Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I watched, tense, as the second hand crawled its way around a clock, slowly completing another lap.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Outside, the moon inched its way through the sky, long past the hour when sunset had disappeared from the horizon. An arched wooden ceiling was all that separated me from that sky, and the night's chill crept in even through the walls and my sturdy coat.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Two dozen yaks huddled with me, tucking in their heads and holding their breath like inert, shaggy mounds. Ansel twitched, causing a wave of tension to ripple across the room. Corsica was still.
All of us watched the clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick...
The second I was waiting for arrived. A booted hoof slammed down on the table in front of me as I rose from my chair in victory, flicking a switch with my tail and bathing the room in light. "Officially nineteen!" I declared loudly to the world.
With an explosion of sound, the room came to life. Yaks bellowed and roared in applause, jumping and stomping around in a ruckus that stood to wake every pony in the bunker below. Someone swung a mallet, and someone else held a barrel, and soon a spigot was flowing as gigantic yak mugs were passed around for drinks. Several giant hooves tried and failed to ruffle my mane, and I glowed with excitement, standing at the head of the long table in the mess hall built out from the Icereach military tower.
"Same age as me now," Corsica boasted on my behalf. "If only for two months."
"Halcyon pony moving up in world," slab-faced Tarkov said, looming over the table like a brick. "Demand much food in celebration!"
"Wheel it in, chum," Ansel agreed, as Darius and Milton hauled in a cart laden with yak cuisine. I didn't question how the two shortest yaks had gotten teamed up for this; all I knew was that both of them looked amazing wearing chef hats that were almost as tall as they were.
Balthazar rumbled in approval as piles of food were unloaded onto the table, sitting just around the corner to my left. "Not often science ponies come to party with yaks. Other ponies not know what missing out on! Huh huh!"
The room buzzed with activity, sparsely decorated yet still showing off a little more love and care than usual to mark my occasion. All around, my best friends bustled, most of them large and woolly and far more genuine than the scientific minds living down below. I rode the celebration like a wave, in a happy, dizzy buzz, until the food made its way around to my end of the table and demanded my attention once again.
"Snow potato pie," Milton explained, setting a dish before me that was probably intended to feed ten, his face solemn and serious as ever. "Is ancestral yak dish with very secret recipe. Yaks make from snow potatoes, snow potatoes, and more snow potatoes. Many carbohydrates."
"Egghead," Tarkov muttered.
"Mmm," a goateed yak called Mustafa agreed. "No real yak know word like carbohydrate."
"Mustafa pronounce perfectly," Balthazar pointed out.
Milton cleared his throat, shooting all of them a withering-yet-enlightened look. "Proper language is ancient yak tradition. Sign of respect to elders. Must speak well to be understood."
"And yet none of you bother to learn proper grammar." Darius rolled his eyes, shoveling more food toward me and pushing the snow potato pie to the side. "Here, it's a gourd. Not sure how it's prepared, but give it a try!"
I stared at the gourd. "I can see that..."
"Gourd have nothing on cheese-stuffed pepper!" someone yelled from further down the table.
Several hooves stomped in agreement, and a chant was struck up. "Cheese-stuffed pepper! Cheese-stuffed pepper!"
"Hmm." Milton narrowed his eyes, following my gaze and edging an eponymous pepper away from my personal space. "No. Cheese-stuffed pepper too spicy for pony food. Yaks eat pepper to-"
"Hey, gimmie that!" I flopped across the table, disturbing a few dishes as I chased the retreating pepper, seizing it with a clap of my wings. Sitting back, I crammed the entire thing in my mouth at once, riding an emotional high and ready to show off. Immediately, I regretted it.
Spicy flavor overwhelmed my mouth, feeling like fire was spreading up my nostrils and threatening to make me sneeze. And yet, at the last moment, I was saved by the cool bite of the cheese, providing just enough relief that I could tough it out, chew and swallow, tears streaming from my eyes. "Water..." I gasped, limp against the table.
The yaks roared in approval, and at least three shoved mugs my way.
"You weren't supposed to do that, you know," Corsica pointed out as I drank greedily from one. "Let them have the peppers if they like them so much."
"Sure I did," I panted, lifting my head from my drink. "What's getting older about if not doing dumb stuff you're gonna laugh about in the morning?"
"Or, you could eat these instead," Ansel pointed out, wielding a stuffed mushroom the size of his hoof. "All of the flavor, and none of the murder on your tongue."
Corsica gave him a questionable look, sneaking over a pepper for herself. "Ew, no. That's a mushroom."
"Can't say no to mushrooms without bailing on half of Icereach's diet," I answered, moving to try Milton's pie. "Hey, is that a turnover...?"
The party continued in full swing for longer than I could track, but eventually my stomach got too full to take any more, and I was reduced to sitting and talking and trying to match my friends' boasts as the night wore on. Fortunately, the yaks were bottomless, and I suspected we would be able to carry the festivities all the way to sunrise.
"And then," narrated Roderick, a yak with a heavy scar across his face, "robot pony start glowing, like about to explode. Noble Roderick see only one thing to do! Leap with entire body to block explosion..."
The changeling attack was now six months in the past, more than long enough for it to become enshrined in local boasting canon - Elise had mobilized the entire force in response to it, and as a result every yak had their own story to tell. At first, when they started bragging about it, it had made me anxious, dredging up memories of a night that was still raw to touch. But, as time went on, their confident bravado and determination to make stories their own had proven exactly what I needed to come to terms with my own helplessness that night and own what I had accomplished, as well.
"Yeah, getting blown up is cool," I said, wading into the boasting match. "But did any of you convince the changelings you were one of them, and sabotage all their plans? They thought they could pose as me, and didn't even notice when I was real!"
"And how many windigoes did that chase off?" Corsica countered, staring jealously at the mugs that were now filled with something we were 'too innocent to drink'. "Bet you it wasn't as many as I did."
Slowly but surely, the wounds from the invasion had receded. A month of rest and normal living had given Corsica her spunk back, and even Ansel had learned to stop staring suspiciously at shadows... or, at least, do it less than he used to. For my part, the memory of the miracles that saved me and my resolution to one day track down the mystery of the changelings and windigoes sat like a dog-eared page in my memory: never interfering with my conscious life, but always there when I thought about nothing, ready to be remembered and acted upon as soon as I was older and more prepared to face the world.
How much older? I didn't know. But, today, I had an entire new number to add to my age.
The boasting continued, and a few yaks began to tip over, either after losing halfhearted fights or simply of their own volition. The loss of their voices caused the energy in the room to gradually wind down, however, and eventually it grew still enough that Balthazar was able to muscle in with an announcement.
"Ahem!" he barked, climbing on the partially-cleared table and stomping his hooves for attention. "...Time for presents for pony Halcyon?"
The conscious yaks roared in excitement.
"Presents?" I asked as he got down. This was my first time actually celebrating my birthday up here with the yaks... "What kind of stuff does a bunch of muscly furballs like yourselves even get for someone like me? It had better not be a million barbells I can't actually lift."
Balthazar chuckled. "Huh huh. Only got one of those as joke. Million yak barbells would probably sink airship and make other science ponies mad."
He wandered away, and a moment later another cart was hauled out, this one covered in brightly-colored wrapped goods.
Well, two brightly-colored wrapped goods. All the rest looked like they had been covered in industrial insulation paper.
"Might need knife to open," Balthazar warned, scooting over a used carving knife as the trolley came to a stop, most definitely laden with more things than I would be able to carry with me back to my room.
"Errrr..." I stood and stared at it, the yaks all watching me eagerly, placing bets on which one I would open first.
"If it helps in choosing, the normally-wrapped ones are from me and Princess Pepper over there," Ansel whispered, motioning at Corsica, who was trying to steal Tarkov's mug.
"Awesome," I replied, hefting the knife and dragging down a yak present it looked like I could lift. "Think I'll save the ones I know to be sane for last..."
This one was tube-shaped, and after removing the sturdy paper, I found a canister containing a large, wall-sized poster. "Open!" several yaks cheered, two of them rising and volunteering to help me hold it.
We got the poster out and unfurled with help from Corsica's horn. From corner to corner, it was nearly twice as long as I was, counting my tail. A blazing blue sky shone above a white horizon, reflected in a mirrorlike sea of ice over a steep mountain spire that rose from the ice like a fang, a city carved into its daunting slopes... or perhaps the city was the mountain. To the left and rear, a great stone bridge stretched out of the city and ran for miles into the distance, supported by massive, ancient arches, as though the ice was a sea to be sailed.
"Woah," I breathed, taking it all in.
"Infinite Glacier," Milton narrated, explaining the view. "Picture taken from airship. Capitol of Yakyakistan in middle of Yak Hoof Glacier. City is very ancient and noble. Good to look at when want to write yak poetry."
Something stirred inside my chest, a sleeping remnant of my dream to travel the world that was waiting for the day when I could handle the trials of the road. This was the kind of sight I hoped would be out there for me to see.
"Awesome." I nodded in approval. "You're a bro, Milton. Alright, let's see what's next..."
This time, I more carefully examined the cart, choosing the package that was far and away the biggest. "Might need a little help with this one?"
The paper split open to reveal a yak... or, upon second glance, a yak-shaped bean bag chair. Life sized and broadly stitched, it instantly made me squee.
Several more presents followed in short order, turning up a bucket of preserved food, an indoor totem pole carved to look like three yaks stacked on top of each other, and Balthazar's promised barbell, among many others. Eventually, however, I was down to just Ansel and Corsica's.
"Alright," I declared, selecting one at random. "Let's see if I saved the best for last, or if you two jokers decided to prank me..."
"Yak gifts best gifts!" Mustafa loudly declared.
"Good thing it's a contest!" I shot back, having a strong feeling that me judging the gifts and picking a winner would be required by popular demand. To anyone else, dunking on gifts would have been a poor showing at best, but keeping yaks as your friends demanded a certain degree of irreverence and competition.
"This one's on me," Corsica said as I began to rip at the normal wrapping paper, enjoying the feeling of shredding it as much as I could.
The wrapping came free, and I beheld my prize. It was... a coat.
"Well?" Corsica held it up in her aura.
I surveyed it with surprise. It looked a lot like my own coat, a gray, juvenile-cool piece designed to look like I was trying too hard to be awesome and wasn't worth looking at as a result. This piece, however, was more refined; it had fewer areas where something had been comically overdone, and slightly more color, with silver underlines around the button straps on the front and angular green trim about the sides that perfectly matched my eyes. It was a smoother shade of black, and looked more like something a high-ranking military operative would wear than a detective in a comic book.
Reactions failed me. I tried to imagine myself in this coat, and my brain went down several tracks at once. Ever since the changeling attack, I had tried to change my ways and set a few of my old fears aside, but never had I gone so far as to make myself deliberately visible in public. If I wore this, it would make the subtle difference between getting ponies to ignore me and commanding a lot of attention.
Depending on my demeanor, of course. If I tried to look like an annoying nerd in this, I'd just look bad.
"Wow, uh, thanks," I managed, envisioning the coat on a mannequin in my room. I wasn't sure I could wear this just yet. But, remembering the goals I made six months ago, I wanted to someday be in a place where I could.
"Well?" Corsica wasn't having any of my uncertain response. "Put it on! I wanna see how well I got your measurements!"
I reddened. "Right here and now?"
The remaining yaks eagerly stomped their hooves, though more than half of the room had passed out at this point. I wondered if they had just partied that hard, or it was something about their drink...
"Well, err, fine, I guess," I managed, casting about for a spot to change in private and settling for behind the back of my giant chair. If there was anyone I trusted not to read into seeing me in an unfitting outfit, it was the yaks.
For a moment, I fumbled behind the chair, slipping out of my existing coat and into the new one, keeping my boots on. It had that heavy new-fabric smell, and sat a lot more lightly on my shoulders, reminding me that despite the party's energy, this was night on the surface and only a thin wall of wood separated me from the elements. Had Corsica really gotten me a coat this thin?
She was from Yakyakistan, I supposed. Her fur was naturally much thicker than mine. She probably just didn't know I needed more protection from the cold. Fortunately, it would be easy to add insulation, and it would travel well if we ever visited somewhere warmer than Icereach...
I stepped out from behind the chair. "Well? How do I look?"
Corsica grinned. "Same way you used to, except actually cool instead of trying to be cool. Welcome to the future."
Ansel whistled. "Not bad, chum. Still a little silly, but after what you used to wear, I think you've gotten good at it."
The yaks applauded again. But that didn't count for much, because Darius was the only one of them with any fashion sense, and he had tipped over early into the night.
"Alright, alright." I shook off their praise with a tinge of embarrassment and moved on to the last present. "I think the bean bag chair's my favorite so far. Last chance to top that!"
"That chair's got nothing on me," Ansel swaggered. "This one'll make you cry from sheer awesome!"
I slipped away the paper. It was a whole, raw onion.
My face scrunched in confusion. "What the...?"
Ansel howled with laughter.
"Har har," I deadpanned, giving him a look. "I'll be giving this right back as soon as your birthday rolls around, mark my words."
For once, though, the yaks were quiet. "What funny about onion?" Tarkov asked, steady and sturdy even as most of the others wobbled in place. "Is perfect gift."
"Yeah, yeah." I stuck out my tongue, glancing up at the clock. Dawn was just around the corner. All I had to do was keep this going a few minutes longer, and we'd have partied around the clock... "Hey, so speaking of presents, I've got one for you all! Or anyone who's still awake to see it!"
Ansel raised an eyebrow. "That's not how birthdays work, but color me intrigued."
"Yeah," I said, reaching around for my old coat and digging around in its pockets. Eventually, I dug out a contraption made from a folded inertial stabilizer rotor, a trigger, a mana core, and several other wires and components. "How do you all like this?"
Everyone stared at it. Only Corsica seemed to recognize what it was.
"Unnamed Halcyon weapon, prototype C," I declared, rolling the thing in a hoof. "I just need to borrow a board or something to put it all together. Anyone feel like sparring?"
Three yaks stood up with interest, Tarkov among them. I chose him because he looked the sturdiest. "Come on, birthday brawl," I challenged, no longer stuffed from earlier and ready to move around. "Doesn't need to be serious. I just wanna see how well this thing works."
Moments later, Tarkov and I were standing in the yak compound courtyard, Corsica and Ansel and every other conscious yak looking on as pre-dawn light tinged the cloudless sky. I shivered. Corsica's new coat really wasn't that thick... Hopefully, being in a fight would warm me up.
Tarkov pawed the ground with a tree-trunk hoof. "How Halcyon pony want fight to work?"
I hefted my contraption, now affixed to the side of a heavy board. The inertial stabilizer rotor and mana core were strapped on near the very end, and the trigger was at the opposite side, where I held it in a balanced grip using my chin, one foreleg and a wing. Standing on three hooves and adopting a nimble posture, I nodded up at the tip.
"When I press this trigger, it should make it hit really hard," I explained. "So, kind of a normal fight, but when I hit you with this, block with everything you've got and then tell me how hard it was."
Inertial stabilizer rotors were simple in concept: when you charged them with mana, they increased in mass and thus inertia. When you stopped feeding in mana, they returned to their original lightweight construction. I wasn't entirely sure how the nitty-gritty worked with respect to conservation of energy and advanced physics applications, but in theory, it should be as simple as powering it up while it was moving toward someone, and making an ordinary blow feel like an airship running you over.
Time to put that theory to the test.
I started moving, circling sideways and approaching Tarkov with a wary gait. The board stuck out in front of me like a defensive spike, and Tarkov circled too to avoid it.
My stance changed, the board now held over my shoulder for maximum batting speed should he come at me from the side.
Tarkov switched the direction of his circling, watching me and my weaponized board with a determined look. The last few times I had tried out this weapon, the mana core and its connections had broken from the force of the impact, but there had been an impact, and the yaks knew to take me and my prototype seriously as a result. This wasn't like before the changeling attack, when I sparred with them as a hobby. These days, I had a reason to get good.
I started backing up to compensate, aware Tarkov was trying to pin me against a wall. Ever aware of his surroundings... Fortunately, I could use that to my advantage. The ground was less even near the wall, and I found a small hummock I could brace a hind hoof against to put more power into my swing. Here was where I wanted to make my stand.
So, I backed up a few more paces.
Tarkov drew closer, and I dropped into a crouch, readying my board and holding my ground, patting the ground behind me with my hooves as if trying to search for the spot I had already found. Tarkov stopped approaching, just outside my range, intending to force me to leave my favored terrain. Just as planned.
I made my move all at once, jumping forward and sliding into the position I had scoped out earlier. Tarkov swung a hoof, attempting to bat back my attack and blocking with a meaty shoulder in case it was a feint. A feint was what it was, and I fell back just an inch, dodging his blow and bracing myself to counter. But a block was exactly what I wanted.
With a crackle of energy, I depressed the trigger, the tip of my giant blade already in full swing. The inertial stabilizer rotor buzzed to life atop it, aiming straight for Tarkov's shoulder. Time to put this to the-
Suddenly, the wood rebelled violently in my hooves, yanking its way forward as well. I yelped in surprise and fought back, trying to keep my hold on it...
Crack!
The head of the wood snapped off entirely around the inertial stabilizer rotor, but the mana core remained attached, and it flew into Tarkov's shoulder. "Rooooaaagh!" he roared in exertion, digging in his hooves, carving four massive furrows into the ground as he skidded backwards under the impact.
With a snap, the cable tethering the weapon apparatus to my trigger broke. That connection severed, the rotor went dull, and Tarkov quickly stopped sliding.
"Aww, come on!" I stomped in annoyance, my shoulders aching from the force of grabbing back the board. "Err... You alright, there?"
Tarkov grunted, rubbing his shoulder. "Science pony weapon hit hard. Feel almost like mighty yak blow. Too bad still explode after use one time."
I marched up to the broken machine... which was still relatively intact after the crash, save for the attachment to the trigger. "Well, at least the important part made it through this time," I said, picking it up and freeing it from the board. "That's progress from the previous trial. I guess that much force was just too much for the wood to handle?"
Tarkov shook his head and marched away. "Yak not good at egghead things. When fix weapon, come try again!"
All the watching yaks sighed, disappointed the fight was over so quickly. Ansel and Corsica, however, came strolling over.
"What went belly-up this time?" Ansel asked, looking the wreckage over. "Or is it totally junked?"
I nodded. "Well, I'm getting the durability down. But, like... think of what happens when you tie a ball to a string and spin it around before letting it go. It flies off, right? That's what this wants to do when I turn it on. But the board is like the string, and it's just not strong enough to hold together even if I'm strong enough to hold onto it when it tries to go."
"You know, not many ponies can wield a gigantic board as a weapon in the first place," Ansel pointed out, gesturing at the debris of the board. "Let alone hold tightly enough to snap it in half. I'd wager you could do fine in a fight without all the mumbo jumbo on the end of you just trusted in good, solid wood from time to time. Or steel."
I glanced at the board. "It's not that hard. I'm sure anyone can lift it. Anyone who practices, at least." The point was, my weapon had to be cool, and I wanted to make this inertial stabilizer rotor work. Not that I'd say that out loud.
Corsica rubbed her chin. "Maybe building it into a morning star...?"
Before I could think too much on that, a hubbub from the yaks caught my attention. My frosty ears flicked. "Hey, what's going on?"
"Look," Balthazar instructed, pointing to the northern sky. "Airship coming!"
I took a step back and looked up, and Ansel followed suit. There was indeed an airship approaching us - a dirigible ship, though with a smaller dirigible than I was used to seeing. And, for some reason, it was approaching from the north.
"What do you think that's about?" Corsica asked, the sky turning orange to the east. "Only time anyone ever comes here is from Ironridge or Yakyakistan."
"And only as a pit stop from one to the other," Ansel agreed. "They must be hailing from farther away. And whyever they're here, it must be to visit us specifically."
Airships weren't an extremely infrequent appearance in Icereach, particularly the older or lighter models that needed to skirt south enough to pass Icereach in order to refuel. But something about this one made my ear tingle. I exhaled a puff of misty breath and reached up with a wingtip, feeling the old reminder of Leif's earring still clipped in place.
The airship approached until it was directly overhead. And then, instead of docking, a figure jumped out from the side.
For a moment, they plummeted, and I gasped, until a massive wingspan snapped open, twice the size of any batpony I had ever seen and feathery to boot. The flier wheeled for a moment in the icy morning air, sending a slight sting of jealousy through my heart, and then dropped closer for a landing.
It was a... I didn't know what it was. The creature was equinoid in form, roughly the size of a long stallion, only with large, elegant wings and a feathery, beaked face. Its front hooves were replaced with avian talons, and its rear ones with leonine paws. The plumage it showed was a deep royal blue, though I couldn't see how far back it extended on account of garb that looked like an armored tuxedo crossed with a military uniform, a sash at the side holstering at least three blades.
Hundreds of Aldebaran red flags went off in my mind. I only stared.
"Good morning, gentleyaks," the creature greeted in a voice that was definitely male. Several of the yaks looked surprised, but a number of them blinked in recognition instead. "Out and about early, I see." He turned to me, Corsica, and Ansel, sizing us up, and eventually settled on me. "You have the look of someone in charge. Can you tell me if someone called Elise still runs this place?"
I blinked, realizing I was still wearing Corsica's fancy new coat. "Errr..."
"Who wants to know?" Ansel asked from my side.
The creature bowed. "I am Gerardo Guillaume, griffon adventurer extraordinaire. Also a professional bard, wanderer and hunter of the most valuable treasure this side of the world has to offer." He extended a talon. "Pleased to make your acquaintances."
"Let's try that again," Corsica said, her tone telling me she shared my assessment of the situation. "You're a what now?"
Gerardo raised an eyebrow in recognition. "Oho, so this is your first time seeing a griffon, is it? Well met, ponies of Icereach. Now, is there any chance you can help me in my endeavor? If Elise isn't here, I'll quickly get out of your fur."
Corsica just sighed. "You better not be here to do anything nefarious. I wish not, at least."
Before Gerardo could speak again, Balthazar stepped in. "These ponies just children ponies with fashion sense," he explained, taking the focus off us. "Yak Balthazar in charge. Yaks remember bird Gerardo already."
Gerardo blinked, looking slightly embarrassed, but he brushed it off like dust on his lapel. "One can never miss an opportunity to make an entrance."
"Balthazar surprised bird Gerardo answer summons after so long," Balthazar continued. "Science ponies usually annoyed by lateness. Gerardo want yaks to still get Elise?"
The griffon nodded in understanding. "I hope it isn't too much of an inconvenience. Staying on the road makes me difficult to track down, and I've been in a dangerous situation for the past few months that wasn't easy to prematurely extract myself from, even once I did hear of your plight. But, better late then never."
Balthazar nodded to the other assembled yaks, and someone marched off toward the elevators.
"So..." I asked when it was clear Balthazar was finished. "You know Elise?"
Gerardo turned back to me and nodded. "We were old war buddies during Ironridge's Steel Revolution. Not the closest of ties, but there's nothing like fighting alongside someone to learn whether you can trust them. Regardless, there was an incident about six months back that she wanted my worldly advice on. Confidential, so I can't tell you more."
An incident six months back? The changelings? I chuckled. "Odds are, we already know all about it."
Gerardo wasn't fazed. "Yes, I'm sure that one works on your parents, too. But you'll have to try a little harder if you want to con a griffon adventurer extraordinaire like me."
Ouch. Also, he wasn't mysteriously trusting of us in an ill-intentioned bid to win our own trust for himself. That was hopefully a good sign.
The remaining yaks gradually began milling around, and Gerardo took leave back to his ship, slowly mooring it against the airship tower. For my part, I went back inside, not about to freeze my hooves off with nothing to do... but I did migrate to the top of the tower as well, taking a seat in the decorated lobby that was used as a first stop for foreign diplomats on the rare occasion they had reason to visit.
Corsica flopped down beside me, looking worn out and ready to crash after the party. Ansel started restlessly pacing the perimeter of the room.
"Long night, eh?" I raised an eyebrow at my best friend.
"You can say that again," Corsica grumbled, the tips of her mane slightly askew. "Tooo many stuffed peppers... Gonna need to sleep this one off."
I nodded. "Yeah. Same. Gotta at least get my presents back home, though." I looked up. "Hey, so what do you think of this Gerardo? We gonna have a repeat of six months ago?"
Corsica glanced skeptically at me. "A new airship floats into town, and that's the first thing you can think of?"
"You thought it too," I pointed out with a shrug.
"So?" Corsica looked back at the door to the airship dock. "You're an optimist. Anyway, he hasn't had time to replace anyone. If Elise says she knows him, she probably really does. And even if he is a sour grape, just hit him with your fancy jet hammer."
I rolled my eyes. "I've got a long way to go finding a durable handle composite before I can make it a jet hammer... Well, I guess let's see what they have to say."
It went without saying that the reason we were all up here was to hopefully overhear Elise and Gerardo's first meeting.
Somehow, the two arrived within seconds of each other, Gerardo stepping in through the upper door and Elise climbing the stairs from the lower levels just behind him. Their eyes met, and both of them nodded in mute respect.
"Welcome to Icereach," Elise greeted, ignoring us for the time being and focusing on the griffon with Balthazar at her back. "How many years has it been? For a world-traveling vagabond, you don't visit your old friends very often."
"Apologies for my delay." Gerardo bowed. "I was caught up in a very engaging predicament. I hope my tardiness hasn't caused any undue consequences."
The corners of Elise's mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. "I was unaware you were visiting on a timer."
"Well, you did put out a missive about you-know-what..." Gerardo's eyes found me, listening intently with my friends. "Perhaps it wasn't addressed straight to yours truly, but cries for help have a way of reaching this griffon's ears."
"Or," Elise said gently, "we can pretend that since you're very late, yet there were no ill consequences, that this is merely a pleasure visit and you aren't late for anything."
Gerardo gave her a look that maybe wasn't as self-conscious as it should have been. "If that's the way it is to be, then who am I to complain?"
Elise chuckled and shook her head. "Well, regardless. You've heard about the windigoes, then?"
Gerardo frowned. "Discussing it in earshot of civilians? It was bad enough that everyone already knows, then?" He glanced again at us. "Fortunate that you're still standing. If they'd meant to wipe you off the map, there's not much any amount of speed could have done."
Elise shook her head. "No, these three were directly involved. I'm sure they'd love to speak with you later, provided you're able to stop and visit."
Gerardo ruffled his feathers. "I doubt the world would end if I stayed here for a day or two. Besides, I'm bound for Ironridge next, and Shinespark would surely be reassured by a candid report of what's going on in this place. That said, I don't believe we've been properly introduced." He tilted his head at us.
"As it happens, I would be reassured by a candid report of what's going on outside this place," Elise replied, turning towards us as well. "These young ponies are Halcyon, Corsica and Ansel. I'm sure they will be overjoyed to hear your stories after we've had a chance to catch up ourselves."
"Speak for yourself," I told Elise, extending a booted hoof and trying to weigh how I felt about this griffon now that it was apparent he and Elise really did know each other. Some innocent, eager part of me that hadn't been properly killed off by the Aldebaran incident really wanted him to be the real deal, even if history suggested otherwise...
"Ansel," Ansel greeted, uncertainly comparing Gerardo's bird talons to his own bare hooves.
"Hi," Corsica added, not getting up from her curled-up position on the bench, but managing to toss her mane anyway.
Gerardo tapped my offered hoof with a balled-up talon. "A pleasure. So you three were truly involved in shenanigans with the windigoes? Impressive. Not many can claim to have seen them and lived to tell the tale."
My face scrunched. "You've seen them yourself?"
"One of the few who has." Gerardo stepped back and brushed himself off. "Though apparently old Elise is going to want my ear for a bit before I get to wax nostalgic about old adventures."
Elise nodded. "That would be appreciated. If you wouldn't mind?"
"Very well." Gerardo bowed, saluting us with a wing as he turned away. "Then lead the way."
I watched them leave, my head buzzing. "Well?" I asked once they were gone.
"Hmm..." Ansel rubbed his chin. "Jury's out on this one, though I'd say it's obvious they have a history together and aren't just faking it. At the very least, I doubt we're in for a repeat of last time."
"You make it sound inevitable that he's going to try hiring us for something," Corsica countered. "He didn't even know who we were. Can't claim to be interested in our academic merits this time."
I frowned, feeling there was something deeper I should have caught from that conversation and fishing for it desperately. "You heard what Elise told him, though, right? About Icereach's censorship?"
Both of my friends glanced at me.
"It wasn't explicit," I went on. "But she mentioned wanting him to catch her up on what's going on in the rest of the world. You don't think even Elise has a bunch of stuff hidden from her, do you?"
"This comes as a surprise to you?" Ansel gave me a worried look. "If Ironridge is fine with censorship here, why wouldn't they be fine with hiding things among Elise's higher-ups out in the city?"
"I guess," I admitted. Maybe I was being slow after that party...
Corsica shrugged. "Well, she hauled him off to a private meeting even though the invasion is apparently old news. What do you want to bet she's briefing him on what not to talk about here?"
"Maybe she knows he knows something special?" I offered. "He did say he was involved in Ironridge with her, and she usually clams up the tightest about her own home..."
Ansel shook his head. "Could be. Or could be she still wants to pick his brain about changelings and windigoes."
"Well, I'm going to bed," Corsica declared, getting up and heading for the stairs as well. "Good luck getting those presents carried home. Wonder what this place will look like in the morning..."
Ansel pointed at the rising sun, now entirely above the mountains and visible through a window.
"Next morning," Corsica snapped. "I'm gonna sleep like a log."
Ansel followed her out, leaving me to pick myself up and go home as well, or at least coordinate the transportation for my gifts. What was the next day going to look like? Or the next week? Or maybe even month?
Six months ago, I had told myself I wasn't ready, and then I had worked my hardest to change that. I wasn't sure how much I had accomplished. And, probably, the only way to find out was to have something rock my world again and see how I handled it.
Maybe Gerardo Guillaume would come and go, and leave things much the way he found them. Plenty of airships visited Icereach, and accomplished just that. But none of those other ships managed to give me the feeling that this time just might be special.
I walked for the staircase, nursing a feeling of excitement and fear that maybe, just maybe, this would be the start of another adventure.