Every time I flew, the rush of wind felt natural as it rustled my feathers. However, I had to balance that satisfaction against my usual terror. The short distances around my cave were easy enough, but long-range flight was always a strain. If I stopped flapping my wings just right, there’d be nothing to stop me from plummeting to the ground or a mountaintop or a tree. Of course, the more I thought about it, the worse I flew.
If I could ever get past that, flying could be pretty cool at times. From my altitude, I could see for miles. Below me, the Jägerwald grew on both sides of the mountain range I lived in—and used to live in. Even though it was somewhat of a prison to me, I loved that forest. Three years of hunting gave me a close connection to everything around my cave. I knew the trees, and below them, the bushes, herbs, ponds, and streams. There were dangerous and strange things in the Jägerwald, but at the same time, it was lush, verdant, and alive.
I envied it.
The mountain range that I followed went north for hundreds of miles, all the way to Sharfkral-Grat. I wasn’t going that far, but it was always a weird thing to note: I had been banished to, basically, the same mountain range above the same forest I had grown up in. But it felt like home.
As I flew north over the giant lake that signified the end of the eastern expanse of the Jägerwald, I felt a familiar flood of relief. It was only a few more minutes’ flight over some plains until my trip was over. I started to slowly descend for landing; already, I could make out the massive stone walls and billowing smokestacks of Farrington.
Farrington was a happy-go-lucky pony city full of happy-go-lucky ponies going about their happy-go-lucky pony business. I didn’t call it Isenbeute anymore, but I didn’t have any place there...
After Junior Speedsters’, Father and I had flown back home—a silent flight of over fifteen hours. Despite my growing unease, I had known better to complain or falter in my flight.
At the end of the trip, I had been exhausted, but instead of heading to our cave, Father took me to the rim of the dead volcano that marked our border with Equestria. There, he banished me, and when I heard the terms, I spat in his good eye. He responded by almost killing me in a near-blind rage.
The whole thing was kind of a blur to me, but I remembered that someone had come to my rescue and pulled Father off me. I didn’t have time to see who it was; I just took off flying in what happened to be south, toward Farrington.
I wasn’t exactly in prime condition at that point; the deep gashes in my chest were bleeding pretty badly, and I had been flying for over fifteen hours before I made my desperate escape. By the time I was netted down in Farrington, I was almost dead.
About a month later, I woke up; after the shock of that passed, I also learned that someone was paying for my hospital bills. As soon as I could walk out, I left the hospital, even though it still took a few trembling months before I could fly again.
I got by with selling feathers for quills, but other than a few letters to Dash, I holed up in an inn for most of the time. It got cramped, but it was either being alone or venturing out into the streets of Farrington. Every time I did the latter, I got looks that ranged from curiosity to fear to flat-out hatred. Once I could fly, I left that city behind; if the choice was between being a freak to society or being alone, then it was easy: no one gawked at me in my cave.
Currently, I was close enough to Farrington that I could make out some of its finer details. The buildings were made of stone, and most businesses in the city had wooden signs hanging over the doors with pictures to indicate what went on inside. They were covered in little glass-plated holes that ponies liked to build into their structures: windows.
Three roads led into the city: one in the north, one in the east, and one in the south. I landed in the middle of the southern road and walked the last hundred or so yards to the city. As I neared the south gate, I glanced up at the massive words:
WELCOME TO FARRINGTON
On the bottom of the wooden sign, there were several small etchings; one was of a wing that had an “X” drawn through it—a reminder that it was against the rules to fly in the city walls. Like I need the reminder.
As I got closer to the gate, I made eye contact with the guard who was stationed in a little booth—or at least, “little” compared to the massive, smooth wall that it was built into. The guard smiled and greeted me in his usual manner, “It is Tuesday, the ninth of May, around a quarter after four.”
“Thanks,” I replied in his language, trying to sound like I still cared. I probably failed, but at least I avoided adding “dork.”
My tone was lost on him, and he flashed me a grin before turning to stare off to the south again. He had started greeting me like that after I first left the city. The first few times I had come up for supplies and mail, I had asked that guard—he was almost always on duty when I visited—what day it was. Back then, it had been less a matter of curiosity and more worrying about winter.
After my first three visits, that guard started automatically telling me what day it was. I didn’t know if he was mocking me or not, but I really didn’t care. It was somewhat useful, and if he were insulting me, at least he could do it with a smile.
I walked past him and headed to the huge stone archway, smiling darkly to myself. He probably only knew me as “that one griffin.” I never told him my name or age... heck, he probably didn’t know what gender I was. Griffins could tell one another apart pretty easily, but my experiences with ponies told me they were either politely ignorant—like Dash—or stupidly insulting about it.
In Dash’s case, she got thrown off by my voice until we were both put in a girl’s group. After she awkwardly apologized, I asked her why she hadn’t just checked to make sure.
With a shrug, Dash had responded, “I don’t go around checking out everypony’s lady bits.”
“Just their butts,” I had countered with a tone of amusement. Dash had chuckled slyly. We had our first conversation after she checked me for a “cutie mark,” didn’t find one, and then started on a questionable tale of how she broke the sound barrier to get hers.
When I reached the gate, the road turned from packed-down dirt to cobbled stones. Immediately, I curled my fingers back as far as they would go. It hurt my palms to walk like that, but the roads were made for ponies, not griffins. My first time walking on them, I hadn’t paid any attention to the deep cracks between stones. I was rewarded with the wet, searing agony of having a talon ripped off.
A few ponies stared at me while I walked; I kept my head high out of sheer spite. Eventually, I got to a building that boasted a sign with a picture of a letter surrounded by the outline of a wing: the post office.
As I walked through the door, a little bell rang to announce my presence to the four beige walls... and the aquamarine unicorn behind the counter. She definitely knew me as “that griffin.” Heck, she had been preemptively glaring at the door like she had been expecting me. I raised my eyebrow at that idea; magic was lame if you didn’t have it.
Anyway, we had seen each other over a dozen times over the past few years, and every time, she acted like I had killed her dog or something. This time, she only continued to glare at me for a few seconds after I was standing directly in front of her before finally asking, “Can I, er, help you?”
From anyone else, it might’ve passed for politeness, but I knew better. I kept my visible aggravation down to a squint as I replied, “I’m here for my mail. Like always.” You bitch, I added silently.
There was a tense pause where I thought she was going to ask me what my name was again. She had already asked me at least seven times, and I knew for a fact she didn’t have that many griffins to keep straight. Luckily, she thought better of it and simply replied, “Let me check.” Then, she disappeared behind a swinging door.
Three very long minutes later, I heard muffled voices, and she reappeared. Her expression was markedly neutral, and a small, glowing letter levitated near her head. Even from a distance, I could make out my name, written in Dash’s scribbles. Instantly, my mood lightened.
The mail clerk walked up to the counter, but the letter kept moving toward me until it was right in front of my face. I glared a little at the magic that kept it aloft, but I decided to ignore it to focus on the more important thing: Dash had written back! The letter had a postmark from April, which meant I had kept her waiting for over a month now. I was too happy for guilt, though, so I sliced it open and read:
Hey G!
It’s cool you got through winter okay. Winter Wrap-Up was a few weeks ago here, so Spring is back, and so is training! I’ve got to get everything in order if I’m going to join THE WONDERBOLTS this year.
Anyway, I hope you have a good spring too!
~Dash.
I sighed, read it again, and sighed again. After all the buildup, an hour’s flight, and dealing with the mail clerk from Hell, hearing stuff about Dash that I could’ve guessed anyway... I shook my head. It was good she wrote, I guessed. And I didn’t have to force myself to grin about how she was still “living the dream.”
When I looked up, a furnace lit in my stomach. For a split second before she looked away, the mail clerk was grinning at me and my disappointment! Part of me wanted to leave right there, but contempt locked my legs in place. I needed to send a reply to Dash before I left; I couldn’t let some bitchy mail clerk get the better of me.
So, clenching Dash’s letter in my fist, I walked up to the counter. “I'd like a sheet of paper.”
It should've been a fairly simple request, but instead, I got a blank, almost fearful stare from the clerk. She took a quick breath and asked, “If you’re sending a letter, why not get some stationery?”
I shook my head. “I want it there quick.” Not only did I not trust her advice, but going to the stationery store would’ve easily been another half-hour. Heck, Dash probably didn’t even like fancy paper. I went on, “So whatever you’ve got here. How much?”
“A hundred twenty bits,” she responded to the wall behind me. Her eye twitched, and I thought I saw her sigh without breathing. “I mean, for postage. If you’re mailing it with us, you can have the paper free of charge, sir.”
She levitated a sheet of paper onto the counter and I picked it up, staring at her while I tried to decide if she were trying to antagonize me or not. I walked over to the shelf-like desk that took up the entire wall of the post office. While I did, I racked my brain, trying to remember if she had ever called me by a gender-specific term before. I couldn’t, so I tried to focus on my top priority: replying to Dash.
First thing first, though; when I got to the desk, I threw Dash’s letter away. It wasn’t because I was mad at her or anything; I just never needed her letters after I read them. And with the original copy out of the way, it was easier to focus on the reply.
The post office provided inkwells and pens for “normal” customers to address their mail or whatever. I wrote my whole letters there, but it wasn’t like I was using a ton of ink. I never wrote more than a half a page anymore.
Back when I was stuck in Farrington and selling wing feathers to afford everything, I used to write more. During the first month, I had sent a letter to Dash almost every week, and she had responded at the same rate. That didn’t last. Dash started to lose interest in letters because of everything else going on in her life: friends in Cloudsdale, Flight School, and some certification exam.
It didn’t help that our conversations became short, repetitive, and bland; without telling her what had happened and the specifics of my situation, there wasn’t anything going on in my life I could talk about.
Dash must’ve picked up on how boring my life really was, because her letters started getting shorter and shorter, too. When I had recovered enough to leave the city, I had to make a decision before I was completely plucked: stay in Farrington for the winter, or find a new home in the Jägerwald. If Dash and I sent more letters, I would’ve stayed, but we didn’t, which was part of why I went south to find a home.
That, and annoying prejudices. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the mail mare glaring at me. I scoffed at her sheer persistence, which was so sad I could almost respect it. Almost. Instead, I snapped at her. “What?”
She sneered. “If you want it there fast, why not just fly it there yourself?”
I blinked at the suggestion, despite its source. Given Dash's role in my present situation, I had thought about visiting her before to let her know. It boiled down to a bad idea, though; she seemed happy in her letters. I didn't really know how she'd take the news of how I had to kill her.
Plus, I reasoned, how exactly do I bring that up? “Hey dude, just a heads-up, I've been completely banished from my tribe and race until I kill you, but don't worry. I totally won't. You can trust me, remember that short time we spent together three years ago?” If I wanted to terrify her, I could just break into her house at night and glare at her until she woke up.
Still, she had a right to know.
At the same time, it was dangerous. Despite our friendship, whatever my intentions were when visiting, there'd be a chance. It’d be a small, insignificant chance, but if she took the news hard or something went seriously wrong, there’d be temptation. And I would rather die first.
But again, she had a right to know.
Staring at the blank parchment, I wrestled with my thoughts: Tell Dash. Don’t. The mail clerk is watching everything you do. This place probably closes soon. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. What could it hurt to ask to visit, besides everything? I had to send her something, at any rate.
So with one final, incredulous sigh, I threw caution into the wind and wrote:
Hey Dash,
It’s cool to hear you’re doing well.
It’s been forever since we’ve seen each other, dude! Things are pretty boring up here, think I can come hang out with you for a while?
~G.
Even if the letter had huge implications, I smiled as I signed it with my initial. Within a day of meeting each other, I started calling Dash by just her second name; in response, she turned me into just “G.” I liked it.
While the ink dried, I thought about the rest of my letter. The words were innocent enough, but they were also a test. I didn’t really know where Dash and I stood as friends—we had a good summer together, but we had drifted way apart since then. Her answer would let me know how things were between us.
I didn’t want to think about what would happen if she said no. But if she said yes... it would be a good visit. Then I’d have to tell her about my banishment, and I didn’t know where things would go after that. How would Dash feel about accidentally ruining my life? Sad? Guilty? Afraid?
I just needed the chance to let her know that I didn’t blame her. That sealed it for me: I wanted to tell her I didn’t hold her responsible for how Father had ruined my life.
After I got that off my chest, we could go from there. Maybe Ponyville was more tolerant than Junior Speedsters’ or Farrington. It’d be easier living somewhere I knew one pony who knew about my banishment situation...
I shook the idea out of my head. It was idle planning, and I already did that too much.
When the ink was dry, I rolled my letter into a scroll, wrote Dash’s address on the outside, sealed it, and took it over to the clerk. By her pointedly neutral expression, I knew she hadn’t stopped glaring at me the whole time I wrote my letter. That, and how she called me a “sir,” made me simmer inside as I handed her my scroll and paid its postage.
With everything done, I walked over to the exit, getting more and more irritated with every step I took. Finally, I couldn’t help it: I was not male. I put up with too much crap over that, growing up, to let it slide.
Figuring that she was still glaring at me, I deliberately took a wide step with my hind leg and in one motion, spread out and bent down, flicking my tail straight up. It was usually a pose meant for something entirely different, but it worked for my purposes.
I turned to look at the mail clerk, and by her shocked look of disgust, she had definitely seen enough of me to have caught her mistake and realize that I was not a “sir.”
She caught my eye, but I couldn’t think of anything witty in her language. Instead, I finished off the show by winking at her, sticking my tongue out, and bringing my right hand over to my beak. I curled my back and rightmost fingers to make a circle, leaving the other fingers sticking up. She glanced at my hand, but only regarded it with a look of annoyed confusion. The traditional gesture of griffin disrespect was lost on her, but it made me feel better. And that was the most important part.
So with that settled, I gave a little shake before putting my tail down and standing up. A disgusted scoff answered from behind the counter, which made me chuckle. I walked out into the street, victorious, and thought about what to do next.
With my letter sent to Dash, the only thing I could really do was wait for a reply.