//------------------------------//
// Where The Heart Is 
// Story: All the King's Horses 
// by Vanity 
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The ship slowly floated into dock, it's deck teeming with tired, disgruntled Griffons. Many wore wounds - scars, bruises, burns. Some were missing eyes and limbs. Some of the wounds were bright red and festering angrily. All of them were new.

As the bridge descended, there was a burst of motion as hundreds of veterans fought to be the first back on sweet dry land, jostling and cursing at their fellow comrades as they did so. Clutching his few possessions tightly in his beak, Grythe barrelled through a gap in the crowd, losing his claw-grip and being forced to beat his wings as aggressively as he could to stop himself from plummeting into the depths of the port below.

Landing with a thud on the portside, he glanced around wearily. He was not alone; hundreds of freshly-discharged troops were staring at their surroundings in a daze, unsure where to go or what to do. What had been promised to them all as a ten-year deployment had quickly transformed into a nightmare-inducing misadventure in Equestria that had earned them nothing more than severe wounds, national humiliation and unemployment. Grythe, with his health and family to return to, counted himself amongst the lucky ones.

Though sometimes, when he closed his eyes, it didn't seem that way.

The journey home was no less unpleasant than the boat ride. The army had not bothered to arrange transit beyond a ticket back to the home country, and the influx of new arrivals alongside the general chaos that gripped the nation had ground most forms of public transit to a halt. Grythe opted to fly instead, relishing the solitude of the clouds and roaring wind in his ears, if only for half an hour.

Up there, there was peace. He could be alone with his thoughts, process his emotions. Wonder about his future. What would come next? Ever since he had been a hatchling, joining the army had been all he had dreamed of. His family, his parents and grandparents, all had supported him. When he had finally come of age just as the war of the century had dawned, it had been as though the stars had aligned with destiny.

There had been boot camp, training, the blood, sweat and tears. Graduation. Deployment. And all for what? For his country to be defeated, their Royal House butchered, for nothing. When he had been younger, the thought would have made him angry. Now, it just made him feel defeated.

The house was just as he had remembered it, expect for the patriotic posters, still bright and colourful, which were boldly emblazoned on every house along the street. The gate still squeaked when it was opened. The porch was just as filthy as ever. When he rang the doorbell, it still sang out that familiar chime. 

It was his father who first opened the door, his face somehow a little bit duller, feathers a little less shiny than when he had last seen him. His eyes said it all, but he embraced his son all the same. Grythe returned the hug, surprised and somewhat taken aback by the affectionate gesture from his usually cold, stoic father.

"Hi, Dad."

"Grythe. I was wondering when... come in, son. Your mother will want to see you."

His mother had been staring into space in the living room when he walked in, but upon his appearance, her eyes flared and she all but leapt to her claws, before striding over and wrapping him in a vice-like hug that made that of his father's seem like a mild pat on the back.

"Grythe..." Her voice was thick. "Oh, my beautiful baby boy. You're home. You're..."

She stopped and pulled away, alarming Grythe when he saw her eyes filled with tears.

"Mom? What's wrong?" He shot a glance back at his father. "Dad?"

"Sit down, son. We... we have to talk."

It wasn't a command. It was a quiet request, but the unbearable weight of his words and the sadness behind them could have floored Grythe in an instant. Taking a seat next to his parents, he glanced back and forth at them both, waiting patiently for one of them to break their silence.

His father spoke first. "I'm sorry to tell you that two weeks ago, we had some bad news. About your brother." Grythe's heart began to pound as he opened his beak, but his father cut across him. "Your brother... isn't going to be coming home." The words hit Grythe like a freight train. "I'm sorry."

Grythe could feel tears stinging behind his eyes, but he forced them back. He despised tears, especially in front of others. Instead, he lowered his head and wrapped his claws together, at a loss for words.

His older brother, who had been his protector, confidante, his best friend. Now gone forever, buried beneath a foreign field and rotting into a pile of bones. All of a sudden, every muscle of his seemed unbearably heavy, his breathing short and shallow.

"I know this must be so hard." His mother's soothing voice just about cut through the dark buzzing that slowly began to fill his mind. "We want you to know that we're here for you."

"We're proud of you, son." His father nodded approvingly. "Everything that's happened, all of this... it's temporary. Our country will rise from the ashes and reclaim its glory, one way or the other."

"And with all the tributes freed, there's lots of jobs." His mother added. "I never liked having all those Hippogriffs around anyway. It'll be nice to go to the market and not have to be served by one of them."

Grythe said nothing, merely continued to twist his claws together. A few weeks ago, he had served alongside a tribute brigade of Hippogriffs, slaves who had volunteered for military service for a chance at freedom. They had fought and died as honourably as any Griffon he had ever known - indeed, more than most. But how could he possibly explain that to his parents?

What did they know of war? Had they seen the flames, the corpses, smelled the blood and smoke and felt their stomach twist as they knew that tomorrow, that wretched mangled pile of charred flesh and bone could be them? Of course not. They would not so wistfully look forwards to the next war if they had.

"I... I think I need to take a break. Think... think things through." He glanced up at his parents. "Would you mind? I need to go upstairs and... unpack."

"Of course." His father wrapped a claw around his mother and gave him a brave smile. "Welcome home, Grythe. It's good to see you."

It wasn't until he was back in his room that he dared let out his first sob, tossing his worthless, meagre possessions to the floor as he shut the door, curled into a ball before it and wept.