//------------------------------// // Montepluma Part I // Story: Feather Steel // by Cold Spike //------------------------------// Several Years Ago Feather looked down at his tattered map.  It was probably the tenth time he had done so in the last three minutes, but he couldn’t help it. He knew it was pointless--he had memorized the map by now, and was as close to the city as possible without actually being in it--but still he checked it. He could never actually pronounce the name, but most ponies knew it simply as The Gryphon City. He knew a place filled with gryphons was both dangerous and safe at the same time. They wouldn’t ask any unwanted questions because there was no pony authorities around, but that also meant they probably wouldn’t care much for his safety. He had heard stories, some of terror and others simply relating to crime. He wondered when he started to care less about his physical safety and more about not getting found out. A few gryphons flew overhead, and a sense of jealousy crept over him. Then he sighed; it was probably the desire to fly that made him care less about safety. ”Just go on!” He mentally screamed at himself, but he still wouldn’t budge. He knew that going in at his age would be crazy; even full grown adult ponies hardly visited. “Feather? What are you doing here?” He asked himself out loud, trying to decide exactly why he had came here instead of his usual spots. ”They had become too risky,” he thought bitterly. Which was true; the cities of Manehattan and Trottingham had started to feel just as dangerous as this place. He started to feel it was best to lay low, even lower than he had been. A place filled with gryphons would do the trick, even if he would stick out like a sore hoof. Or, just stick out like a hoof. It may be a tough city, but gryphons wouldn’t go out of their way to hurt him, right? He had no idea, and he sure didn’t want to find out. However, by going into the city it would increase the risk of finding out. His stomach grumbled, and he looked down at his map again. Feather simply continued to stare at the entranceway, with ‘entrance’ being a bit of an understatement. The city had been built into a canyon between two treacherously tall mountain ranges. The plant life was rough, stringy and dry, all roots and brambles.  Because of the high altitudes, it resembled what you would see in the desert. This was the perfect place for a city of flying creatures like gryphons. It looked almost majestic, and Feather silently vowed to come back when he was able to fly. The way the sun shone over it made it look almost as peaceful as it was awe-inspiring. But it definitely did not look like it was meant to be traversed by hoof. For starters, he would have to climb down the hill he was on to reach the bottom of the mountain. From there, he would have had many options if he could fly, but there was only one trailhead. From there, he would have to climb up a rather steep path, then cross some rope bridges that did not look too sturdy. From there, it would be a bit more climbing and then… Well, he wasn’t exactly sure. The place was simply too big to see all of it from his vantage point. Once he reached the top of the next hill, he would have a better idea of what was going on. Another growl from his stomach urged him to his hooves, and he quickly sat down again. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he was simply too scared. It wasn’t so much the gryphons, though; he was reasonably sure they wouldn’t eat him. It was those rope bridges. One wrong move--just one misplaced hoof--and it would all be over. The gryphons that flew overhead didn’t seem to mind his presence, or even notice him. Every so often, he could see one or two land on the bridges to take a break.  “Lucky them. They can just fly off if a rope snaps.” He considered trying to call up to one who was flew overhead from time to time. ”That could be stupid or dangerous, though…” “But would it really be worse than the bridges?” he wondered. He started a slow trot down the hill. He wasn’t sure if he was going to brave the rickety rope bridges just yet, but he at least wanted to get a closer look before giving up. A few times, he tripped over some scraggly roots and ended up tumbling a few meters, but he got up each time and pressed forward. After a few minutes, he had finally made it to the bottom, with a few new scrapes to show for his effort. Next was the climb up towards the first bridge.  It was worse than the downhill. It was a long hike, and by the time he was halfway through it, his body was screaming out in hunger and exhaustion. The sun, which had made the valley seem so peaceful a while ago, was no longer welcome as it beat down on his saddlebagged back.  The heavy cargo he carried, his machine, parts, and the few tools he owned, only made the trek worse. By the time he reached the top he was exhausted, and he flopped onto his stomach only to yelp in surprise and pain. The sparse grass and gravelly ground were boiling hot, apparently heated by the still rising sun. Feather scrambled for the shade of a nearby scrub. It was still pretty early in the morning. If it was this bad now, he didn’t want to think about how hot it was going to get. He either had to press forward, or turn around; and he had to pick one fast. He stared at the bridge. The closer he got to it, the longer it seemed; but he could see what lay beyond now. A bustling city, carved into rock, and lined by snow-capped mountains. Hunger, the uncomfortable heat, and even a bit of boredom nearly willed him across then and there.  Surely, he would be able to scrounge a fair amount of food in a city this size. And the temperature would have to go down for all snow to stay frozen. He crawled out from his shrubby hiding place and inspected the first bridge. It seemed to be intact, all of its wood plankings were there and looked new, and the rope holding it together looked okay. But that didn’t mean that it was like that all the way across. What if they just repaired this particular spot? Feather sighed. There was a nagging feeling that had stayed with him this whole time, starting from when he had first seen the city in the distance. It was weird, almost like he knew he wouldn’t be able to turn back, like he knew he would come up with some reason to take at least one more step forward.  He had felt it at the top of the last hill, and he followed that feeling down. Then it had pushed him up this one. Well, he was sick of it. He was hungry, thirsty, and the heat was nearly unbearable. He marched forward onto the planks of the suspension bridge. He wasn’t going to inch forward anymore, nudged by uncertain feelings. He was putting his hoof down, and marching ahead firmly and resolutely. He wasn’t about to let a bridge stand in his way. And, it didn’t. After a few minutes, the bridge decided it wasn’t going to stand at all. The thin boards that some lazy gryphon carpenter had veneered over the ones that were rotting couldn’t hold up to the weight of the colt and his cargo. They snapped, and Feather fell towards to the valley below.