//------------------------------// // XVII // Story: We Are Born From The Mist // by NeverEatTheLemonsAlone //------------------------------// Whoever had come up with the gryphon drink uisge, Hurricane hated them with a burning passion. She also hated Star. The ialtag had, in all of her infinite wisdom, decided to go up against a fully-grown male gryphon in a drinking contest. Unbelievably, she’d matched him drink for drink until he finally collapsed, half unconscious, in a pool of his own vomit. Star enjoyed her victory for all of a few seconds before she’d followed suit with twice as much unconsciousness and none of the vomit. In other words, Hurricane was obligated to half-carry, half-drag the pony back into their room, tossing her unceremoniously in her bed. Hurricane had to admit that she occasionally liked her drinking. When she was a lieutenant, she’d drank herself into oblivion her share of times, waking up on her bunk (and once on military suspension). Still, those instances were generally when she’d returned from a campaign or a particularly stressful skirmish. If anypony should’ve lusted after the drink after she fought Asger, it was her, and if she was honest, she did have a mug or two. Still, ale was far weaker than the paint-stripper that they called a drink. Gazing out the window, she began to entertain some deeper thoughts. What mostly came to mind, unsurprisingly, were the events from the past few days, and one in particular. Though she tried her best to not show it, she was still heavily concerned about the Forgotten’s little hoof-switch trick. As she cast her eyes down over her black hoof, her breath hitched and her eyes widened in horrified surprise. It wasn’t just the hoof anymore. Nearly her entire foreleg was entirely consumed with blackness. Any sense of normalcy and security she’d developed was instantaneously shattered. Suddenly, the room seemed just a little bit too small. Her eyes bounced frantically from wall to wall until she bolted to the window, taking to the sky through the shattered glass. The night air was far colder than what she was used to, snowflakes flurrying around her as she spiraled up through the blackness. Mjors was just a speck of light beneath her when she stopped, nearly invisible through the driving snow. As her lungs heaved, the frigid air stung her throat, making its way through her in a path of ice. Gradually, her breathing calmed, and she forced the buzzing in her head to stop and just thought. So my leg is turning black, meaning that the Forgotten’s leg is going to turn blue. What exactly does that mean? Nothing. It’s an interesting fashion statement, but who cares? It’s nothing important. Still, she had a bit of trouble convincing herself. She continued her flight for more than an hour more, until she started to go numb in earnest from the cold. She dipped down, diving at a gentle incline in broad, sweeping circles, spiraling down towards the village below. Star woke up alone, shivering. The shattered, unboarded window did nothing to keep out the freezing air, and the thick blanket was useless when she was lying on top of it. That was the last thing on her mind, however; the first thing on her mind was the sheer pain in her head. She vaguely remembered a gryphon approaching her with a glass of amber-colored liquid and, slurring his words, challenged her to a drinking contest. She remembered the harsh bite of the powerful liquor as it burned its way down her throat, and past that, nothing. She groaned, rolling out of the bed and onto the floor, which only served to worsen the ache. It had been a while since she’d had anything to drink at all, to say nothing of that much of something that strong. “Ughh…I think I would’ve rather fought Asger…” “So I’m not as strong as a little bit of uisge? I’m insulted,” a voice chuckled from the entrance of the room. Star flopped over to see the gryphon in question standing there. His wing was wrapped in clean white linen, bound tightly to his side. His sword was strapped up on his back in easy reach of a talon. Past the amused smile on his face, she could definitely see some pain. It was quite a challenge for her, but Star finally managed to obtain a standing position. It was a wonder she could even do that; in the past, less than that much alcohol had rendered her comatose for close to a day. Asger sighed, the smile dropping from his face. “I wish you hadn't had to go through all that. It made sense at the time, but still…we threatened you with death. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Star managed to speak with reasonable acuity around the lump of leather in her mouth that was her tongue, considering the state of her head. “Dun’ ‘pologize t’ me. ‘Pologize t’ Hurcane.” “What about me?” Hurricane swooped in through the window, landing on the stones with a loud clop. Asger jumped, startled for a moment, then coughed, smoothing out his feathers nervously. “I wanted to apologize. Not only for myself, but for my village as a whole.” The pegasus airily waved a hoof that was curiously black. Asger noted this with some interest, but refrained from asking her about it; perhaps is was some kind of pony custom among these feathered sorts to dye parts of their bodies? “Don’t worry about it, Asger. You’ve learned your lesson, I’d imagine. I’d hate to be you right now. Do you know how long you’ll be grounded for?” Asger winced as she brought it up, but then sighed and dipped his head. It was his own fault, after all. “It should be a few weeks, maybe a month at most, until I’m back to full. I should be flying, albeit gently, in a week or so.” Hurricane nodded, smiling at him, then turned to Star. “Star, you’re drunk. Get back in bed.” The hungover pony needed no further urging and collapsed once more. Hurricane stood over her, chuckling, as Asger walked up to her, standing beside her and looking down at Star in the same way. “You two are quite close, aren’t you?” A smile came to Hurricane’s face. “I’ve known her since I was very little. We were separated for a long time, but somehow we found each other. It’s amazing.” She took one last, long look, and pulled the cover over the already-asleep ialtag before moving over to her own bed, jumping in and crawling under her own covers. “I don’t tell her enough how important she is to me. Well, good night, Asger.” The gryphon stood for a moment before replying in a small voice, “Good night.” With a faint click, the door opened and closed, and the room was silent. The two companions slept once more.