“In Farsai in Zebrat, there are ancient vaults deep underground. They have collapsed passages that are rumored to lead to other underground places far away. These vaults are from a time of wondrous technological achievements. The diamond dogs who are the vault keepers say that all other creatures are descended from the servants of the masters who built the vaults.
—Pena “On the Origins of Ponies*(*and Others) and Magic”
The night was clear but windy. The wind howled outside the small room in the high aerie of Giselle’s mother’s home. Giselle nestled with Gerrard deeper into the straw of her nest box, sharing her downy fuzzy warmth with her fiancé. Mother was visiting friends on another peak and Gerrard had just returned from a two-week hunt across the Gusto. He was dirty, tired, and irritable.
“Gerrard, you are a mess.” The pretty blue-black feathered griffoness ran her nimble claws through Gerrard’s dull red and tan plumage. “Oh, my bird, are those ticks? You’ve got ticks Gerrard!”
“Not surprised. The Gusto river-lands are full of them. Completely alicorn forsaken Giselle. Nothing but ice, wolves and angry bears,” he looked at Giselle as she continued preening him, claws raking his fur and red feathers, beak nipping to straighten this and that as her claws removed and crushed the hard to reach and well dug in itchy parasites one by one.
“Are they not feeding you? You’ve lost another 5 pounds if it's an ounce.” She eyed him disapprovingly. “You have to keep your weight fluffy-cat, or we’ll never get our aerie egg-licenses. You don’t want us to raise an egg by ourselves in the lowlands do you Gerrard?”
“As if they’d deny a hunter, and as if you’d fly the coop with me unmarried and underweight?”
The preening completed she continued to stroke his powerful back muscles. “I might. At least you’re more solid. Wow, is all that muscle? What happened to the fluffy cat? Where is my little roly-poly dough bird?”
“I ate him. Seriously Giselle, they worked our tails off. We hunted before dawn and after dusk. I’ve never been so tired. Or in better shape. But there’s just no game worth taking on this side of the mountains north or south, and they say the fishing is all played out. Gardet says they are going to make a big push south across the Stampede Stream.”
Giselle continued to rub his sore muscles.
“Gardet is being sent with some others to scout the way. When they do, I'm going to go with them.”
Gerrard could feel his betrothed tense up a bit behind him. He continued quickly “I secured a place on Gardet’s hunting party. Let's see Gwenivere make fun of that.” He preened Giselle’s pretty feathers, as blue as the evening sky. She bowed her head and let him groom her.
“When we get back, we are all promised a full home nest stake, and a license. You and I can wed. If we hatch an egg together, we can carve out a stake, any stake we like across the river with our fledglings. No Himallaman monsters, no rocs, no nasty Maplegrovers pushing in, just a nice homestead on flat green land with plenty of rabbits, fish, turtles, and muskrats. No more fruit or veggies. MMMM.”
Giselle did not share Gerrard’s enthusiasm. Hunting for lands across the stream would mean more time without Gerrard. But…. on the other paw, having a stake in a safe place with food sounded very nice, even if they would just be pioneers for a while until the rest of the griffons moved south. She turned in her box, moving away a bit so she could look directly at him. “So, King Gerald means to do it? To settle the south and abandon Griffonstone?”
“I doubt it will come to that. We’ll keep a garrison here, but we must leave Giselle, there’s no food, the population has almost tripled and the wind and cold is not letting up. We’re just not the griffons of ancient legend. We can't fight the winds or push around clouds like the old tales say.”
He looked at his pretty fiancée and her beautiful yellow eyes. “I love you; this is for the best. I’ll be back in six weeks, two months at the outside. We’re just scouting, and the last time some griffons went that far they found nothing but trees, rocks, and game. We should have made this move a decade ago. Trust me. This time next year we'll have full bellies, be happy and warm, and eggspecting.”
Giselle kissed his cheek. The wind picked up outside. A single bright green shooting star streaked across the heavens westward towards Canterlot.