//------------------------------//
// 1 - Welcome to Farrington 
// Story: Evening Flames 
// by Nicknack 
//------------------------------//

I slept through Wednesday.
 
To be fair, Tuesday night had been enough action for a few months, and my injuries probably needed energy to heal.

My stupid rabbit told me it was after five o’ clock, but I was still tired. However, when I realized how late it was, I couldn’t help but feel that waking up so late in the afternoon wasn’t the greatest habit to get back into.

I got up and took care of my personal stuff, including changing the Lebenwedel paste on my wounds. Already, my flank was completely scabbed over; that meant I only had to worry about my hand and shoulder...

With a little flexibility, I managed to clean those two wounds out and set a new personal record for humiliation, all in one fun act.

When that was over with, I thought about food. Hunting would be tricky with both of my arms injured, so I settled on foraging. Nuts, berries, and water wouldn’t be the grandest meal I had ever eaten, but I’d survived on less before. I needed something, after what I’d put my body through in the last twenty-four hours. Plus, wandering around the forest with a goal in mind would make it easy to avoid thinking about Farrington and the Guard. And it did.

However, by the time I had eaten, sort-of-bathed myself with pond water that I was afraid to get into my wounds, and headed back up to my cave, I had run out of distractions. I found myself alone with my thoughts, and there wasn’t much left to do except process what had happened. When I resigned myself to it, though, I found a completely different problem: ironically, the whole thing was so huge and stupid, I had no idea where to start.

Did I start with how I was a criminal, and had partially been thrown out of Farrington for that? The “partially” bit threw me off, because there was so much more to it than my own mistakes I had made.

Did I start with how, without being a guard, I didn’t have anything to do with my life? I shook my head; I had been down that road before, and while it was a problem, it wasn’t new.

I walked out onto my landing and sat down so I could watch the setting sun. The fresh night air would make it easier to mull things over. Or at least, it would if I could settle on where to start. But where?

How about the Sternwolf, and how you ignored her advice? Offending the gods was an odd place to start, which made me crane my neck a little, but it seemed simple enough. I remembered the Sternwolf’s advice: Fight and die. Live through peace. Only now, after everything got screwed up, did I realize that she meant “Stay home.”
 
If I had, the only thing that would have happened was that Starfall would’ve thought I was a coward. Which, compared to where I was... I shook my head. He already hated me. Why did I care about his sense of honor? Stupid gods and your cryptic blood messages.

I shook the blasphemy out of my head; I needed to focus on what had happened, not what I should have done. Like how you didn’t murder Starfall, you just turned into Father instead?

I cringed.

True, I hadn’t ripped his wing off, but in my tribe, broken wings were crippling at best, and those were hunting accidents, not stuff like what I had done to his wing joint. However, Equestrian medicine was a lot more advanced than my tribe’s... so I guessed that Starfall would probably fly again.

However, the injury didn’t matter. Neither did how it was a cheap shot. Gerard used to pick fights with me, and he knew exactly where, first chance I got, my heel was going. Still, that had been a few minutes’ pain, enough for me to get someplace public. Starfall was probably looking at a few weeks’ worth of healing, but that didn’t bother me.

At the core of it, I had always told myself I wasn’t like Father. Yet, I was very much his daughter.

Ever since I left my tribe, I’d been injuring ponies around me left and right. It didn’t start with Starfall, it didn’t even start with Dash; I used to get lectures and punishments at Junior Speedsters’ for fighting—even though that was always provoked, too.

It had ended, mostly, after I dealt with a persistent bully of Dash and me. Stormglider had been relentless in her mockery of us for the first two months of camp. After she went too far by dyeing parts of me pink in my sleep, I had retaliated in kind by kicking a cloud out from under her while she was passed out after a night of illicit partying. She hit the ground, I darted off, and to my knowledge, I was the only one who knew she hadn’t lost her ability to fly in an “accident.”

Thinking back to her made me realize how now, I had actually injured more pegasi than Father had. The fact that he would probably be proud of my achievements made me feel lower than dirt.

I shook the past out of my head again. I needed to think of what was in front of me, even if that was getting more and more difficult. I felt exhausted. I thought about going back to my blanket and sleeping; I was still healing, so I still needed rest. Then again, maybe a quick flight around my mountain peak would clear my mind.

Or how about you quit dodging the real thing that’s bugging you? I chided myself. As soon as I thought it, I couldn’t help but look down to my left, where his little cactus sat in its pot. I remembered that week, my birthday, like it was years in the past—even though it’d only been eight days ago. That was because then, I had been happy. Now...

Now, I didn’t know how I felt. Iron threw me out of Farrington. I didn’t even know if I agreed with him or not; it just seemed surreal, almost fake. One day, we were happily dating; the next, we were worlds apart because he had kicked me out of his city.
 
I wanted to be angry at him. He had thrown me away—thrown us away—like it was nothing, in an offhanded gesture. But even that had problems. He’d caught me dueling his friend, and I had won, so neither of us had been innocent. Heck, I had assaulted a guard, even if Starfall was acting out of line at the time.

It hadn’t been “nothing,” and it certainly hadn’t been easy for him. Even though it totally was.
 
Iron had to have known who was really to blame there. Both times, previously, when Starfall had a problem with me, I had been the victim. So Iron had the authority to throw me out like that, but did he really have the right?

It was easier to throw me out than to deal with me being there. That realization came with a flame of anger, but then it struck a second time. I felt like someone had let all the air out of me.

One way or another, Iron was the first individual who’d ever shown romantic interest in me. That was a terrible way to qualify romance, but that was part of my condition: I had to admit that he was one of the few Equestrians who would actually entertain the idea of a relationship with me. Granted, I had it better than some griffins, but that didn’t exactly mean I was overwhelmed with romantic options.

For one of my few options, Iron was quiet and reserved, which made me realize how little about him I actually knew. He was also about a decade older than me, which probably carried some problems with it, or more than I knew. In my tribe, males had their pick of whichever female they wanted, so age ranges weren’t really set in stone. Then again, I only had five couples to point to, and given my parents, I couldn’t say anything about how healthy those relationships were.

Ages aside, I liked Iron, and he’d liked me up to a certain point. Then I crossed that point, and now we’d never see each other again. The whole thing left me numb—not because of disbelief, but because I was used to the feeling by now. If not Iron, then Gretchen. If not Farrington, then Sharfkral-Grat.

That second part stung because Iron, unlike Father, hadn’t just kicked me out of the city because of some stupid grudge or something. More than that, I had to admit that I had somewhat enjoyed being a guard. One of the things Iron told me about on my first day had been starting to happen: ponies had been getting used to me, so I had ended up less a freak and more a pillar of the community.

Well, technically, I had ended up as “that griffin who attacked a guard.” I wondered how the city was taking that, or if anyone even knew. There was a newspaper, but only three of us had been there, so it was up to either Iron or Starfall to tell them about everything.

“Stupid city,” I grumbled.

I missed it.

With that thought, I looked over my left shoulder to my Guard’s armor. I remembered when it had been tailor-made to fit me. I remembered my oath. I remembered Iron, Sherry, and everyone in that city; then I thought about how I’d either let them down or proven them right.

I turned my head and looked over my right shoulder. Deeper back in my cave, Starfall’s knife was resting on the floor by my back wall. I’d originally thought to keep it as a trophy of our duel, but even now, I was starting to doubt that conviction. It wasn’t mine, and even if he didn’t deserve it back, I didn’t feel right about keeping it.

I did my owl impression and looked back at my Guard’s armor. I didn’t deserve it, and as soon as I realized that, I knew I had to give it back.

With a sad shrug, I stood up and headed back to my blanket. That was all I had to think about on the matter. I’d lost everything in that fight. Specifically, I’d lost huge portions of my griffin identity, slowly lending them out to the city. Losing Farrington meant I also lost the ties to the things I’d traded myself in for.

It didn’t end there, either. With a quick glance around at my cave, I knew I’d probably move out by the end of summer. Without Farrington, I’d at least have to find a new pony city to get emergency supplies from.

All of that was stuff I’d work on tomorrow, though. Or the day after. I was back to square one again, with nothing to do with an overabundance of time. So for one last time, I set my stupid rabbit alarm clock to wake me up tomorrow. Then, for one last time, I’d take my armor to Farrington...

I nestled down on my blanket and closed my eyes, failing to keep the tears in. I kept thinking about what tomorrow would bring, and then everything after that. It scared me. For now, I forced myself to focus on the one last thing I needed to do, even though it signified the end of my time as a guard.

The only thing I didn’t know was what I’d say to Iron tomorrow.
 

*              *              *

 
Next morning, I wore my armor on the flight to Farrington, but that was a matter of practicality. The thing was too heavy for my injured arms and too bulky to fly with. For a symbolic compromise, I put my gauntlets, belt, and Starfall’s knife in my helmet and carried it like a bucket. It was still bulky, but much more manageable.
 
I also made sure to practice my apology and resignation on the way to Farrington. If Iron wouldn’t let me speak again, I would just leave. If he did, I wanted to be able to say as much as I needed to in as few words as possible—especially because I wasn’t sorry to him, just to the Guard.

When I was over the lake, I could see that Iron wasn’t in his booth. Even as far away as I was, I knew what color Sherry’s face was. What threw me off more than her presence was how I could see the gold trim around the edges of her lieutenant’s armor. I wondered how permanent that promotion was, but when I drew nearer to Farrington, the thought got driven from my mind.

Two of the guards on top of the wall noticed me.

They were spaced pretty far apart, but almost synchronized, they turned and ran towards one another. The one on the left stopped before the one on the right, but when he did, they were both about the same distance from me. I raised an eyebrow in time to watch them draw their crossbows, this time, in unison. As my stomach dropped, I idly thanked my luck that I’d been forced to wear my armor.

I stopped and hovered about four hundred feet from the wall, where I hoped I was still out of their range. Armor or no, they created an impasse. I didn’t know how accurate they were, and I wasn’t wearing my helmet, but having weapons pointed at me made me think twice about how I was going to give my armor back.

I can live without honor, was the first thing that came to mind. My rational side agreed: my honor was moot to Farrington at that point. I certainly wasn’t going to die by its laws during the process of trying to leave on good terms.

Still, I’d come back for a reason. I figured that four hundred feet was a few minutes’ walk out of the city, and if they saw me leaving the armor there, that was as good a gesture as any.

I slowly descended—even at a distance, quick movements might start a fight, and there was a definite risk of me dying if they both fired both bolts. As I dropped, I kept both eyes on them, so I saw when they gave each other a sideways glance and lowered their weapons. The one on the right kept a hard face, but he raised a hoof and beckoned me into the city with three short waves.

Some welcome, I mused, but I dove into a forward motion towards Sherry’s booth. Iron wasn’t there, and I had no idea where he was, but I knew why she was there instead of him. Still, I figured it was better to formally resign rather than to leave my armor in a pile on the road.

I landed in front of her snarl of disapproval. “Nice of you to join us.”

I didn’t respond at first; instead, I set my helmet down on the ground next to me. Its mostly flat head wasn’t balanced enough to keep it from tipping over. Before I undid my buckles,  I looked Sherry in the eye and said, “I know what I did, and what it means. I’m just here to hand in my armor so I’m not a thief on top of everything else.”
 
Sherry’s snarl dropped down into a tight, grim line. Then, she raised an eyebrow—only slightly, but enough to betray that she was thinking about what to say next.

Then, she laughed. It was different than her usual, rough laugh. Now, I heard a sharp, cutting edge of malice behind her amusement at my expense; she matched it with a gash of a smile that was equally full of hate.
 
“No you’re not.”
 
I reeled at her presumption at first, but then I realized what it was. And while I had to admit she was good at intimidation, like all idle threats, it fell apart when—

She pulled a bundle of letters from underneath the shelf-like desk in front of her, and my opposition withered into dead, dry fear.

My letters.

It must’ve shown on my face, because Sherry’s smile got wider. “Oh, so you do remember these?”

“How did...” I blinked with a shudder of my head. The post office guy must’ve given those letters to Sherry after I didn’t show up on Wednesday, to mail them—just like I asked. Now she literally held my life in her hands; if she wanted to, she could mail them, and then... “Scheisse,” I whispered.

“Stimmt. Ist Scheisse,” came her reply.
 
I felt my breathing quicken as my heart sped up, but those physical sensations seemed very far away. After what felt like a long time, the realization struck me that if—never mind how—Sherry knew my language, she could read my letters, and at the very least, she probably knew about my Verbannungsprüfung.

Sherry didn’t wait for an answer other than my shocked silence. “So. Here’s how things are going down. You’re not ‘quitting the Guard’ or anything so...” Her face scrunched up as she spat out the word, “Weak.” She waved the letters at me. “I don’t want to use these, but if you want to dick around with the law and think you can get away without repercussions...”

“Iron already kicked—”

“I DON’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS,” Sherry roared over my tiny opposition. I reeled. She continued, “Everyone’s got their head up their ass since you showed up, and I let it slide—on off chance that you aren’t a complete moron. I was wrong. You want to screw the chain of command, fight racists, and issue death threats?” She shook her head, then her voice turned to ice. “You wish you had it as easy as exile.”

I found it wise to stand very still and not say anything. Sherry seemed to agree. She gestured to the archway over to her right as she continued, “So welcome to Farrington, you arrogant little bitch. You broke our laws, now the laws are here to repay the favor. Since I’m guessing you don’t want to die, I’m going to tell you what you’re doing to repay your debt to society. Da?”

Only because she asked, I nodded.

“You’re going to apologize to Officer Weatherly for what you said to him. You’re going to pay five hundred bits to the city for disturbing the peace. And you’re going to be doing volunteer work at the hospital in the evenings until Starfall’s wing heals.”
 
She stopped listing punishments, which gave me time to think about them and... they didn’t seem too bad, at face value—especially if I were trapped in the city until I had finished with them. That reminded me of something, so I pointed at the now-crumpled letters she was holding. “Fine, but I want those back.”

Sherry smoothed them out on the desk, then rolled them up and put them away, out of sight. “Then I want a reason to be able to let go of these.” She bared her teeth in a quick, angry grin. “You’ll get them when I think I have one.”

I narrowed my eyes in a glare; I didn’t like having to trust her with my letters. At the same time, I didn’t really have choice, so I shrugged. “Okay. But that’s everything?”

She set a black sheath on the window ledge in front of her. “Two more things. First, hold on to this. You’ll need it for later. Second...”

She hesitated and looked at the sheath, which I took as an indication to pick it up. I reached forward to grab it, noting the cool air inside Sherry’s booth...

Then, she grabbed my hand with one hoof, pulled, and slammed her other foreleg down on top of it. Instinctively, I pulled my hand back; to my surprise, it came free from under Sherry’s weight. Then, I looked at it, and I saw why: she hadn’t been trying to trap my hand.

Just the talons.

At the end of my right hand’s fingers, all three of the talons now ended in a clean, straight edge after about half an inch. Once the shock wore off, I felt three sharp throbs of pain; my middle talon’s stub beaded with a drop of blood.
 
In her booth, Sherry had a blank expression on her face as she brought back her foreleg and slowly removed a slender... not quite sword; it was more of a thin, hilt-less blade. Whatever the weapon was, Sherry sheathed it, then locked her eyes on me. “That’s for hurting Iron.”
 
I had so many questions—let alone the fact that a lot of the whole situation was Iron’s fault—but at that point, I didn’t think Sherry was in a mood for answers. I seethed as I put Starfall’s knife back in its sheath, put that on my belt, and put my belt around my waist. I hadn’t eaten, or really bathed, so I felt woefully unprepared; however, with everything what it was, my only real option was to put on my armor and get ready for the day. When I got my gauntlets on, my right palm felt sore. That reminded me how I hadn’t brought my money for medicine, or food...

All in all, I was ready for a crappy day. Sherry seemed happy to oblige, too. Once I got my helmet on, she ordered me, “Go find Officer Letter in the Business District—she’s on route three—and tell her to go find her usual partner. And since you’re starting late, go to the Citadel on your break for more briefing.”
 
I snapped a resentful salute and headed to my guard duties; route three was near the middle of the Business District, so at least I wouldn’t have to take a long walk to get there. I also figured that I’d be able to get to the Citadel easier for my lunch break—never mind how I was being ordered to skip lunch.

I didn’t know what the city was going to be like, but even though the journey was less than six blocks, I got glares and snarls from over a dozen citizens. They were smart enough to avoid any physical confrontation, but it didn’t change the simple fact: They know.

With a quiet grin, I realized I was already used to their looks.

I patrolled Officer Letter’s route backwards so I could find her easier. Within a few minutes, I caught sight of another steel-clad officer walking towards me. Of course, she was less than happy to see me. I didn’t even get a chance to say hi before she started in with, “What the hell are you doing here?”

I made a big show of looking down at my chest and gauntlets snapping my gaze back to her. “Well, since I’m dressed for it, I thought I’d try my luck as a pastry chef.”
 
“I guess that’s a benefit of being the captain’s pet slut.” She bit off the last word.
 
I burned back at her insult, but as I made a fist, my talon-stubs hurt, which reminded me that it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to make her eat her words. I also remembered the guard on Tuesday night, so I tried to settle on throwing a verbal insult back. Then I realized I’d taken too long to respond, so I had “lost” by default.

I hated every ounce of her ignorant accusation, but with a hard swallow, I cleared my throat enough to say, “Sherry wants you to find your usual partner. Go do that, or I’ll tell her you’re disobeying orders.”
 
“Like she’d—”
 
“GO!” I shouted loud enough to make the ponies around us stop and turn in annoyed fear.

Luckily for both of us, for the first thing to go right that morning, Officer Letter decided it was a bad idea to piss me off any more than I already was. Instead, she turned and headed down a side street, muttering “Animal” loud enough for me to hear it.
 
I knew I’d hear more about that little encounter in the near future, but by that point, I couldn’t care less. I started my patrol, of which the hardest part was the fight to keep a neutral face.

Since I was alone, with insults fresh on my mind, I started dwelling on how Sherry had declawed me, like I was some sort of animal. I used my talons when hunting; now, I was down to my left hand with the messed-up shoulder.
 
And the reason? Because I had hurt Iron? And now I was being accused by everyone of being his... whore?
 
I wanted to find him and break every bone in his body.
 
The rest of the morning passed quickly, or rather, I had a chance to realize that I was going to lose most of my Equestrian money and probably most of my evenings, now, as well. That just reminded me of how I didn’t have any friends in Farrington, or a life outside those walls, which just meant I was alone...

I had to blink back tears when I realized I couldn’t even seek out Dash’s comfort over what I had done. Even if I hadn’t done nearly the same thing to her a few months ago, she loved flying, so a wing attack wouldn’t be anything but a personal affront to her. Any apology I might give her would be weakened, because I hadn’t learned my lesson last time.

Kämpf und Stirb, I reminded myself. Fight and die. Now that I was without talons for hunting, friends for company, and a city’s begrudging acceptance, the “die” part of the Sternwolf’s warning was beginning to ring truer and truer.

I just hoped she was being metaphorical.
 

*              *              *

 
At the Citadel, even the secretary gave me the stink-eye. On top of everything, that stung. Ever since she talked my ear off the first day we met, we’d always had a rapport of various nods, waves, and other greetings. Today, she gave me a very sullen, “Hi,” before bowing to frown at her desk.

Unfortunately, I needed more than that from her. Sherry had told me to go to the Citadel, but “more briefing” was as clear as a fog bank. I tried to be nice, but I was tired. “Hi. Do you know where I’m supposed to go?”

When the secretary looked up at me, her frown was more of a pout, but I saw a hint of consideration cross her eyes. “Have you asked your sergeant?”

I chuckled. I knew it was dangerous and scary to be laughing in a stressful situation, but... I couldn’t help it. Shaking my head, I said, “You know, uh...” I looked at her butt and tried to guess what her name was. “Smiley Face, I... I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

Smiley looked back at me and looked like she was torn between crying and ripping me a new asshole. She settled on blinking several times in rapid succession, then pointing behind me. “He’s in there. Sergeant Scales.”

I nodded my gratitude. She answered by turning to her desk, mumbling, “And I’m Memo, not... Smiley Face.”

“Right, uh, sorry.”

My apology fell on deaf ears, so I shrugged and went into the main room. As soon as I did, I realized how I could have avoided that whole conversation with Memo; sitting at Sherry’s usual desk was, I guessed by his armor, Sergeant Scales.

I couldn’t see his mane under his helmet, but the rest of him was a dark sort of periwinkle blue. As I walked over to his desk, I glowered about how I had probably learned over a hundred different colors from being a guard. It was necessary, though; if you didn’t get a cutie mark and only knew that some pony was “blue,” you’d be describing about a tenth of Farrington.

When I got to his desk, he was busy with what looked like a small novel’s worth of paperwork. I saluted and asked, “Sir?”

His ear flopped forward before he raised an eyebrow to look at me. He grinned and spoke like he were amused. “Ah... my little headache.”

It was the nicest thing that anyone had said to me that day.

He continued, “I used to wonder what sergeants did all day in here.” He waved a hoof around what looked like six different piles of forms and folders. “Then, you imparted that mote of wisdom on me.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologize...” He shook his head. “This is tons of fun.”

I had no idea if he were joking, sarcastic, or serious, but either way, I resorted to my old standby of standing quietly and waiting for the rest of the conversation.

Luckily, the sergeant cracked another grin and stuck a hoof out. “I’m Sergeant Scales, by the way.”

I shook it. “Gilda.”

He nodded down at his paperwork. “I figured. But, yeah, let’s get started; I’ve got some stuff we need to square away. First thing first, though, uh...” He scanned around the piles before he grabbed a small white scrap. “What... happened with you and love?”

I finally hit my limit. “Sir, he... he kissed me. Once. On the face! He was too much of a limp fish to go any farther than that before his whole stupid kick-me-out-of-Farrington crap!” It was probably louder than it needed to be, but I was too livid to care about who it was behind me that broke the prevailing silence by snickering.
 
Sergeant Scales covered his mouth with a hoof and shook, obviously trying to hide a laugh. Tears of shame welled up in my eyes, and I didn’t even know who I was mad at. Finally, he got ahold of himself. “I’m... I’m so sorry. I didn’t... I mean, I meant... Officer Letter. Officer Love Letter.”
 
I sat down. There was a cushion on my right that I considered picking up and screaming into. Given how many ponies sat on that thing, I didn’t think that was smart. Instead, I just crossed my arms, hard, until I felt a wet, searing, ripping sensation on my right hand. Warmth spread in my gauntlet, trickling down my wrist, but I didn’t care anymore.
 
“Er... are you bleeding?”
 
Before I could answer, Sergeant Scales got up and trotted off into one of the doors on the wall behind him. I didn’t know was in any of those rooms except for the one that led to the northwest corner of the building, where I had taken my oath.
 
My sergeant returned carrying both a roll of paper towels and a familiar-looking white box with a red cross. He handed them both to me and said, “Go clean yourself up in the bathroom. After that, we can deal with the paperwork you’ve got to fill out.”

With how everything else had gone earlier that morning, being ordered to take some private time to tend to my injuries... it made it so I didn’t have to fake a small grin as I gave a formal salute. I did, however, need to wipe off my wrist and plug up my gauntlet. I’d deal with that injury over a sink, but I didn’t want to leave a blood trail throughout the Citadel on my way there.

The bathroom shared a wall with the locker room, and it had most of the same decor as the hallway outside of it: stone walls, few—if any—windows. There were lights along the middle of the ceiling, which showed some of the differences between the bathroom and the hallway outside: the floor was polished tile, a huge mirror lined one wall, and on the other, there were stalls where ponies could think in privacy.

I passed a stallion officer on my way to the sink; he didn’t really regard me one way or another. It was an improvement over almost everyone else.

When I was over one sink, I put the towels and first aid kit on the basin of the one next to it. Then, I peeled off my right hand’s gauntlet; sure enough, the Lebenwedel paste had turned into a brown, sticky mash when I had ripped the wound open.

I rinsed my hand, wrist, and arm off with cold water. After I dried off, I threw the pink towel wads into the sink next to me. My right hand was still bleeding, but now, it was contained to the sink in front of me. With my left hand, I opened the first aid kit and pulled out a familiar white orb.

The treatment process was familiar because, back when I had first been offered a position as a guard, I had been treated for a self-inflicted stab wound. Back then, treatment had been done to get me to “trust that some individuals weren’t out to get me.” Now, as I sprayed the mist into both sides of my stab wound, I realized just how fake and empty that statement had been.

Between his knife-wielding friends, his rumors, and just him in general, it was impossible to see how I was better off now than I had been, even two months ago after Dash kicked me out of Ponyville.

I wrapped up my hand with some of the white cloth that was in the first aid kit, and then I remembered the second half of the treatment. A little red bottle, drank, not applied to the wound itself. As I swallowed its familiar warmth—still not knowing exactly what it did—I figured it had something to do with healing from the inside at the same time as the white mist did it from the outside. After all, even if my hand and throat weren’t directly connected, I was still one body.

While I rinsed the blood out of my gauntlet, I reflected some more on that two-part healing process. It came as almost obvious that, despite his motives, that was what the Guard had been for me. It was something to do with my days, so that I felt motivated and bored without something to do, which made it harder to fall into a bored, sleep-laden cycle of emptiness.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and for the first time, I got a good look at what I looked like while wearing my armor. It didn’t look bad—the farrier and his apprentice had done a good job at making the armor fit me and my curves. But that was the moment I realized that the Guard wasn’t both parts of a healing process. It was the bandage.

The internal portion was how I dealt with everything. And while I didn’t know how far along that process was coming, I knew I was better. For one, I was in a bathroom, doing something, rather than lazing around my cave and moping.

I still had some of my problems from Father and exile, but I knew exactly how to deal with them, now: join a society, don’t be a jerk, and... do whatever it was that made life worthwhile. That last one was tricky, but I figured that the first two parts would at least gain me a few friends to make life enjoyable.

Once my gauntlet was clean, I dried it off and put it back on. Then, I looked at myself in the mirror again: this time, at me, instead of my armor. From a hygiene perspective, I could use a good bath; the past few days, I had dabbed away what sweat and grime I could manage, but I didn’t want to risk submerging my wounds in lived-in pondwater.
 
I saw myself grin as I realized that soon, my injuries would heal, and I could continue bathing as usual. I could continue life as usual. That reminded me of how I’d failed to start a new life in Farrington. Even then, after a few months of bandaging, I was starting to heal from the inside.

Sherry’s punishments were interesting: between losing my claws, my money, and my evenings’ free time, they’d started me over fresh. I was changing my bandages, but that was because the old ones had gotten dirty. Now, this new bandage had a deadline attached. Because of Starfall’s wing, it’d probably be at least a few months until I was done. But then...
 
Then, I could leave.
 
“Could” meant two things. One, that I’d be allowed to, which was important because of Sherry’s grip on my letters. But the second meant that I’d be able to: between my unspent wages—potatoes and hunting were cheap—and learning how to fit in with a society, I’d be much better-equipped to take flight and find a new life in another town.
 
Next time, I’d start as far away from griffins as I could physically manage.  I wasn’t able to go back home, but I sure as hell could be affected by the things my race had done to others—like a racial grudge because Father thought it was... cute, to rip someone’s wings off.

I shook that resentment out of my head, but I saw myself grin at my idea. It was something to work towards, a future goal.

On the note of “work,” though, I remembered I was on a schedule. Still, my trip to the bathroom had been the refreshment I needed. I transferred my trash from the sink to the bin near the door. Then, I repacked all the healing supplies, grabbed the roll of paper towels from Sergeant Scales, and walked back to his desk to start the second half of my healing.
 

*              *              *

 
When I got back to his desk, Sergeant Scales began our second conversation by asking me what Officer Letter had said. Apparently, someone had reported a disturbance between officers in the Business District. When I told him, his response was to chuckle, put the report in a drawer, and say, “Nope. I’ve got actual problems to deal with first.”

One of those actual problems was making my Guard punishments official. I signed my name about a dozen times, and my sergeant pointed out that through some trickery in the Farrington legal system, we were able to handle Guard-related disputes in-house. He told me—not to rub it in, just as a polite warning—if I had been a civilian, I’d probably be liable for some prison time.
 
I thought back to how Sherry forced me back into the Guard, and not for the first time, I questioned whose side she was on.

My sergeant and I filled out all the forms that my signature was needed on; by the time we finished, it was still only a small fraction of the papers on his desk. I felt bad to be the source of all that extra work, but even more, I felt curious about something. When it was time to go, I asked, “Sir? If I can ask, uh... what do you think about what happened?”

Sergeant Scales gave me a raised-eyebrow glare. “You assaulted a guard and put him in the hospital. I don’t approve.”

I shrugged. “It’s just that you’re...” I made circles with my hand, trying to find the right word.

“Polite?” he asked. I nodded, and he continued in a whisper, “Look, between us? It doesn’t take a platinum alchemist to figure out who started that thing. I patrolled with him for a few years, so I know he’s a decent guy; he just has... buttons.”

“Buttons?”

My sergeant shrugged. “There are certain crimes for which you wouldn’t want to resist arrest if he’s the guy doing the arrest.” I raised a clueless eyebrow, which earned the clarification, “Like hurting kids.”

Given what had started our Tuesday night duel, I could sort of see that. But it was a distant recognition, and I certainly didn’t forgive him for what he did. Still, I could definitely respect that Sergeant Scales was looking at the whole picture instead of taking the “Blame Gilda For Everything” route.

As I left to head back to my patrol, I gave him a grateful little nod.
 

*              *              *

 
Friday morning, before I left for Farrington, I counted out five hundred bits into one of the Guard’s coin sacks. That led to a pleasant surprise: I still had around a third of my Equestrian bits left over. I was glad, since payday wasn’t until next week; with everything else going on in that city, I really didn’t need money troubles.
 
For some strange reason, knowing I had that small base covered gave me a little bit of hope. Most of Thursday had definitely ranked up with some of the stuff that Father, in his near-infinite creativity, had done to me. But if Thursday was terrible, Friday would have a hard time outdoing it, or at least, I hoped it would.
 
After I counted out my bits, I ate, bathed, and cleaned out my wounds with my own personal supply of spray medicine. Thursday evening, after my shift, I had asked Sergeant Scales for some more medical supplies so I could change my bandages at home; with a small shrug, he suggested I get my own supply.

I had every intention of doing that; no matter how expensive that stuff was, it was a lot more dignified than my methods of first aid.

I took my used bandages and the empty wrappers with me to Farrington. As soon the city came into view, I noted a small problem. The guard in the south booth was wearing golden armor. Changing my course to fly to the east gate was a simple matter of flapping my left wing harder for two beats.
 
At the Citadel, I threw my bandages away and handed the Guard’s coin sack with my fine to Sergeant Scales. He took it, nodded, then said, “Next week, you’re at the hospital on Monday and Thursday after your shift. Don’t forget.”
 
I nodded, but asked, “Uh, sir? Why not write it down?”
 
“If we make a paper trail, that just increases the odds that someone outside the Guard might know when you’re staying in the city for two hours after your shift...” He shrugged. I remembered Red Hooves, and figured that with everything else gone to Hell, I didn’t want to risk whatever him and his stupid accent could cook up. Sergeant Scales continued, “The hospital’s cool with the random schedule, anyway; those kids don’t have much going on in the evenings.”

Before that could sink in, my sergeant ordered me off to the Residential District. Within ten minutes, I was alone with my thoughts again, so I could start properly mulling my punishment over.
 
My gut reaction was that I was not looking forward to being a surrogate mother for a bunch of foals for the next two months. True, in the back of my mind, I’d always thought it would be cool to have my own family. But, idle as it was, that fantasy always involved my children, not some strangers’.

When I realized that I was being condescending to sick foals, I felt a small pang of guilt. As my sergeant had pointed out, they didn’t have much, so I’d probably be a welcome distraction from being sick. However, thinking of it like that just made me realize I had no idea what to do with kids. Dash’s idea of fun was flying, which probably wouldn’t work for foals in a predominantly earth pony city. They might get put in the hospital, I mused, and I felt terrible for chuckling.

Black humor aside, I remembered when, on the days my childhood days turned from bleak to worse, it’d always been like a breath of fresh air to escape into my tribe’s legends and mythologies. 

Then, I grinned as I made the connection.

I didn’t know what games those kids would play, but I figured they’d at least appreciate a good storyteller. True, I’d have to tone down the violence... and the rape. There was a lot of rape in my tribe’s mythology. But censored or no, it was a chance to share my culture with someone—or a group of someones. Monday was a few days away, which would give me ample time to prepare.

As I rounded one of the corners of my patrol, I chuckled to myself. For a “punishment,” I decided that it wasn’t going to be that bad at all.





Monday evening after my shift, I decided to visit Starfall in the hospital.

It was necessary on several fronts: Not only did I need to talk to him about what “Indefinite Medical Leave” meant, but I also had to admit that five straight days of foalsitting took its toll on me. Comet also wanted a night alone with her children, and while I probably could have taken care of things with Starfall over the weekend, I put it off until Monday, to give him some more time to cool off.

I held no delusions that he would be pleased with my decision.

Of course, my sensible plan had disappointed Maxie. I felt bad about that, but between my apologies and promising to make it up to her, there wasn’t any more that I could do. Then, when I came home after my shift to get out of my armor, she seemed disappointed again... She was my sister, but especially the past few months, she could be difficult to deal with.

Unfortunately, Maxie wasn’t the only pony in my life capable of being entirely irrational. When I got to Starfall’s room, the windowblinds were down, so I thought he was sleeping on his side in the darkness.

The light from the hallway illuminated a small streak of his white bedsheets, so I could see when he slowly craned his neck up and turned on me. The light gleamed in his good eye when he muttered, “Come to take anything else from me, or is this just a gloating visit?”

I frowned, but only slightly. I had been dreading this visit for a reason, after all. At the same time, he had started things with Gilda, and if I were being completely honest, he was one of the biggest sources of my current problems with her. Or the lack of problems, I supposed.

Either way, I wasn’t blameless in the situation, but I didn’t deserve Starfall’s ire. “Is that how things are going to be between us?” He kept glaring at me, which, given the darkness and his injuries, just looked like a single, golden eye. After it became apparent that he wasn’t going to answer, I shook my head slowly. “I came here to ask about your position with the Guard.”

“I’ve read the Times; looks like you’ve already made up your mind.” His glare deepened. “‘Lieutenant Suspended After Illegal Street Duel.’”
 
I shrugged, taking a step forward. “Are you truly going to treat the Farrington Times like they don’t enjoy news stories like this?”
 
“Do you agree, though?”
 
I bit my immediate reaction back behind clenched teeth. “I... With the portions about you? Yes. You are technically on some form of suspension, and it came after a duel, in the streets, which is illegal.”
 
“So you think I’m the one who started this?” The question was so loaded that it was almost heavy.
 
“Everyone had history going into this fiasco,” I replied. “Just like everyone’s responsible for their own actions despite that history.”
 
Starfall laughed darkly. “And that’s the only reason she’s still in the Guard and I’m not?”
 
I took a deep breath; if I let his ignorant accusations get to me, then things wouldn’t end well for either of us. “She was off-duty, and had the good sense to leave her armor out of the equation.”

“Just long enough to hide behind her Bulwark.”

“Do you hear yourself?” I shot back. “How can you possibly remove all blame from yourself in this situation?”

“Apparently, it’s just a matter of sleeping with you. Too bad for my job I’m happily married!”

I’d heard enough. “Maybe nine years ago.”

The hallway light reflected in his teeth as he snarled, and I knew I had gone too far. Still, it was refreshing, almost, to hear him seethe, “Get the hell out of my room.”

I turned and muttered, “I was already on my way out.”

Behind me, the hallway seemed unnaturally bright. As I brought his door closed, I felt a small satisfaction in feeling it click shut. If Starfall wanted to delude himself that he were entirely innocent of the situation, that was his prerogative. It would mean that the Guard would officially lose a lieutenant, but that just meant that the temporary promotions would become permanent, and we’d have to find... four new officers.
 
I reached the stairwell and began descending to the ground floor. On my way down, I had to admit that Starfall’s accusations at least began in reality—never mind that he was manipulating his role as a confidant against me. However, with Gilda, I had been struggling with objectivity, especially in trying to determine if I could be objective.
 
A week after their duel, I could congratulate my impartiality. Because of my “fairness” as Captain of the Guard, neither of them was speaking to me.
 
My stomach growled, reminding me that lunch had been several hours ago. Partly from a desire to be left alone, and partly because I didn’t want to toy with my sister’s already-troubled head by finally showing up to dinner after first declining twice, I decided to eat at the hospital cafeteria. I exited the stairwell and checked the sign on the wall: my destination was to the left.

I turned and began the process of finding the cafeteria on an intersection-by-intersection basis. I grew weary as I navigated the maze of sterile, white hallways, and I supposed it was true that no one liked being in a hospital. Ironically, I wasn’t put off by the decor. Instead, I was beginning to wonder if things in my personal life were ever going to settle down after last Tuesday. I dreaded that they already had.

Then, I passed through an intersection, and my ear prickled. Down the hall, I could have sworn that I recognized Gilda’s voice. Curious, I followed it down the hallway, into the pediatrics wing, where I found her, in the common area. She wasn’t wearing her Guard’s armor, and she was sitting in front of a few bookcases; in front of her was a group of six fur-less foals.

She noticed me and stopped speaking mid-sentence. Her abrupt pause and vacant stare at me caused her small audience to turn and look at me as well.

I knew she had been avoiding me for the past week; the Citadel hadn’t suddenly moved to the east gate, so the fact that she arrived in Farrington twenty minutes earlier to use it meant there was something in the south gate she was avoiding.

As guilty as I felt for accidentally forcing my presence on her like this, I wanted more closure on our relationship. That included the chance to apologize. To mitigate the awkward, forced situation, I quickly pointed at myself, then at her audience, and shrugged—a silent request for permission to join.

She shrugged back, but her expression didn’t change from a vacant, neutral gaze. Somehow, indifference felt worse than outright rejection, but I walked over and took a seat behind a pair of balding foals.

When I sat down, Gilda started her story back up, “So, anyway, Ing continued on his journey. But his wings got tired of flying, so when he came across a griffin who lived alone by the river...” She stopped narrating to scowl. “And, he, uh, paid her, and then left with her boat.”

As I listened to her story, I found it interesting to hear how widespread griffins were in her story. Presently, there were only the two tribes to the north—as she had corrected me early on in our relationship—and the port city of Elpithasus.

Though I supposed “port city” was a tad inaccurate; Elpithasus was a disproportionately large fortress city, compared to its population. The Elpithasan griffins built in a port so that Equestrian merchants could stop by to hire extra security for voyages. Beyond mercenary work, they grew herbs that would otherwise be in high demand for Equestria. Since Stalliongrad was closer to Elpithasus than Farrington was, they purchased most of their industrial supplies from Stalliongrad, so there was precious little direct contact between Farrington and the griffin capital.

All of this, I had learned from the Canterlot library. Part of my plans on dealing with Gilda’s and Starfall’s duel had been to, finally, send out a request for a history of griffin culture. I sent a package containing the letter and additional postage to Hoofington around nine-thirty on Wednesday morning; there, a pegasus courier could handle a direct delivery to Canterlot. Friday morning, I had awoken to find the book on my dining room table. I didn’t know which disturbed me more: the book’s sudden appearance, or how it had a note on it that said, “We hope this helps,” and was signed with the lunar half of the new royal Equestrian seal.

Regardless of the present or how I knew about it, in Gilda’s myth, griffins were widespread enough to have several settlements, not just three. It was sad to realize how far their culture had fallen; for the first time, it struck me just what she was referring to when she mentioned a disparity between the present and past of her race. I had previously understood what she was talking about, but paradoxically, hearing her story made their situation all the more real to me.

Ing’s story lasted over a half an hour longer, and he faced various trials at sea, on land, and in the air. Although she stumbled a few times, which I supposed was because she wasn’t used to telling such long stories, when she hit her stride, her narration added a level of entertainment to the story. By the end, Ing found what he wanted: He had left on a journey to find purpose, and he ended up teaching griffins everywhere how to tend to plants.

When it was over, the foals all began chattering excitedly; they liked it as much as I did. A few minutes later, a nurse came over to take them back to their rooms for dinner. With what I recognized as childlike disappointment, they said goodbye to Gilda, and five of them walked away. The little filly that stayed behind didn’t say anything, but instead, she walked over and hugged Gilda’s left hand.

I felt a twinge of panic as I saw the surprise on her face, but she recovered and patted the foal on the head a few times with her other hand. I wondered what had happened to her talons, but when I saw the thick, shiny scab on it, I figured it wasn’t healthy to be stabbed in the part of her hand where her fingers joined together.

A nurse came back over to gently pull the sixth child off Gilda’s wrist, which left the two of us alone. She stood up, looked behind her at the bookcases, and bent low in a rolling, arching stretch. I heard a few joints pop, and when I looked at the floor under her, I saw she had been sitting on the bare floor instead of on a cushion.

Then I looked back up to her face, and she was looking up at me with a vague, distant expression—almost like she were looking at the ceiling behind me. I realized that we hadn’t spoken, directly, since my mistaken, half-banishment of her on Tuesday. Now, unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out how to start things.

I spoke softly, “Hello.”

“Hi.”
 
My stomach clenched, but I supposed it was as good a greeting as any. “I’d like a chance to say some things. Would you be opposed to dinner?”

She thought about it for a moment, then the corner of her mouth twitched upwards. “Not really.”

I felt a flood of relief at that; I didn’t know what dinner together would bring, but it would give me a chance to apologize, or at least, we might officially start a fight. I had done wrong by Gilda. Even if I had been within my rights as captain, if we were dating, I should have approached the situation more delicately.

We walked to the exit of the hospital, silently, but together. Once we left the hospital, we turned south. Gilda sped up, even if she were walking on three limbs instead of four. I needed to canter in order to keep up with her. Something definitely wasn’t right here. “Gilda? What’s wrong?”
 
Silence.
 
We reached the main intersection of Farrington, and she turned east. As she did, I realized she had lied back at the hospital—or, done a trick of words that amounted to the same thing. In mild desperation, I asked, “Can you at least say something to me?”
 
Gilda lurched to a stop, and I joined her. She looked at me with eyes that were on the verge of tears, but her voice was sharp as a blade. “Who are you?”
 
For a brief, confused moment, I thought she didn’t recognize me without my armor. Then, I realized that was what she was talking about, so I replied, “We’re both off-duty now, so I don’t have any auth—”
 
The sheer force of her slap rocked my head to the right, almost knocking me off-balance. I saw stars, and I did a quick count of my teeth before replying, “O-okay, I deserved that.” It hurt to move my jaw.
 
“No you don’t!” her voice shook. “You... I...”
 
I took advantage of her inability to articulate a sentence. “I’m sorry for Tuesday. I can’t put into words how sorry I am. But I am.”
 
She shook her head and found her words in a harsh whisper. “Don’t you dare...” Her voice rose to a shout. “Don’t you dare apologize like that fixes things!” As soon as she said it, she turned and began jogging east again.
 
I followed her and tried to reason with her. “Okay, I won’t apologize, because words won’t fix things. But what can I do to fix things between us?”
 
“Us?” She shot me a glare out of her right eye. “There is no ‘us.’ Not anymore.”
 
As I thought over what she’d just said, I slowed down to a trot, and Gilda shot a few steps ahead of me. She turned and cut in front of me, stopping in a broad, defensive stance. I slowed to a stop where I was. Finally, she warned, “So leave me alone, and quit following me.”
 
She turned around and hustled away, and for a moment, I considered rushing after her. By the time she was a block away, I realized it wouldn’t be worth it—not because I didn’t want it, but because she didn’t want it.
 
And that was my fault. My mistake. That realization turned my hooves to lead, and my chest felt woefully empty.

Somehow, I forced myself to turn around and head southwest, towards the Residential District and home. The whole way there, I noted that in a very short amount of time, my life had become incredibly complicated.

Worse than the complication was how alone I was. Gilda hated me. Starfall hated me. I didn’t want to keep bothering Sherry for advice, and Maxie... I shook my head. If she didn’t know about Gilda and myself, then she didn’t need to know about the two of us.

It hurt to use that word. “Us.” There was no “us” anymore.

It had been what I feared since Tuesday night, but even Sherry’s warnings hadn’t adequately prepared me for what it meant to lose Gilda.

They hadn’t made me forget how much I cared about her.

There were almost a dozen sources of pressure from last week’s duel mishap: The press’s overzealous criticism; the not-so silent dissent in the Guard that I couldn’t outright stamp out without making an even worse political situation; and then there was the political situation, where I was going to be officially reviewed in a few weeks’ time. At that moment, those paled in comparison to the now-overwhelming sense of loss that I felt.
 
At least Red Hooves has been quiet for now. I chuckled, mirthlessly, but shook my head. If anything, he was the motivation I needed to clear my mind so I could start taking the  proactive steps to ensure the Guard could properly withstand an external threat. And on that note, it was early July; drake mating season was soon. Between them and giant bats, we’d need to start doing maintenance and taking inventory of our aerial defenses.

As I crossed into the Residential district, a pang of longing struck me. I wondered—and worried—about how Gilda made it through such issues. Offhandedly, she had mentioned one time that her usual tactic was to sit in her cave and build a fire. But that was defensive. Would things be different if she had to fly through dangerous airspace twice every day?

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t put the sheer guilt—hypothetical guilt, granted—of how, if I hadn’t ruined things between us, I might have coaxed her into living in the city for the remainder of summer.

At the same time, I remembered how I had to make a call as captain because she had forced my hoof. Like every day for the past week, my head swam with how confusing everything was.

My thoughts spun for a while, until I looked around to see where I was. My legs’ muscle memory had taken me to within a block of my home. Realization struck that I still hadn’t eaten dinner, but I almost laughed at the notion; there was no way I could eat now. Besides, there was no need; I had sat at the hospital and chased after Gilda for the better part of an hour, so my sister wouldn’t be suspicious that I had skipped the dinner I had “abandoned” her for.

Still, Maxie wouldn’t understand why I was upset. She couldn’t. And if I did tell her, she would just blame me, loudly, and proclaim how she was right this whole time. I didn’t need that. No one needed that.

From where I was, I needed to take a right at the next intersection in order to get home. I registered that knowledge the same way I did my hunger: distantly, and in a manner that was easy to ignore.

I didn’t make a habit of frequenting bars, but there was one where the barkeeper knew me—and my sister, but he kept that knowledge quiet. Perhaps there were more responsible ways to spend my evening: I had an entire tome of griffin history to read, I probably needed to mend fences with Maxie, Comet could probably use some company...

With a small shake of my head, I put them all off. In the span of an hour, I had lost both my best friend and my girlfriend. If that didn’t earn a few drinks at Mel’s, then certainly, I would have to hold out for an apocalypse.

In lieu of that, I’d have to settle for how large portions of my world had been shattered.





Flying home, I barely got to the lake before I broke down, sobbing.