Gilda felt her flapping wings shiver as she spotted the silhouettes of moderately sized houses contrasting with the sunrise that came from the East. Her shivering wasn’t because of the weather or season. While it was Running of the Leaves Season—a rather ridiculously long name considering the Gryphons just called it Artumnus—and a step closer to Winter (strangely enough, it was the also the name used by both Ponies and Humans), the elements were not the reason for her discomfort. She was a sky-griffin of the North; even high above, colder than the fields below, the freezing bite of the wind was no match for her thick coat and feathers.
No, it was the town itself—Ponyville. It was a quaint little settlement in the Sovereign Nation of Equestria, situated at the base of the mountain where the Royal Capital City of Canterlot was located. From her position, she could see the river cut through the center, the big red building that had served as its town hall, the houses with bright yellow roofs, and the apple trees all around.
She had visited this place, once, and it didn’t turn out the way she had hoped. She’d lost a friend and with that, her reason to stay in Equestria. The years had passed and so many things have changed, yet the trepidation of coming back always remained. Was that the reason why she hadn’t stopped by the town yesterday, making excuses that the travel had exhausted her?
Gilda looked at Ponyville for a few more seconds, with no answer springing to mind. Was she too afraid to even think about it?
She turned her back to it. Her powerful wings flapped with practiced gracefulness as she soared higher and higher towards the overlooking mountains. Her eagle-sharp eyes shifted from left to right, trying to find the cavern where they set up camp. It took her a moment, but she spotted it: wisps of red-orange ember, dancing inside an open maw almost a kilometer away.
The wind shifted as her wings began to fold the air around it. With a powerful push, Gilda darted forward at breakneck speed, her eyes narrowing as she weaved through the clouds with expert ease. Before she knew it, she was at the mouth of the cave.
Smiling, she spread her wings outwards, immediately causing the air to drag her back, slowing her dash long enough to plant her claws on the mountain ground, sparks flying as her talons scratched the surface. Her momentum was still pressing her forward as she shifted her body without difficulty, her hind paws moving diagonally. With such an entrance and her wings spread out, she was the very image of a graceful griffin: lithe, majestic, and just plain awesome.
The first thing she heard was a series of sharp clapping sounds. She tweaked her head slightly, like those damn griffin models she absolutely hated. She couldn’t really help it. Her companion, her mate, was a special circumstance. She never really had a problem being a bit girly for him.
“Nice entrance,” he said. Oh, his throaty deep voice always gave her the tingles.
Trying her best to ignore the feeling, she approached the makeshift lodgings they had built yesterday. The cavern that sheltered them from the cold was large enough to be hoardplace for a dragon, though it was abandoned, of that much Gilda was certain. She had checked the whole place before they set up and there was nothing in this place except strong ancient stone.
The camp was definitely different from the usual griffin setup, which usually consisted of few dry twigs for the fire, firegems, and leaves for bedding. The basic materials were still there, though some amenities had to be added because of her mate.
At the center of the camp was a small fire contained within a hastily constructed fire pit. The usual one-time use firegems were missing, instead replaced by these human tools. Her mate called them fire-starters, which really consisted of basically two tools. One was the ‘flint lighter’, which was a simple looking metallic stick with a wheel at one end that could cause sparks with a simple flick of a finger (or claw, in her case). It was also reusable. The second was the ‘fire-tabs’, little cotton knotted ropes that caught fire quite quickly, even when wet.
These tools were far more usable and much more simplistic than the off-at-times firegems that needed a vial of liquid magic or a strong impact to work. It was no surprise when the ‘fire-starters’ almost single-handedly replaced the traditional magical gems back at the Kingdom.
Also, instead of the usual leaf bedding, there was a tent in place. Unlike pony tents, which were costly and used magic, this one was far simpler, using one of those refined strong aluminum frames as its skeleton. How these humans developed them were beyond her. It usually took a team of unicorns to refine the metal to a usable form, and even then, it was far too soft to use. The humans also developed interesting fabrics that they used to cover the tent. Her mate called it ‘nylon and other stuff’. It was thin, but it kept the insides toasty warm. While it seemed impossible, she ignored thinking about it too deeply. The tent was big enough for the both of them—wasn't that enough?
Speaking of her mate, there he was, sitting by the fireplace and stoking the flames. Since the cavern and the fire were more than comfortable enough, he was not wearing his traveling clothes—a gold-yellow and red hooded jacket, a pair of brown pants and boots. Instead he wore short pants and that thick fur vest she had given him as a gift some time ago, showing off his dark golden-brown muscled arms.
She remembered when she was so busy with her duties that it was hard to get enough free time to hunt animals for their fur. Worse, she had the bad luck of starting a month before his birthday and she at least wanted to make a coat for him. She failed, but her gift was wholeheartedly received nonetheless, and judging by the wear-and-tear, he wore it virtually every day.
It was a reminder of why she loved him.
Remembering made her neck and face feel warm and it wasn’t because of the flames. Approaching him, she laid her kill down next to the campfire. She licked the blood off her beak before she faced him.
It didn’t show now, but he was a tall, bipedal creature and while on all fours she’d only reach his chest. His brown face was muted by the low intensity of the fire, but it made his smile much easier to see. She nipped on his neck affectionately. In turn, he rubbed his cheek on her neck, his teeth nibbling on it as well, making her throat involuntarily trill.
“Morning, Gilds,” he greeted.
“Morning, Pet,” she greeted back. She settled down on her haunches beside him, and he automatically grabbed a brush from nearby and began to rub the lion half of her body, smoothing out the fur and removing a few specks of snow. She groaned with pleasure.
“You need me to skin it for you?” her mate asked. It took her a moment to realize he was talking about her kill.
“Not unless you want some,” Gilda replied absently. While she had discovered a greater appreciation for how humans prepared meat, griffins were more than comfortable eating it without any preparations. Plus, skinning the kill herself was quite an enjoyable task.
“Eh, I’ll stick with jerky.”
Gilda rolled her eyes. “You’d really pick that briny dry meat over my fresh kill?” she asked. It was always something she’d say every time he’d stick with the jerky on their travels. And, as always, he would always give his usual mock smile as a reply. She looked at him for a second before turning away, with a fake huff. “Humans really are masochists. The whole lot of you are weirdoes.”
Her mate just chuckled. “I don’t see why you’re complaining. Especially if...” and he let his words linger as he slowed down his brushing in a particularly sensitive spot. The griffin hiccuped a squawk of surprise and pleasure before she cuffed him with her wings.
“Stop that!” Gilda muttered, feeling her face flush.
“If I wasn’t weird, would I be able to make you feel this good?”
Her face definitely felt flushed this time. She whispered, “Oh, shut up and brush me.”
Brush he did. Up and down, his hands were steady as he worked a rhythm of even strokes. They were practiced motions, honed by weeks of repetition. Gilda always enjoyed his grooming ministrations, even when he wasn't that good at it first. Thank the Ancestors that he was such a fast learner.
Satisfied, she tapped his leg with her wing, signalling him to stop. With the pressure off her coat, it was time to return the favor. She walked behind him and draped her forelegs over him, her claws lightly scraping through the fur vest as she rubbed her neck and beak over his head, shoulders and scruff. She closed her eyes and lost herself as she smelled her own scent mingling with his.
Her stomach suddenly rumbled. Her eyes flew open and she felt her cheeks heating up, from embarrassment this time. She suddenly felt his fingers glide over her feathered neck, his lips kissing her throat.
“Go eat, Gilds. Thank you.”
The griffin gave a very fake huff of annoyance, and immediately stalked her kill near the fire. Before she dug in, she looked back at him for a moment, her eyes shifting.
“Are you sure you don’t want...?”
“I’ll be okay with the jerky for now,” her mate replied with an easy smile. “Besides, with Ponyville so close, I won’t have to suffer too long.”
“Ugh, Ponyville,” Gilda spat out before she began to eat her breakfast ravenously.
“Slow down, Gilds. Don’t want you to choke,” he advised, laughing.
Gilda rolled her eyes. Still, choking to death was a much better prospect than going to Ponyville. Who knew, maybe it’d convince him to let someone else represent him. “Better choke now before I enter that Ancestor-forsaken town,” she muttered, not bothering to keep the gruff out of her voice. “Why are we here again?”
“Well, I have to meet up with the council to finalize and secure the trade routes, while you claimed you wanted to protect me from amorous ponies,” he replied, chuckling.
“Claim nothing, I’m definitely going to protect you from those in-heat dweebs,” the griffin replied.
“Honestly, Gilda, I don’t think it’s that bad.”
She licked her beak before facing him again. Her mate wasn’t afraid of a little blood, but had told her that he was a bit unsettled seeing it on her. Oh, the things she would do for him. “You are talking about a race that practically built companies to hire out male humans for intimacy-driven services. As far as I am concerned, I can’t trust you with those... horses.”
He laughed loudly at that. “Okay, even if that’s true, I still say it wouldn’t be that bad. I mean, it’d be nice to have some additional affection.”
As soon as those words left his mouth, Gilda’s neck straightened, her eyes narrowing. The tone of his voice indicated that he was more or less joking, but the idea of having to share him? Her thoughts began to zoom around her head. She imagined seeing him with those stupid ponies or even other griffins. Her blood began to boil.
“Additional affection?” she asked in a low, deathly quiet tone.
“I heard the ponies practice polygamy. I wonder if that’s true.”
A growl vibrated from the confines of her throat. She turned, leaving her breakfast on a flat stone near the fire, and stared straight at her mate, who was wearing a goofy smile on his face. He was egging her on and she was playing right into his claw-er-hands, but she didn’t care. How dare he imply that she should share him? Wasn’t she enough?
Her hind paws kicked up a bit of dirt behind her before she jumped at him, her wings spread to make her look as big as possible. Her claws bit lightly into his shoulder, sharp enough to cause him to yelp, but not enough to pierce his flesh. She would not hurt him but he needed to be taught a lesson.
He put up almost no resistance, letting her pin him on his back. She settled her haunches on his thighs, staring at him for a few seconds before her claws moved towards his vest, and slowly kneaded them on the furred surface, a little rougher than her earlier actions.
Her mate stiffened at her aggression, yelping quietly as her beak darted quickly and bit him on his neck, more painful than the usual nibble of affection. She wouldn’t let him up, though. Using her claws to force him down, she slowly traced the outline of his shoulders, nipping in particular places, feeling satisfied every time he gave a half-muttered apology.
“You are mine!” she whispered harshly at his ear after a fifth bite. She earned a weak affirmation, before she bit again, earning another yelp. “What was that?”
“I’m yours,” her mate replied, more clearly this time. “I’m all yours, Grizelda Behertz.”
“And don’t you forget that, Marco Lakan,” she said, her throat growling at the mention of his name.
“Swear to God,” he replied, with his arm moving and positioning itself perpendicular to his prone form, palm facing upwards from the ground, open. A human gesture, he had explained before.
“Swear to me,” Gilda muttered, now settling on all fours, letting her full weight rest on top of him. She could feel the warmth they both shared and his beating heart and she smelled as her scent intermingling with his once more. She lowered her face, her beak almost touching his nose, internally smiling as she felt him squirm under her weight.
It was a gesture of dominance, a lesson to show him her displeasure. A normal griffin response was to expose their neck, a sign of trust and submission. Instead, his response was simple: he kissed her on the beak. Gilda stared at him, her eyes crinkling. Later, her face followed.
“Ugh, whatever,” she muttered, trying to force the smile from her face with an uninterested tone. She pulled herself up, letting her mate sit up. She then rubbed her neck on his back and over his shoulder. “You owe me some preening time.”
“Preening, or ‘preening’, Gilds?” Marco asked, a little heat escaping his tone as he began to give soft kisses on her feathery neck. Gilda felt like she was struck with lightning.
“What do you think, Pet?” she whispered hoarsely.
His only response was more feathery kisses, and sometimes a little tongue. His hands moved in precision as well, one towards her neck, massaging it with his digits, while the other rubbed her sides and shoulders with practiced motions.
Oh, Ancestors. When did she become so lucky?