once the movie was done, he’d had no end of additional questions, completely giddy over what he had seen. Aside from asking about their ‘MMA’ and if the fight depictions were accurate—he’d been delighted to be told they generally were—he’d been the most curious about the stylized skin art they saw on many of the fighters, wondering aloud if they were some kind of “human cutie mark earned by victories in battle?”
The humans had laughed at that, explaining that they were in fact “tattoos”—special inks injected under the skin by trained artists with an endless series of tiny needle pricks.
“Injected? Needles?” The thought made Fortrakt visibly cringe, and Gilda wasn’t much better. She’d had some blood taken when she enlisted, in case they needed to externally generate replacement blood or organs following severe battle wounds. It had been a brief procedure but had hurt badly, and she couldn’t imagine willingly letting somecreature do that to you. “But doesn’t that… hurt?” he further asked; she well imagined Fortrakt was remembering the same thing.
“Oh, yes. It hurts like hell when you’re getting it,” Tara confirmed somewhat ruefully, and then pulled back the top of her garment to reveal a previously hidden tattoo on her left shoulder.
It took the form of a stylized flower; Gilda had the thought that even if it wasn’t a cutie mark, it could have passed for one on a pony hip. “This one took two hours to do, and believe me, that was enough—it feels like a burning knife and you have to hold still despite the pain. I was only able to make it through by listening to music the whole time,” she recalled with a grimace. “And before you ask, the skin is itchy and irritated afterwards, but that subsides after a few days.”
“So... two hours of pain to get a single tattoo?” Fortrakt paraphrased dubiously.
“Only for one this small,” she chuckled. “These things are basically works of art, and the larger or more intricate they are, the more time you need. Those bigger and more complicated ones in the movie can take several sessions of four or five hours, done over a period of several months. They’re not cheap, either—at least, the good tattoo artists aren’t. But once a tattoo is there, it’s pretty much permanent, though it does get a bit fuzzy around the edges. Honestly, I need to get this one touched up.”
She then sat with her back facing Fortrakt and invited him to touch it, so he could see it didn’t feel any different than her regular skin. He stammered and blushed hard, looking to Gilda for help; she responded with a smirk, enjoying his discomfort.
With some difficulty, he reminded Tara she was instructing him to touch what for a griffon was a very intimate area.
She giggled at his stammered explanation, as did Marco and Chris. “It’s not the same for us. It’s okay, really. Go on and give it a try.”
“Dude, she’s letting you touch her!” Marco teased him with a grin, giving him an affectionate tap on the chest safely below the neck—he’d learned his lessons about where not to touch griffons, at least. “We should be so lucky!”
“Uh… okay?” With a second glance at Gilda, whose smirk deepened but gave him a nod of assent—who was she to deny him a thrill?—he reached up somewhat tentatively to brush the blunt backs of his talon tips over the tattooed area, to the cheers and a high-hoof exchanged between Marco and Chris.
Though flustered, Fortrakt didn’t remove his digits when she didn’t jerk away. “Wow—it really doesn’t feel any different! And your skin is so soft…” he further realized, placing more of his digits against the area to touch it further before catching himself and drawing back quickly with a fierce blush, to more teasing.
Afterwards, Marco had informed them that if they liked that movie, he had literally hundreds more they could watch. He’d then invited a giddy Fortrakt—and by extension, Gilda herself—to come back to see some of them, promising they had an endless array of movie themes that ranged from the same sappy romance she so disdained among ponies to outright action and fantasy films.
Though she wasn’t as eager to accept the offer as Fortrakt, who she wondered if even remembered what they were supposed to be doing, she recognized the potential benefits of taking the invitation. As much as her junior partner was enjoying their time with his new human friends, she couldn’t deny their utility to their intelligence-gathering mission as her mind went back towards the first film.
If just one had granted them a veritable fount of information in regard to human society, how much additional insight could they gain by viewing more of them?
She gave a low, annoyed trill while she rubbed her eyes with a set of talons, feeling forced by her own sense of duty into spending more time in the presence of Marco and the other humans. The latter she didn’t find too objectionable, but unfairly or not, she still associated them with the former.
And the former she still had severe issues with, even given the sorely needed chance by the surprisingly understanding Marine Sergeant for some payback. I can’t make this decision over Marco! she told herself with her thoughts for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying to still her twitching wings and lashing tail.
But then again, did she even need to? For how valid a window into human life would those ‘fighting and fantasy’ movies be? Equestrian cinema tended to show exaggerated and/or idealized versions of pony society; never mind their dweeby romance films that were invariably some variation of a powerful mare swooping in to save an endangered stallion, winning his affection and loyalty for life. But such stories were pure fantasy and not reality; she and Rainbow had seen a few over the years and had a very good time mocking them.
Rainbow… her thoughts went back to her former friend again, wondering what she was doing these days—other than performing for human and Tellusian audiences alike, that was. To her great disgust—and if she was being honest with herself, a measure of envy—Gilda had learned that Rainbow Dash had gained a measure of fame for not only performing the Sonic Rainboom, but for being one of the first ponies to cross over to Earth.
In fact, for being one of the first ponies they’d ever seen, she was now known on sight to humans—attention Gilda was sure Rainbow was only too happy to have. And thus, Gilda had been very careful not to tell anygriffon—or now anyhuman—that she had been friends with her, not wanting to draw attention to herself or be bombarded with painful questions about how she knew her.
But the hits just kept coming. For Gilda had also learned Rainbow Dash had fulfilled her foalhood dream to join the Wonderbolts, given her face was plastered all over the advertising posters when they came on a goodwill tour of the Kingdom.
It was crow-damningly hard for Gilda to forget about her when she saw a full-color picture of her on every street corner.
In truth, maybe even that wouldn’t have been so galling to her but for the fact that her own dream of joining the Wind Knights remained unfulfilled, while the ex-friend who had unceremoniously and unfairly dumped her had realized all her heart’s desires.
There’s no justice… she thought for the millionth time since learning the news, suddenly wondering if the way she felt about Rainbow was the same way the two human brothers looked upon each other; each believing the other had wronged them.
It stung, but at least it didn’t provoke the sheer rage in her it used to; just a dull ache deep in the pit of her stomach.
No, the only rage she felt now was over Marco, leaving her wondering what it would take to fully relieve it. All of which brought her back to the question of how she was going to deal with him, and whether to take the invitation to watch more human cinema if it also meant being around the brown-skinned human more.
Her wings twitched and her talons curled, digging into the floorboards as she recalled his hand resting on her flight muscles again. She knew he didn’t mean anything sexual by it, but she couldn’t help it. Her blood still pumped hard when she pictured him; she still had a strong urge to stalk him.
To pay him back for taking such an intimate and uninvited sensual liberty with her, even unknowingly.
She exhaled sharply, trying to restrain her surging temper again. It was so strange—she had never had someone get under her feathers so deeply or quickly. Not even the crow-begotten pink pony mare, who Gilda held responsible for breaking up her friendship with Rainbow all those years ago, had raised her hackles this much.
She didn’t want to see him again, for whenever she did, all she could see or feel was his hand on her flight muscles. Even without him present, she still felt a ghost of the sensation. She couldn’t seem to shake it, and she admitted she was afraid of what she might do to him if they were alone, and neither Fortrakt nor anygryphon else was there to stop her.
“You’re a soldier of the Kingdom. So by all your Ancestors, stop acting like a crow-damned dweeb, Gilda…” she ordered herself under her breath, willing her wings and tail to still. She was an adult and a military officer now, not some stupid tiercel teen who couldn’t control his emotions. She still didn’t want to take the offer, but a more rational part of her realized that ignoring it was not only stupid, but outright treasonous for throwing away such an easy opportunity to learn.
Needing a distraction, she looked back at her blank and waiting page of parchment, beginning to gather her thoughts. There were so many things to write about, and whether she wanted them or not, there were far more days with the humans to come.
“Crows take it…” Deciding the night wasn’t getting any younger and her nerves weren’t getting any less raw, Gilda closed her eyes for a moment before she grabbed a quill, dipped it in ink, and began to write.
“Duty comes first. I’ll figure out how to deal with you later, Marco Lakan...”
The next day, Fortrakt and Gilda were guided to their new rooms at the Winged Hall Inn by Sergeant Reyes, unconnected with the human quarters but in the same general area and level.
Though far more modest than the dwellings that the humans had received, they were considerably more comfortable than her bare barracks quarters. Gilda now had a room with an actual bed, a bigger closet, and her own bathroom with a tub and shower.
Though she would have appreciated the chance to soak in it for an hour and preen—a luxury she definitely didn’t have back at the barracks—the two griffons didn’t have much time to unpack or enjoy their new amenities as the trio of humans were scheduled to examine the farmlands and fields outside Arnau.
Somewhat surprisingly, the three civilians weren’t just diplomatic baggage, as she’d sometimes heard other griffons refer to nobles or other elites that glommed on to diplomatic missions for mere visibility. They were there because they had an actual job to do, explaining that they were tasked with analyzing griffon mines and farmlands to see what opportunities existed in the area for human agriculture, mineral collection, and trade.
Meeting them outside the Winged Hall Inn, Fortrakt and Gilda began to guide them towards the Southern Gate, though Gilda made sure to keep on the side of them away from Marco. Tara had brought along some metallic tools and a blank booklet made of white human paper as well as a strange writing tool; the latter two she called a ‘notepad’ and a ‘pencil’, respectively. But Chris simply had one of those magic windows he called a ‘tablet’.
Marco, though, looked like he was ready for battle. He brought a small pack that strapped around his shoulders and made soft clinking sounds every time he moved. Around his waist was a belt that held a lot of familiar tools, but miniaturized and optimized for human paws—er, hands, Gilda corrected her own thought, wondering if humans also had a separate name for their digits. If not talons, what were they?
His arsenal included a shovel, a hammer, and what looked like some sort of pickaxe. The two males wound up sticking together—Marco explained that he’d be at the fields collecting soil samples while Chris talked to the steadholders and Caleponian farmers there, to determine what crops grew best in the sandy soil. Tara, on the other wing, wanted to go to places with higher ground.
Gilda had Fortrakt stay with the two males to keep herself away from Marco, though she somewhat reluctantly agreed that they’d change shifts every hour to give them time to be with both. She couldn’t help but note that though he definitely wanted to be around Marco more, Fortrakt also seemed excited at the idea of being alone with Tara later.
She couldn’t help but wonder if he was taking a more personal interest in her after being allowed to touch her the previous day. But it was a question for later, and perhaps something she could tease him about when she was in a better mood. Just glad to be away from Marco for a while, the still-annoyed eagless spent the better part of that hour helping Tara move herself and her tools to the tops of hills and rock formations.
The human eagless—woman, she corrected herself, finding that an odd term for a female—was absolutely specific on where she wanted to work and had a perfectionist attitude; one that reminded Gilda very much of her sire. Fortunately, she wasn’t anywhere near as overbearing, and she also didn’t dismiss Gilda’s efforts out of wing when they weren’t immediately to her satisfaction.
In fact, the normally talkative human female turned unusually quiet as she worked with her tools. The only time she spoke was when she’d recite numbers out loud, writing them down on the notebook. Gilda assumed they were some form of measurements but didn’t ask.
And then abruptly, she started and looked up. “Oh, God!” Tara suddenly declared, making Gilda snap back to alertness as well.
“What’s wrong?” Gilda asked, scanning the area for danger but not seeing any. She wasn’t sure what to make of the exclamation—an invocation to a God? What God? What was human religion even like? There had been some odd but prominently placed symbols in the movie she’d ignored, as well as a reference to what sounded like divine figures she didn’t recognize. But not wanting to prolong the conversation, she hadn’t asked about them.
“I’m so sorry,” Tara apologized, then explained at Gilda’s questioning look. “I’m sorry if I’ve been rude. I didn’t mean to ignore you, I swear.”
Gilda relaxed—of the three human civilians, Tara was the easiest for her to be around, at least, either because she was female or because she seemed the most sensible and stable of the three. “You were busy. I understand.”
“Really? That’s a relief. I swear, I’m not snubbing you or anything, I just tend to stay really quiet when I’m working.”
Gilda nodded. “I don’t begrudge you for being a hard worker. I respect that a lot, actually, since I’ve had to work really hard myself.”
“It doesn’t always get you what you want, though,” she noted, somewhat ruefully. “So has it gotten you to where you want to be?”
“Not yet,” Gilda admitted, her tone turning subdued. “I want to make the Wind Knights—they’re our most elite sky gryphon soldiers, similar to what I gather your Marines are. I can’t do it right away, but I’m patient and willing to work for it. Which believe me, I wasn’t always.”
“Soldier, huh?” Tara mused. “It’s a career I can’t imagine choosing. I’m just not cut out for it—most humans aren’t, really. So, what’s it like to be in the military?” she wanted to know.
Gilda gave her a curious look. “Why do you ask?”
Tara adjusted her tool again; a three-legged metallic construct with what looked like a pony spyglass on top. “Well, it’s a little silly, but I just don’t understand the appeal of it. Chris told me he had wanted to enlist in the Army when he was a kid, though he eventually decided on being a scientist instead. Then we have Marco who was quick to befriend the Marines with us, so I...”
Tara fell quiet again, once more absorbed in her work as she examined a rock through her spyglass. Gilda found it funny how she just lost her chain of thought like that, but she remained quiet as the human female worked. She even found herself thinking back on Tara’s words, only belatedly realizing she may have given out unnecessary information in regards to the Kingdom’s military.
But before she could worry about it further, she spotted a figure taking flight in the distance. A sharp trill then cut through the breeze, which she instantly recognized as coming from Fortrakt.
Time to change shifts already? Damn. She grimaced, knowing she was now going to have to hang around Marco again. Fine. Let’s just get this over with…
“Tara,” Gilda called.
“Hmmm?” was Tara’s reply.
“Fortrakt and I will be changing shifts. Please stay until he arrives, alright?”
Tara nodded and went back to look through the spyglass. “No worries. I’ll be here,” she replied, writing something down in her notebook once more.
With a strong beat of her large brown wings, Gilda took flight, meeting Fortrakt halfway. “I left them over at the western fields,” the tiercel declared once she was in hearing range.
“Marco’s got a lot of glass vials and is taking samples of everything. Chris was talking to the steadholders and some of the Caleponians, using his magic tablet to record them,” he related. “Did you know that those tablets can also take pictures? Humans have got some really neat stuff!”
“Maybe you can ask your new best friend to teach you how to use them,” Gilda replied dryly, then pointed towards the southeast area she’d just left. “Tara’s over there, near the small creek. I’m not sure what she’s doing, but she’s got some sort of spyglass.”
Fortrakt blinked, his raptor eyes staring off in the direction that Gilda was pointing. “Yes, I see her. And you know what? Maybe I will ask him how their stuff works!” With those words, he took off towards Tara, leaving Gilda to shake her head as she followed her partner’s directions and moved towards where Chris and Marco were, though not in as much of a hurry as Fortrakt was.
Gilda sighed as her thoughts went to Marco yet again. She knew she was going to have to confront the brown-skinned human at least one more time before she could clear whatever anger she still harbored for him, or all their encounters were going to be as uncomfortable as this one. But as now was not the time, she carefully checked her emotions, reminding herself again that he had acted in ignorance.
Despite her deep-seated feelings, she found it increasingly silly that she was holding onto a grudge for so long. It was, after all, quite clear by then that Marco had meant nothing untoward by his touch; his mortified reaction to having it explained confirming it. She also thought back on how amicable he was to her yesterday, and how he had been the first to extend his human paw in friendship towards her.
But she’d slapped it away, unwilling to forgive and forget so easily—maybe in that sense, she really wasn’t any different than the two brothers of the movie, who were both unable to see or accept things from the other’s point of view until the very end.
It was then Fortrakt’s words came back to her, and she felt a measure of admonishment. When all was said and done, she really was acting like a stupid cub. The human male was trying to be friendly and make amends to her. So maybe it was time to sheathe her claws?
Her entire train of thought vanished when she spotted Chris, a bit far off, running at his rather meager top speed through the fields. Thinking that was strange, her eagle eyes saw the very clear panicked expression he had. Sensing something was wrong, she took a series of strong, broad strokes, racing towards him through the air.
As she came into range, she folded her feathered limbs to her sides, making her dive down fast and hard in a move she’d learned from her time with Rainbow. Flaring her wings at the last second to arrest her descent, she landed before him and skidded to a stop. Her sudden appearance made the red-haired human recoil in fear for a moment, at least until she spoke.
“Chris? What’s wrong? What happened?” Gilda asked.
“Decurion!” he exclaimed through panting gasps, bending over to put his hands on his knees. Catching his breath, he then pointed behind him, speaking in clipped tones. “Marco! In trouble! Help him!”
“Crows,” Gilda cursed with a leonine hiss as she flapped her wings upwards, creating a small dust cloud in her wake. In the air again, her eyes scanned forward, trying to see what the stupid brown ape had gotten himself into this time. “Follow me!” she directed, taking flight again—she didn’t like leaving Chris alone, but it sounded like Marco was in immediate danger.
She confirmed it quickly. After a few seconds of flight, she saw the brown-skinned human surrounded by two younger griffons, who encircled him in a predatory pincer movement designed to take down grounded and cornered prey. Though it was two against one, they seemed strangely wary, and it was only then that she noticed Marco was holding some sort of dark metallic stick.
As she closed the distance, he kept shifting his legs just like the fighters in the movie. His head moved back and forth as he slowly backed away, trying to keep the two griffons encircling him in sight; she could see a glitter of sweat on his arms and forehead. And was it the sun, or was he bleeding?
It was then she realized—he’s FIGHTING them?
Beating her wings harder to increase her speed, she rocketed herself towards the endangered ape, trying to reach him quickly, but she was too far away to prevent one of the griffons from finally attacking him. The tiercel of the pair leapt at him with a slash of his talons, leaving Gilda certain it would result in the human being wounded or worse. But to her surprise, he dodged the swipe and brought his arm holding the stick upwards, hitting the male griffon hard on the head.
The force of his blow was surprisingly strong, judging by the way the tiercel recoiled and stumbled hard, but then the human made a mistake—as he raised his rod high to deliver a final blow, his eyes were on the stunned and stumbling earth griffon, not on the tensing sky griffon eagless sneaking in behind him.
Gilda’s guts clenched as she pounced on and pinned Marco down, face first in the dirt as she knocked the metal stick away. Victorious, the female griffon then grasped the human’s neck with her talons from behind and ordered him to submit in Aeric, in a move that threatened to rip open his throat and called for the opponent’s submission.
Still too far away to assist, and feeling strangely frantic over the fate of the human male, relief washed over Gilda at the realization that the eagless wasn’t looking to kill him. All Marco had to do to end the attack was expose his neck to admit defeat, not unlike how the human movie fighters “tapped out”, repeatedly drumming their fleshy talons against their opponent’s body to indicate their surrender.
She’d quickly figured out that they did that to end the bout and prevent whatever lock they were in from resulting in crippling injury to a pinned limb. But he’s not a griffon! Gilda reminded herself, and her stomach suddenly felt heavy at the realization that Marco might not know the griffon signals for that.
Her growing alarm giving her extra speed, she accelerated her approach further as despite his vulnerable position, Marco continued to forcefully resist, arching his back hard to try and get the eagless off. But he didn’t have enough heft and all that accomplished was to annoy her. In response, she flared her wings for balance while raising her other set of talons, preparing another blow aimed at the back of his head.
She had no idea if he could withstand a hit like that and wasn’t about to find out. Blindsiding her, Gilda grunted as she slammed into the other eagless from the flank and bowled her over. Momentum was on her side, and the other female easily gave way; the impact leaving Gilda rattled but not shaken. The force was enough to dislodge the offending eagless off the human, eliciting a surprised feminine squawk.
The griffon was just a teenager, Gilda realized as she pinned Marco’s attacker down; no older than she’d been when she’d had that awful day in Ponyville years earlier. For a moment, Gilda thought there would be more resistance. But once the eagless’ eyes identified her captor’s armor and the diplomatic Command Chain around her neck, she immediately went limp and exposed her neck in submission. It was a wise choice given she was facing not just a soldier, but an officer; one with the added authority to order her arrest and punishment.
But before Gilda could ask her what in the name of her Ancestors she thought she was doing, a masculine tiercel shriek filled the air. It was the trilling call of a frightened cub pleading for help from his parents, and her eyes widened as she turned her head and looked behind her.
Even with the source of the cry unquestionably being a griffon, she had expected—even feared—that she would see the male griffon hurting Marco. She was sure she would see him pinned down again, fighting uselessly against his opponent.
Instead, what she beheld was Marco on top of the trembling tiercel, who was on his belly while Marco was sitting on top of his hindquarters, crouched over and reaching beneath the tiercel’s rapidly twitching tail. That was incredible enough, but what was even more shocking was the fact that the griffon was spouting apologies in Aeric, his tone one of sheer panic.
“N-No! Please! Don’t cut them off! Don’t cut them off! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please let me go!” the tiercel begged repeatedly, tears streaming down his feathered cheeks. His feathers were ruffled and his feline tail twitched hard while he repeatedly bared his neck, desperately signaling his submission.
But Marco wasn’t giving any indication that he was accepting the griffon’s surrender. There was something quite lethal in the way the brown-skinned human looked at the downed griffon. He didn’t speak Aeric, but he seemed to understand the plea for mercy well enough as he began speaking in both Equish and another unfamiliar tongue, his tone low and quite menacing.
“Sige, gumalaw ka, punyeta ka. You attacked my friend! So give me a good goddamned reason why I should let you keep them, you fucking piece of griffon shit…”
“Marco…” Gilda didn’t know what was worse—the death glare the human was giving the tiercel, or the fact that his hands were right between his hind legs, holding something. Judging from the increasingly panicked shouts and pleads, to say nothing of the griffon’s visibly shaking body, Marco was probably holding a blade or something sharp against his dangling malehood, threatening to relieve him of it and leaving the poor tiercel scared out of his mind.
Before she could think of what to do next, there was a rustle as she saw an increasing number of earth ponies and griffons appearing, apparently trying to figure out what the commotion was about. Relieved to find some backup, Gilda gave a signaling squawk, earning the immediate attention of one of the griffon Guard soldiers, who was probably assigned to watch ponies on another field.
She was another eagless; a young soldier fledgling fresh from the Gauntlet given her youth and the fact she possessed only the single pauldron on her left shoulder. When she saw Gilda, wearing an officer’s armor and a diplomatic command chain, she immediately saluted and bared her neck hard, standing to rigid attention.
“Yes, sir?” she asked hesitatingly.
“I am Decurion Grizelda Behertz. On my authority, Get the Peacekeepers here, now!” Gilda ordered.
“By your command!” She gave a ritual answer as she saluted, and then off she flew, leaving Gilda wondering again if she was ever going to get used to that, and worried that she was starting to like it. Putting the thought aside for now, she slapped the manacles from her belt on the eagless’ limbs, and then asked Marco to let the tiercel go. But he refused, not about to let the male earth griffon up despite his crying sobs and translated promises to never bother them again.
Thankfully, the Guard griffon came back quickly with a good number of Peacekeepers in tow. Her new command chain granting her the authority to direct them, Gilda immediately ordered them to detain the eagless she had cuffed and the tiercel—who was still pinned and crying freely at that point—for questioning.
It took a while with the latter, though, as Marco still refused to let him up until he was assured that Chris was safe and they wouldn’t let the tiercel go. In the end, it wasn’t until his red-haired friend came back and gently asked his fellow human to release his captive that the brown-skin human relented.
Once the two griffons were sent away—the female hobbled and the male completely broken, barely able to walk and still wracked by squawking sobs—Gilda shooed the onlookers away, and then approached the two humans, who were huddled together in a somewhat isolated area. Upon closer inspection, she spotted some fine crimson lines streaked across one of Marco’s arms from where talons had grasped him.
There was also some bruising appearing on his face and other arm not unlike she’d seen in the movie—the movie makeup artists had apparently gotten that detail right—and although Marco looked spent and subdued after his earlier eruption of anger, he at least seemed to be in control again.
Approaching them, her attention landed on the small shovel Marco was holding, if not outright clutching. He wouldn’t let go of it as Chris sat beside him, patting his shoulder and repeatedly asking his fellow human if he was okay.
Marco didn’t reply except to mutter something unintelligible in the strange tongue again, eventually saying in Equish that he was fine so long as Chris was. She then noticed that Chris was holding the same black metallic stick that Marco had been using as a weapon before he lost it.
“Okay. It’s over and done, so would you two mind telling me what happened?” Gilda asked gently. “I’m going to have to make a report about this, and I need your side of the story.”
Marco looked at her numbly for a moment but stayed silent. Noting his mood, Chris was the one that answered. “There isn’t much to say. We were taking rock and soil samples and doing nothing but minding our own business when those two griffons approached us.”
Gilda nodded. “And then?”
“Does it matter?” Marco muttered, his eyes on the ground.
Gilda looked at him sharply, pulling out a roll of parchment and quill she was using for taking notes, following it up by placing a small ink jar on the ground and uncapping it. “Yes, it does. The Peacekeepers are going to question those two griffons. I’m responsible for you, so I need to know what happened,” she said as she dipped the quill in ink and laid the parchment on a flat stone.
“What’s the point? You know Goldberg’ll spin this one against me anyway,” Marco muttered.
“No, he won’t,” Chris replied, his voice surprisingly hard, giving Marco’s shoulder a squeeze. “It wasn’t your fault, Marco. At least, not this time.”
“Like that’ll matter,” Marco answered dully.
“It will if I have anything to say about it,” Gilda spoke up, surprised to find herself standing up for the brown-skinned human. “Now please explain what happened here.”
Marco and Chris glanced at each other again before the latter spoke. “Well, they flew in and started speaking Lat—er, I mean, your language,” Chris continued dully; when Gilda looked closely, she noticed he was shaking slightly, too. “When Marco told them we didn’t understand, they said in English, ‘Fight’.”
“It was ‘You, me, fight’, actually,” Marco corrected. “Pretty rough English, really.”
“Yes, well, not every griffon is well-versed in Equestrian,” Gilda reminded them somewhat shortly.
“Really?” Chris looked up at her. “You and Fortrakt seem to speak it well.”
“That doesn’t mean we all do.” Gilda sighed, not wanting to explain that her knowledge of Equish stemmed from growing up in Equestria, or the fact that the Gletscher family was from the more temperate parts of the Northern Region. Such areas had lots of Caleponians that helped them produce enough food during the short growing season, in order to minimize importation from the Southern Region, and thus knowing Equish was more or less a necessity for him.
“It’s unimportant right now, so please—those two griffons will be questioned soon, and we’ll need to have your side of the story ready,” she implored them again, her quill poised.
Marco looked at her for a moment. Then he sighed, his gaze resigned as he gave her a short nod. “Fine, for all the good it’ll do. Like Chris said, we were just out here minding our own business when they showed up wanting a fight. We told them no and tried to make that clear. Chris said something in Latin and turned his back on them. That’s when they swarmed him.”
“Latin?” That wasn’t the first time she’d heard that word, though she hadn’t been able to figure out the context from its earlier usage.
“I said ‘Nos pugnare non vis. Exite’!” Chris explained, causing Gilda to blink hard—that was pretty rough as well, but he knew the griffon tongue? “And that’s when you went kamikaze and attacked them with this!” Chris finished, tapping the black metal stick he was holding against his open palm. “Honestly, Marco—what the hell were you thinking, using this to attack two big winged cats with beaks?”
“Dammit, dude, they came at you with their claws out! Just what the hell was I supposed to do?”
“You could have called for help! That’s what she’s here for! And since when did you start carrying a weapon?” a still-rattled Chris spoke quickly.
Marco looked at Gilda for just a second before he went back to looking at the ground. “Two days ago.”
Both Gilda and Chris looked at Marco for a moment. The former felt strangely flattered as the latter recovered first. “Okay, but still, you came at them with just a bloody baton? There were two of them! With talons! They could have fucking eviscerated you! Or just picked you up high into the air and dropped you! Did you have a death wish? I mean, of all the stupid, idiotic things you could have…”
Gilda’s eyes glazed as she listened to Chris rant on, waving his arms about, driving the point home on how he felt Marco’s actions were absolutely brainless. For his part, Marco just accepted the abuse, giving his friend a roll of his eyes and a ghost of a grin.
Blocking him out, Gilda found herself nodding as she pictured the scenario they described. If what Marco said was accurate, then it was clear enough what had happened—two young griffons in their late teens, probably young enough (like her at their age) to be both sufficiently brave and stupid to ignore the military and civilian edicts announced yesterday, had decided they’d test their alien visitors and thus came to the two humans looking for a fight.
Whether their objective was a simple thrill or hoping to make a name for themselves as the first griffons to challenge humans, they couldn’t speak Equestrian well and Marco probably made the mistake of speaking in simpler terms. ‘No fight’ was most likely misinterpreted, as was Chris’s subsequent reply in broken and barely understandable Aeric.
In fact, in some ways, the latter was even worse—by poorly dismissing them in their own tongue, the two griffons thought that Chris was not only insulting them by mangling their language, but claiming that he was too strong for them and that they weren’t worthy of fighting. Turning his back on them must have exacerbated the situation further, flaring their teenage tempers by making them think that the human was claiming that they were weak and not worth his time.
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Just like two nights earlier, it was yet another unnecessary clash resulting from a crescendo of cultural misunderstandings, and as she wasn’t involved in it directly this time, Gilda found herself feeling a much greater measure of sympathy and appreciation of how they came about.
So maybe I can forgive Marco a little more readily now? she asked herself, only to still feel an undercurrent of anger towards him. “Okay, I can make a report about this,” Gilda suddenly declared, cutting Chris’ tirade short as she finished writing. She then rolled up the scroll and passed it to the ranking Peacekeeper, directing her to pass it up her chain of command.
“As you know, Tribune Narada just announced yesterday a new policy of disallowing any aggression between griffons and humans. While it seems this involved yet another escalating series of misunderstandings, they still started the fight. I don’t see that either of you were the aggressor here, and given that you both tried to de-escalate, if rather clumsily, the two of you will most likely be cleared of any wrongdoing.”
Chris exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. “Oh, thank God.”
Gilda gave him a reproachful look. “Which is not to say you didn’t provoke some of their reactions. I can see now we’re going to have to seriously educate you two on Griffon culture and body language. And Chris? If you’re going to speak Aeric, or ‘Latin’ as you call it, I’d suggest getting a lot better at it first.”
He looked chagrined. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“Trust me, it was,” Gilda informed him bluntly. “The first thing you need to know about us is that we Gryphons revere our culture, including our language, and we tend to take it personally when it’s spoken sloppily. If you like, Fortrakt and I will give you lessons in speaking it,” she then offered, to which Chris nodded slowly but remained silent.
“They spoke our language sloppily, too. Was that okay?” Marco asked, somewhat snippily.
“No, but you’re the visitors, not the hosts,” she reminded him with strained patience, biting off an initial inclination to snap back at him. “You’re also not a pair of teens with more stupidity than good sense like those two were. So do yourselves a favor and don’t speak it again until you speak it a lot better.”
“Don’t worry,” Chris mumbled. “I guess I wouldn’t be well-received in ancient Rome, either…”
Though she didn’t get the reference, Gilda then looked at Marco. She expected some sort of relieved expression to cross his face at the news they were likely to be held blameless, but it remained blank. “I have to say, you did a decent job holding them off,” she declared, scarcely able to believe she was complimenting him. But there was also no question in her mind that he deserved it, for doing what Rainbow hadn’t. “And all to defend a friend? I approve. I admit, I may have misjudged you, Marco Lakan.”
Marco looked at her, his expression still numb despite the compliment. “Yeah. Thanks,” he replied unemotionally.
Gilda could only nod, recognizing he was suffering from at least a minor amount of battle shock; she’d suffered the same after she’d been bullied into her first real duel many months earlier, which was as close to actual combat as she’d ever been. For a few seconds, the three were silent until Gilda pointed towards the shovel. “Still, I have to ask—why did you go after him with that?”
Marco blinked. He looked at where her talon was pointed before replying. “Oh. Well, uh, I lost my baton, and this was the only thing I could reach. The griffon was dazed enough that I could get in close to knock him down, then pin him by sitting on him. When I did, I kinda just reached in and… threatened to cut that griffon’s... well, sac, with it.” He grimaced as he spoke.
“With a shovel,” Gilda repeated dubiously. “And he didn’t notice?”
“Well, like I said, he was dizzy from being hit with my baton. I got him down, and then I remembered my brother sticking a spoon in my neck, tricking me to think he held a knife. Back when we were stupid kids,” Marco said with a shrug. “I just about pissed myself then, so I thought maybe it could be the same here. He couldn’t see what I was holding without twisting around, but when he started to, I dug it in deeper and froze him. That’s when he started squawking.”
“Squawking? He was sobbing!” Chris corrected. “My Latin may be rough, but he was begging you to let him keep his balls!”
“So you tricked him,” Gilda realized with a moment of genuine amusement as she wrote a second report to pass up to Tribune Narada herself. “But how could you be sure it was going to work?”
“I couldn’t. The griffon was speaking Latin, and I didn’t understand what he was saying. So how did you?” he asked Chris.
“Because I took classes on it in college. It’s a dead language in our world, as the society that originally spoke it faded out a thousand years ago. I never thought I would actually be speaking it for real one day!” Chris added in a note of disbelief. “I’m serious, though—he begged you for mercy, Marco! He really thought you were going to cut his balls off.”
“Yeah, well, I was just trying to scare the shit out of him and keep him in place. It shouldn’t have worked, but I guess I sold it well enough that it did.” He shrugged and then looked up to see Gilda staring at him.
For a moment, she said nothing, not even questioning the strange label they’d repeatedly applied to the griffon tongue, or what they meant by a ‘dead language’. The next, she was laughing. Her reaction only confused the humans further as the pair glanced at each other in bemusement, then looked back to her.
“What?” Marco asked. “Why is this funny?”
“With a shovel,” Gilda replied with a shake of her head, still snickering. “With a small, crow-begotten shovel, you made a fully grown griffon beg for mercy and cry for his mother? And it wasn’t even a war shovel! Unbelievable.”
“Okay, seriously, what?” Marco asked in a measure of annoyance.
“You know what? You’re not bad, Marco Lakan,” Gilda decided, an actual smile gracing her face in his presence for the first time. “Not bad at all. Whatever punishment he gets, that tiercel will never live this down.” She shook her head again, then turned and walked off to direct the Peacekeepers to summon a healer for Marco. “With a shovel,” she declared as she continued laughing, then finished writing her latest report.
Tara and Fortrakt arrived a few minutes later. The younger griffon was initially confused, but when he saw the wounded Marco, he insisted on bringing the humans back to the Winged Hall himself. He seemed to be taking the attack personally, later confiding to Gilda that he blamed himself for leaving them unprotected, even briefly, in his eagerness to see Tara again.
As it turned out, their wounds weren’t deep or bad enough to need a Magus Knight—"I could treat it, but it’d be a waste of magic and it might have deleterious effects for such shallow scratches,” an eagless mage said upon examining them.
But they still needed at least some treatment, which Marco got when he was checked by a human medic—whom they called a “corpsman”—back at the Inn. After being given some form of salve and a bandage to keep the injured area clean while it healed, he was then summoned to Lieutenant Nantz’s office along with Gilda to explain what had happened.
Though initially disposed to blame the affair on Marco given his “uncanny ability to attract trouble and piss people off”, the human officer had been swayed by Gilda’s backing, noting that if she of all griffons was defending him, then he really wasn’t at fault. He then promised to pass her report up his chain of command with a recommendation that there be no punishment, but he also warned Marco that Ambassador Goldberg would be unlikely to let a second incident involving him go.
Marco could only nod ruefully in response, thanking the Lieutenant—and Gilda herself—for their efforts, even if they ended up being fruitless. He then retired with Chris and Tara to their quarters, escorted back by Reyes and Fortrakt.
Only after the humans were secure in their hotel suite did Fortrakt return and finally ask Gilda for the full story of what had happened.
So Gilda explained.
By the time she was finished, Fortrakt laughed even harder than she did.