The mare at the border of the playground watched the children play. And as she did so, her body twisted somewhat within the jacket which had just a little too much bulk at the sides. She shifted her head against the unfamiliar weight of the oversized hat, tried to rotate her ears so that she could hear more of the young laughter as it rang out across billows of grey and white. Adjusted her position upon the bench once again, and did so in a way which both completely failed to bring forth any degree of comfort and, perhaps more importantly, made sure that no portion of her legs would dangle over an edge.
This was something which took quite a bit of rearranging, because she was a rather tall mare and by comparison, there wasn't a lot of bench. But it was crucial. The well-polished hooves (which were currently covered by shoes, metal which had been secured with straps that possessed a thin shine of wire within their weave) weren't going to come anywhere near the vapor surface until they absolutely had to.
The four-part device was functioning: simply reaching this point had proven that, and there had been other opportunities to test. But there was a certain rather natural level of distrust. The bench was wood. Metal. Solid. Her mind insisted that the cloud was not. And all Fleur had to do in order to maintain safety was not get up. Ever.
Even with the cloudwalking spell at work, vapor didn't feel right. There was too much give -- and, a split-second after her hooves had pushed a little further in than her waiting-to-plummet subconscious felt they should have, too much coming back. Windicity's streets seemed to perceive any collection of kinetic energy as a temporary thing, and tended to just about return the offering in full. The vapor pushed up and if Fleur wasn't careful about the timing of each hoofstep, she tended to bound across the clouds. One more reason to stay on the bench, especially with jacket and hat in play.
A unicorn in a pegasus city tended to stand out. To be at the borders of this playground...
She was watching. Every sense scanned the visible portion of cloudscape, darting across and over the surface of the vapor -- and that very much included the one which only Fleur possessed. That particular portion of scrutiny was generally confined to scanning the rim of the park, because that was where the adults were. Parents watching their children at play -- accompanied by a number of police officers, all of whom were doing their best to look just like everypony else and as far as Fleur was concerned, every last one of them had failed.
She had, in part, grown up among gangs. She could pick up on cop at a minimum of six body lengths and when it came to Miranda Rights, there had been a point when Fleur had been just a little too slow to do it in the dark. Fleur knew who the parents were in the group, because all she had to do was pick out the ponies who were just faking it and then subtract --
-- which wasn't quite fair. There were mothers and fathers among the officers who quasi-subtly encircled the playground, resting on their own benches and -- watching. But search the voices, listen to the laughter, and none of their children would have been found. It was a risk which couldn't be taken.
It was a risk which all of the watching parents might not have been aware of. Or... perhaps some were. It was a rather large playground, with plenty of benches along the outer rim. And there was space both along the border and within the circle, because a number of the regulars would no longer attend.
And still, the children played...
Fleur checked the perimeter again. Two stallions flew by, casually chatting as their wings matched pace: she managed to look up just in time.
Nothing.
Perhaps she wasn't the only one who could scent law enforcement on the wind (and the breeze was colder this far up, something which gave her an excuse for the jacket). The target might have picked up the traces long before reaching her view, scurried away.
Or perhaps it was her.
Some strategic use of cosmetics had lowered her to the point where few would care to pay much attention: a little above the average for appearance, and no more. But to ensure Fleur wouldn't stand out in a cloud settlement meant passing her off as a pegasus. And that was the reason for the hat and jacket.
Of the two, the hat looked the more ridiculous. But it was an exceptionally close race, and every adjustment Fleur made to her position on the bench gave the jacket a chance to surge ahead.
Some of it could be blamed on her own blood, because the cosmic prank which had seen her fail to enter the world with a body which matched her heart had also decided she wasn't going to be a pegasus. It meant her height stood out all the more in Windicity: very few pegasi were that tall, with Zephyr representing an extreme outlier --
-- I can't do anything about him right now.
I don't know what's happening in Ponyville and I can't do anything --
-- and then there were two other, rather obvious issues: the presence of a horn, added to the absence of wings.
The jacket was usually the lesser offense. It was made to bulge at the sides because it was trying to suggest the presence of concealed limbs. Of course, part of the issue was that very few pegasi completely covered their flanks because it might be a chilly spring day in Windicity, but flying would warm you right up! And the designer had tried to suggest that fabric panels would drop away at the moment limbs pushed from within, but...
There was a minor enchantment on the jacket. Portions of the fabric would occasionally shift, doing so as if hidden wings were making small adjustments to the rest position. But they didn't always do so in coordination with Fleur's own movements. Something which came across as odd, unnatural --
-- but if somepony was looking at Fleur closely enough to see that, then they were also in range of the hat.
The hat was meant to deal with the telltale indicator of unicorn, and that was why it looked so stupid. It completely covered her horn -- a horn which was notably longer than the species average, and so had to rest within the sort of dome which made it look as if a giant puff pastry was getting ready to explode from her head. Fleur had caught a glimpse of the hat in a mirror and then done her best to never look at it again -- something which had proven impossible, because she had to check on it at the edge of every doorway. It was huge, hideous, pink, and probably wouldn't have been any worse off if it had been strawberry-scented. And it existed because there were devices which worked to effectively make horns invisible -- something which failed to conceal any corona over the partial level, required them to perfectly match the ever-changing background in realtime, and had the dimensions of the arranged illusion space sized for a normal horn.
Fleur's cosmetics had brought her down to just above average. The hat had removed three additional notches from her standing. There were times when it repelled attention, but this was counterbalanced by everypony who paused as they went by. None of those bothered to check the movements under the jacket. Instead, they all took a moment to look directly into her eyes -- then scurried on when her irritated return volley proved she wasn't actually blind.
Mare. Slowing down to watch the children.
Watching a little too closely.
Check...
...nothing.
Fleur went back to observing the playground.
There were roughly a dozen foals there at any given moment: the numbers shifted as parents brought them in and out. So much about their play would have looked normal at ground level, and nearly all of the playground equipment was the same. (There were fewer slides, but the ones which were present felt free to go higher: the length of the trot-up ramp increased accordingly.) And they laughed and tumbled about the vapor. They told each other jokes, then looked around to make sure their parents weren't listening and told different jokes: the latter category was all the funnier for not being fully understood. They dared each other to do things, and the truest test of bravery was stepping onto the grass. Because there was a single natural patch to the left of the seesaws, some eight body lengths across. A botanical marvel, brought up to this level at considerable expense, kept alive through great effort, and touching the soil beneath was the most horrific thing the children could imagine.
...or rather, it was the most horrific thing which could be imagined by those who remained. The ones who were absent had effectively been excused for unwanted schooling. They had gained a permanent education in a different level of nightmare. And innocence had died.
That was what had summoned Fleur.
Called to the hunt.
She would have given so much to never be summoned again.
She lived in dread of every scroll.
The mission had taken her away from the cottage, it had been two days now -- and the longer she was away, the more the miasma lifted. But the fear took over, and... the fear made her feel so much more like herself...
It was generally difficult to get a sense of Celestia's mood from a scroll. Something about the sending spell removed the normal indicators from the arrival itself: Fleur had never seen any rage spikes of corona light within the glowing mist. And when it came to the words... the ancient mare had been choosing them carefully for a very long time.
Fleur typically couldn't pick up on how the Solar ruler was feeling from the scrolls. But with this sending... something had suggested that Celestia had been angry. There had been a certain amount of stress placed into the sentences which described just how long it had taken Windicity's police to recognize what was happening, and that had been exacerbated by the additional duration required before they'd reached out to the palace.
Fleur had become a registered resource of Equestria: one of the conditions attached to her pardon. And shortly after, the palace had reached out to every precinct within the borders. Given them instructions: that if they felt a pedophile was stalking the children of their settled zone, if they had evidence of attacks --
-- living evidence --
-- sometimes they sobbed as they spoke. Or they stared at the walls behind Fleur, spoke in near-monotones and didn't react to much of anything until the memories were triggered, and that was when the screaming began --
-- they needed to contact the palace. Immediately. And Windicity, perhaps due to the idiot Fleur had taken the non-pleasure to shout down when he'd tried to talk about needing to maintain the appearance of internal competence, appeared to have... stalled.
The -- 'evidence' had accumulated accordingly.
(Fleur wrote up a report after each mission. Several adult names had already been memorized for future inclusion. Those of the children simply stayed with her. Always.)
She had been dispatched twice before. She could potentially be sent anywhere in Equestria. The places which had seen innocence die.
(It had the potential to be worse than that. Equestria offered certain services to its allies. Emergency weather interventions from the International Stormbreaker Team were in that category, and Fleur suspected she was now available for border-crossing missions.)
(She dreaded the summons which would bring her home.)
But this scroll had seen her sent off with exceptional speed. Celestia's terse wording had still managed to contain every necessary detail, including the one about how Fleur would be meeting a unicorn outside the cottage within twenty minutes. And that stallion had been the first member of the transport relay team: something which consisted entirely of the other escorts. They had launched the teleport chain from the cottage, putting Fleur into the between over and over. Start just next to the date palm, then shift to the interior of an unknown gatehouse. The first unicorn rushed out, another entered, and then they were within a supposedly-different identical hollow for the eighteen seconds it took to cycle in the third...
Twenty minutes to prepare, and she'd barely had any sense of the items which her field had slung into waiting saddlebags: both mind and corona had felt numb. Twenty minutes during which the only thing Fleur had been able to do was get ready, and --
-- Fluttershy had done her best. Tried to follow Fleur into the first stage of it, offering what help she could. But there was no time for comfort. No real chance for bracing words, near-whispered reassurance which acknowledged that it was a horror, that it should never happen, but Fleur was the one who could make it stop --
-- there had been clients in the cottage. A schedule. Fluttershy had to keep the bits flowing. Fleur needed to --
This is what I am.
-- work a tainted miracle.
There should never be anything like me ever again.
Roughly twenty minutes to prepare.
Under six to bring her into Windicity, where the empty receiving room had a wooden floor and devices had been kicked in to her. A four-part item which allowed the cloudwalking spell to be cast through the inanimate, because nopony could know how long she would need to be in the pegasus settlement and as a touch of briefing boneyard humor from one of the few tolerable officers had noted, they couldn't afford to have her drop out of the investigation.
Her total time with her love had been less than two.
She hadn't been able to tell Fluttershy anything.
Four new ponies. A family. She checked the parents anyway. Some horrors began at home.
At least my talent works through a hat. And a restraint, for that matter.
She examined the perimeter again.
Fleur had caught several of the officers watching her: a degree of attention completely separated from her normal appearance, unblocked by the hat. Two had been openly nervous in her presence, and... she wasn't entirely sure what they had been told.
Her talent was supposed to be treated as a secret. Her previous missions... based on her interactions with those precincts, she believed they'd been informed that she was the expert -- without having anypony explain the 'why'. She'd overheard two rookies sharing a theory: that there was a device, an experimental one so complex that only the creator (Fleur) could operate it -- and because it was experimental, any evidence it gathered wasn't admissible in court. The Protoceran suspected this non-amusingly wrong belief was more or less the default.
The precincts were supposed to give her whatever aid she required. The police followed her orders -- something else which failed to be amusing: the context rendered all potential mirth into something worse than merely facetious -- as long as she was directing them in the investigation. And they were watching her from their rather obvious stations around the perimeter of the park. Waiting to assist her.
Or possibly to stop her.
Fleur was never entirely sure what they'd been told. Perhaps somepony had mentioned that her anger could go to some strange places.
Keep checking. We stay until the last child goes home.
The unicorn's simmering rage was currently resting on a bench near the center of the commonality.
The -- 'evidence' --
-- she wanted to charge at any officer who referred to the children that way, and she'd still caught herself using the term a few times. An instinctive attempt at protective distancing, something which didn't work --
-- there had been a lot of questioning. Fleur had reviewed the testimony, and several of the victims --
Eight.
They waited until they had eight.
-- had been brought back in to speak with her directly.
(She had offered what comfort she could.)
(She felt it had meant nothing.)
The descriptions were unreliable. Different proportions, degrees of bulk. There was no consistency in voice or accent. Fur and mane hues were a loss, and there was no mystery regarding the reason: they had brought in a small vial of fur dye, and one of the colts had responded to the scent through curling up in a protective corner and not coming out until it had been removed.
Clothing layers and cosmetics. Making sure there was nothing consistent --
-- careful. I know fur dye is involved. Mundane methods. But that doesn't leave out minor illusions. This almost has to be a pegasus --
-- or a monster shaped like one --
-- but those devices exist and you don't have to be a unicorn to use most of them. For that matter, I'm up here. Anypony who can get regular access to a cloudwalking spell can stay in Windicity, and now I know there's devices for that too.
Very complicated devices. Seldom used. Things which might be making it impossible to walk normally.
I think about cosmetics first because that's what I know. Mundane methods. But magic is possible. And there was so much variation between what the children described. They were suggesting height differences. Going for bulked-up painted shoes is one option, but actual shapechange is effectively impossible...
But about anypony could seem like a giant to the very small.
The weak.
The helpless.
And descriptions born from trauma would sketch out the heart of nightmare.
Stay until the last child leaves.
Because there was a common element. The start of the trail. Every victim had been on this playground, no more than three days before the attack. The predator was scouting for victims here.
Watching.
The monster had likely told itself that each selection was granting an honor...
The playground was in the center of a park. There was a designated air path looping behind the benches and, for those who still remembered what their legs were for, an exceptionally shallow trench in the clouds offered a different kind of exercise. And the thing about putting a park in Windicity was that it wound up lacking a number of what Fleur would have considered to be reasonable ground-level expectations. Such as, just for way of example, trees. It definitely didn't have trees. It had tree. Singular. There was another imported patch of soil off to the south and for those who truly wished to behold the exotic, the spruce awaited. Fleur distantly wondered what had to be done if any roots threatened to grow into the vapor.
Windicity's terrain billowed. It occasionally seemed to sway in the wind and when Fleur was standing on it, the sensation was less than reassuring. But when it came to the park, just about everything was flat. The nearest buildings weren't: it would have been possible to observe the playground with a telescope (and this was still a consideration, one Fleur currently couldn't do much about), but... it made more sense for the predator to make their selections at a shorter range.
The park offered a lot of room for recreation, and just about nowhere to hide. It suggested that the pedophile was either watching from a bench, or using one of the exercise tracks. But Fleur had been checking everypony who stopped or went by, and... nothing.
They aren't necessarily here every day.
If I have to keep coming back, I should get some fur dye. Better cosmetics. It'll look too suspicious to the attacker if the same mare shows up over and over. And bring a book. I don't have to actually read it, but I need a better reason for just hanging out here.
Or bring some paper. And quills. And ink.
...I'd spend too much time looking at the paper.
I can try the post office again on the way back to the hotel.
Or maybe in the morning on the way out.
Fleur hadn't had a chance to tell Fluttershy anything before the mission had whisked her away. It had created a certain requirement to make up for lost time.
The original plan had been to tell her love everything, mutually go to Rainbow's house and let that party in on the Gilda-based portions of events, and then work it out from there. Prior to her departure, Fleur had been remotely considering asking Spike for an assist. The offered terms had been for Gilda not to return unless Rainbow invited her back, and -- a targeted scroll could do that. Rainbow would write out the request, Spike would send it, and if the weather coordinator was the griffon's last link, then... Gilda would almost have to respond. Get the traveler into a calm, controlled area, put her in the presence of that final connection, and then try to move forward from there.
There had been no chance to talk. Long hours spent in a hotel room gave Fleur the opportunity to write. And when she was on a government-assigned mission...
The unicorn was no longer charged with finding Fluttershy a mate: that alicorn-assigned mission was over. (Technically. There was still one detail to go.) But she still knew how to write up a vicious invoice, and was planning to charge her upcoming express mail expenses to the Solar Wing accordingly. She just needed to reach the Windicity postal branch when it was open.
Maybe the hotel concierge...
There was a faster means of communication available, of course. She just couldn't rely on it. In theory, all Fleur needed was for Princess Luna to visit one of her dreams. Pass the word then, and trust that the younger of the Diarchy would relay everything.
...she was away from Fluttershy. Separated from her love and the safety of the nest. She was having trouble sleeping. And when she did, the dreams...
...if Luna saw the changes...
...communication was worth that risk.
Fleur checked both tracks. Went back to watching the children, as they played and tumbled and figured out who was stronger, weaker, protected and guarded and connected with each other...
Linkless.
...no. I can't be sure. Not yet.
But if that's what happened...
She had to get the word out. They needed to know about Gilda.
You may be able to let go of a little guilt, Pinkie. She may have been sliding for a long time. It would explain how she treated Spike. And if that's the case, not every mistake was yours.
It might have started before that first visit to Ponyville. And it was natural for Rainbow to have missed the indicators. Because the weather coordinator wasn't Protoceran, and... in the early stages, there might not have been any signs.
Not in the presence of the last link.
There was a book Fleur had first read long ago, something she'd been able to consult for most of her youth: a gang leader of quality would usually have a copy somewhere. And she intended to purchase a copy for the cottage, because there were things which Fluttershy could learn from the old philosopher. Knowledge which could even be passed on to a next genera --
-- Solomon Short knew. He almost always knew.
"A chain is a way for a link to know itself."
All the little games of domination. Who's stronger than I am? Who's weaker? Identify the ones for whom you held responsibility, and then find those who would be willing to protect you. For griffons, it was sometimes possible to acquire that information on something very close to instinct. But for every other Protoceran -- you tested, pushed, pulled...
...defined.
I am stronger than he is. I am weaker than she.
Subcategories were designated: I hold this place in the family, in the community, in the nation.
A griffon who'd grown up in a place, or had the chance to test themselves in a new one -- they knew where they stood. The exact location of their link. The perfect perch. And every so often, you might test yourself again, to see if anything had shifted. The chain rattled -- or rather, it constantly vibrated. There was always some movement: if not from an individual, then within the community itself. And that happened because the links interacted, compressed, strained and, every so often, found new connections.
To be in the chain was to partially define yourself through others. Every Protoceran knew that.
So... what if there was no one else?
None to test. To push and pull. To define.
How could you know your place without others to grant you one?
How long could you be on your own and truly remain a griffon?
Travel was relatively safe. Just about anyone could be on their own for a few weeks. The strong-willed could readily manage a season in isolation. But a griffon whose journey ended in a new place would immediately begin testing those around them, because they needed to establish their link. To establish themselves.
Even the great Protoceran explorers had moved in groups. (At a minimum, you needed a pair, and they had to be friends: the constant little tugs kept you sane.) Because the group, the pride represented safety. Identity.
But if you were alone for too long...
...or if you never allowed yourself to connect, if you refused to allow any others to have power over you, took your link and yanked...
Linkless.
Some of them supposedly referred to themselves as the unchained. They described it as the ultimate freedom. You were responsible for no one, and there were none who could claim domination over you. The only requirement was to unshackle yourself from sanity. And then you could do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, to whoever you wanted, and it didn't matter if they tried to stop you. Anyone you beat had it coming, and if you lost -- it didn't mean anything, because you wouldn't let it. There would always be another chance. Another raking of talons, meant to teach a lesson.
The darkest stories added 'another corpse'. Because to some of the linkless, no one else could ever matter. Some concluded they were the only ones who were truly real. And once that happened...
Extended isolation could do it. A few went linkless through becoming denialists, claiming that they were turning against domination itself -- but most of those just wound up rotating their link to face the other way, attracting those who agreed with them: this occasionally led to a chain which existed to claim that chains didn't exist. And there were a number who simply abandoned sanity, or had it stripped away.
'Linkless' was the worst case, and Fleur was aware that she often went directly for those when considering options: it was the price of experience, because the worst case was usually the majority of the results. But she'd never actually seen a linkless griffon. Hardly anyone had. There were legends and, for those who delved deeply enough, probably medical journals. Because -- and the stories were rather vague on this, because horror was about those who didn't find the right solution in time -- if you caught them quickly enough, got them back into a community and made them recognize their place within the group, surrounded the fallen with those who cared...
And if you were truly lucky, there would even be a place to start.
Very few griffons left the chain through a single metal-rendering swoop. The stories (tales of horror, told around the fire when the gang members were watching to see who shivered first) claimed that there would often be a single link left, just before the end. The last link. And the griffon would be capable of acting more normally around that presence, because it was their final anchor. The terminal connection to lucidity. Some part of them might recognize that, do anything to stay close...
...not just stay close. Claim.
What would you do to possess the last link, when the other option was to feel that final shred of sanity spiral away into the dark?
Fleur didn't truly know if Gilda was linkless. But every sign had guided the unicorn further down the path into horror. And Gilda had come to Ponyville. (Twice.) Seeking Rainbow.
The last link.
She had to contact Fluttershy. Rainbow. Dr. Lorem. Anyone.
But there were children on the playground. A dozen or so, when there should have been so many more. Some were potentially old enough to be on the outer edge of manifest. All were innocent. And there should never be anything like Fleur in the world ever again.
The dreams became worse, when she was on these missions. (She slept under layers of blankets, mostly to muffle the screams.) Memories thickened around her. But she was necessary.
One abomination sent to stop every other --
-- hours.
We've been at this for hours and my talent hasn't found anything.
(Technically, she'd found a lot of things. Blackmail material had been flying by for most of the day. Fleur strongly felt that the mare with the feather-plucking fetish required both a warning sign and a mobile restraining order.)
Maybe they're just not here today. I would have known.
(She always knew.)
I've checked everypony on the paths --
-- the unicorn stopped. Looked out over the vapor, towards the children.
-- I've checked the paths.
Was it possible? And if it was, then... wouldn't the police have thought of that?
Maybe not. Most ponies never really seemed to consider what their magic could really do...
She looked at the children again.
Then she changed the angle. Just a little.
The mare stretched her legs. Reoriented so that the front hooves were over the edge of the bench, forced herself to plant a portion of her weight on nothing --
-- the spell held.
Fleur got up. Began to walk, as police and parents watched the tall mare move towards the children. Planting her hooves with just a little more force than might have been expected, and perhaps that was what made the first officer begin to rise.
...yes.
The force of a step goes down. Then some of it comes back. But it goes down first. And it's possible to push.
A few of the children had stopped playing. Questioning the approach of a stranger. And she could feel the officers moving now because she'd solved their puzzles well before this, but most of her attention was focused ahead and
I know you.
(Passing the slides now.)
(Stalking.)
(On the hunt.)
I'll always know.
Nearly at the merry-go-round.
She stopped, watched by innocence and fear.
The right foreleg lifted.
Came down.
And the cry of pain broke the world.
The pegasus erupted from the spider hole which had been molded into the clouds, the place of safety from which they'd observed the body heat of moving victims, and the layered wrappings surrounding most of their body didn't prevent wings from desperately beating at the air as they tried to gain altitude, officers erupted from benches and children were scattering in all directions, a surge of the unicorn's field pushed the hat off from the inside but doing so had cost her a precious second, she still needed to aim for flight feathers, there would be officers crossing her line of sight and her talent was continuing to operate, every uncovered piece of Tartarus placed into its proper position but there was more to see, more to solve and --
-- the officers were closing in. The predator was picking up speed. And Fleur, whose talent had just placed a corner, screamed out the only warning she had.
"You have to catch her! Question her! Anything you need to do for answers, anything --"
"We're going for her!" called one of the slower fliers as he began to pass over Fleur's reared-up form. "She can't get away from all of us! Once we catch her, it's over --"
But there was always another layer of horror, buried within concealing white. One more grotesquerie.
"SHE LIKES TO WORK WITH A PARTNER!"
The tall aquamarine pegasus stallion was leaving work or rather, he was leaving the place where he had once worked. The most recent. There had been a few of those. Fortunately, Equestrian law dictated that a hire had to be paid for the time of employment, regardless of how short that had been. Some of his recent self-tilted bosses had been issuing vouchers in fractions.
Sun had gone down some time ago. Zephyr was used to being active under Moon, because that was where most of the true fun could be found. He just felt that the best way to have energy for such nighttime activity was through saving it up during the day. It was a practical thing, and it was also a hard habit to break.
Just a while longer and it'll all be over.
Just stick with it and everything will be normal again.
This is all part of the plan.
He kept telling himself that. Zephyr had to believe he was capable of keeping it up, for however long it took. But he hadn't originally expected the plan to require this much time, and -- it was hard. It was all so hard...
Languid movements carried him down half-foreign streets. He was still trying to learn Ponyville. Becoming familiar with a single given location through working in it was definitely helping, but it wasn't the way he wanted to cover the entire settled zone. Still, at the current pace...
...all part of the plan...
...it's hard, but if it works --
-- it'll work.
It had to.
And the most recent firing had just been unfair. He was supposed to be using impacts to embed everything, right? Well, what had more impact than hail? Get enough of it going and you could do a whole area at once! It was an innovation!
...it would have worked.
It had been working. His former 'boss' just hadn't wanted to see it.
Maybe the earth pony would have recognized a new kind of triumph if he hadn't been so insistent on yelling about -- something. Zephyr wasn't sure about the actual words, but distantly felt they might have concerned having been recently hit by several large hailstones.
Could have just stayed back.
Totally not his fault.
Maybe he could find somepony to buy him dinner. (His ears automatically checked the status of his mane.) He'd been collecting bits (or fractions thereof) for his labors, but it was hard to make them last. Meeting a nice mare would help. Another nice mare. There were always nice mares, if you knew how to look and had figured out a few things to say. But he was moving through the dark, on hoof because his wings had gotten enough of a workout for one day, and he didn't know this town.
He didn't know ground. His hooves were sore...
...he was pretty sure he was lost.
There was a restaurant district. He'd been through it twice, and was completely certain that he was currently nowhere near it. This looked residential, or -- as residential as anything could look when it was all made of wood. Wood was weird.
Getting a mare to treat him to a meal required a place which served meals, along with an actual mare. Maybe if he just tried to pick up the scents. Or -- headed towards one of the lampposts, and then the next one beyond that. There had to be more light near the center of town, right?
He turned. Reoriented, sniffed the air. There were food scents present, but most of them seemed to be coming from the houses. Parents cooking for their kids, like good parents should.
Zephyr trotted, or as close as he ever came. Move in the right direction for long enough and you'd get somewhere. It was just a matter of commitment --
-- he heard the wings at the moment he stepped into the pool of light cast by the lamppost's embedded device, subconsciously recognized that something was off about the sound --
-- and the griffon landed in front of him.
Not directly. On the other side of the illuminated area, leaving most of her body in shadow. He could see golden eyes, talons --
-- her feathers were rough. So was her fur. Maybe that qualified as a fashionable look for a griffon. (He wasn't sure: he'd barely seen any, had never been this close to one before.) And she smelled like --
-- blood. She was an omnivore, and there was a little red around the left side of the beak. It was just blood. Maybe that was fashion too.
He wondered if she was attractive. Then he considered whether there might be any possibility of having her buy him dinner. You never knew --
"I saw her laughing at you," the griffon softly said. (Near perfect Equestrian, almost accentless but for faint traces of Cloudsdale.) "From the clouds. I was watching her, and I saw you. Then I heard her laughing."
The stallion felt his features go tight. Tried to force every muscle into relaxing, because that wasn't good for fur or skin --
"You remember," the stranger noted. "The unicorn, the white one whose legs and horn are too long. The little giant. Fleur Dis Lee."
Zephyr forced a nod, and the griffon's beak parted. Just a little, enough to see the edges of both halves. He would soon learn that it represented a smile.
"You don't like her," the female observed. "Neither do I." And took the first step forward. "We should do something about that."