//------------------------------// // Squalls // Story: Snowbound // by An-Twan Star //------------------------------// Gilda struggled to balance her meager armload of wood while hobbling and hopping awkwardly through the soft snow on her back legs. Every few hopping steps through the snow, the pile of necessary kindling on the top would start sliding away. With both talons busy, it came down to the griffon’s beak to shepherd the twigs back into place. After several more stops, Gilda unhappily grabbed up the errant sticks permanently in her beak and quickened pace to her campsite. The campsite was a simple boulder-filled clearing next to a large sandstone rock formation overhanging the area. This spot wasn’t chosen for its beauty; it was chosen because it was the only spot sheltered enough for a stable fire. The overhanging rock provided slight shelter from the elements, but it was the best she had been able to find for miles. It was also elevated and provided some protection from the local fauna. Timberwolves, no matter how laughable the concept, were native to this region and known for coming out of the Everfree to hunt during winter. They probably wouldn’t mind a little nice, warm catbird in whatever they had that passed for bellies. With that in mind, Gilda hopped over to the dry ground and deposited the wood nearby. She sat on the cold ground and dropped the kindling before her. Next, she grabbed some logs and arranged them in a circle, trying to stand them on end and lean them into each other. After several failures, Gilda slowly lifted her supporting talon away, leaving a serviceable unlit fire in place. She then got back up and began scouring her campsite for the two rocks she was planning to use as a flint. They weren’t found, but the griffon easily found some replacements in the boulder field. Returning to the campsite, Gilda was faced with starting the fire. Alright, just gotta make some sparks. She did just that, holding one rock stable, and striking with the other. Her shivering caused her to miss the second strike entirely, her fist crashing directly into the neatly stacked logs, and sending them clattering away. Eliciting a pained hiss, the griffon let her talon throb for a minute before gathering wood once more. This time she decided on function over form, opting to drop the logs haphazardly on the tinder. Why am I going through all this effort when I could just… ugh. ‘Yeah, why don’t you just fly out?’ Gilda thought about this, knowing full well that talking with herself probably wasn’t the best thing to do in this situation, but it was still more company than she’d had in a while. The griffon decided to indulge a bit. “Well, me,” Gilda replied to herself. “I was gonna do just that, but seeing all those lame ponies crippled me.” She struck the two rocks together successfully this time, sending a few sparks into the tinder. They fizzled out almost immediately. “I’m sure you know why.” As she kept striking, her mind continued its discussion. ‘Too bent outta shape to fly, huh? I wonder who’s fault that was?’ The griffon stopped striking flint and looked up at the pink-streaked, partly cloudy twilight sky. Who’s fault was it, really? Or was it just dumb luck and unfortunate timing. “I- I don't know.” With shivering talons, she redoubled her fire starting efforts. Unlike the previous night when the temperature was just above freezing, the cold front that rolled in that morning had cleared away the fog and dropped the temperature considerably. About fifteen degrees, Gilda estimated. She needed the fire unless waking up a popsicle (or somebody’s frozen dinner) was her intention. ‘Oh, you can tell me. Was it... Fluttershy?’ All this got was a derisive snort. “Fluttershy? The cause of this? Yeah right! That mare is afraid of her own shadow and in no way could even hope to knock me down. When she got her cutie mark and left for the ground, I bid that dweeb good riddance. Who knew Dash would have followed the next year? Weather work, she said. Weather work in Ponyville, coincidentally. Dash just had to find and protect her oldest friend. How could I possibly compete with that!” ‘Heh, speaking of dweebs, can you imagine how ridiculous and lame a Pinkie Pie Hearth’s Warming party would be?’ Gilda struck viciously at the makeshift flint, her slight rise causing more sparks to fly. “Don’t get me started on that dweeb! She just couldn’t take a hint. I wanted alone time with Dash, just like old times. But she just had to keep butting in! And when she revealed her true colors at that prank party, everypony became judgemental, and a certain friend joined right in on that ridicule.” ‘Ah, yes, our certain friend. I wonder what she’s up to since she’s obviously not hanging with us?’ Gilda was no longer paying attention to her task, her unfocused gaze locked on the stone wall in front of her as she kept mindlessly striking the flint. Instead of the hot-blooded anger, a cool and steady burn had overcome her. Something much closer to her heart. “Yeah, Dash. She thought it was just a casual visit, but it was so much more. I mean, damn, just a few weeks earlier, the world ended. Celestia was MIA and the sun never came up. Yet as quickly as it happened, the problem resolved itself. Even so, it stuck with me, ya know? When I found out that it all went down in Ponyville, I flew there immediately – a spur of the moment thing. “I just wanted to make sure she was fine, that's all. I… wanted the only pony who got me, but what did I get? That stupid chant? A few silly races, before she ditches me in an unfamiliar town surrounded by total strangers? All so she could scurry off and set up a room full of pranks to ambush me with. She promised that they were cool, that Ponyville was not like Cloudsdale! She promised! Didn’t seem like it when all the shopkeepers looked at me, then at my hard-earned bits like they were dirt. Didn’t seem like it when I tripped while blindfolded into a kitchen and came out bruised by falling pots and pans. All it took was one joke at my expense and they were roaring with laughter!” ‘So where does that leave us in all this?’ At that moment, Gilda struck her makeshift flint particularly hard. It shattered in her white-knuckled grasp and the sharp fragments pierced her thick skin. With a howl, she flung the offending fragments away, creating a rapid pinging as they bounced off of bigger boulders. Gilda reared onto her back legs with wings unconsciously opened and she offensively declared. “Pinkie Pie!” the griffon roared and stomped like a petulant foal. “It’s all- OW!” Gilda quickly retracted her foot from the now happily burning fire and toppled over backward. She looked around frantically and spied snow a short distance away. The griffon ran – practically flew to the white stuff, and stuck her smoking appendage in, along with all the others. Gasping in relief, the snow worked wonders in cooling the singed paw, but also dulling the sting of her punctured talon. She felt the snow’s familiar cold seeping into her again, starting at her claws and paws. It worked its way up into her chest and hips, washing away all the harsh emotions and leaving their shivering shells in its wake. The feeling culminated in her wings and tail, forcing them to fall and either fold against her body or tuck under. Giving into the cold, Gilda closed her eyes and collapsed face-first into the snow. She was overcome with the desire to just lie there, in the cold, dense snow, and let everything else just bleed out into it. It had taken the pain from her paw and talon. It had taken her anger at that pink party pony and replaced it all with a numbness that echoed her body. How long would she have to lie there for it to take the pain in her heart, too? The cold that was soaking into the rest of her body didn’t seem to be affecting her head too much, she noted bitterly. Or at least not nearly fast enough. With a weary sigh, she lifted her head and looked over the boulder field once more. The sun had set, and she was away from the sheltered area. The wind blew stiffly, with the wind chill easily adding to the slowly dropping temperature. Her body felt it alright, but her head was better protected by its covering of thick feathers. An evolutionary adaptation for the flier. With this knowledge in talon, Gilda struggled back to her paws and trudged once more to the rocks that were now dancing in the firelight. A wry grin graced her beak. No wonder I was getting so hot and bothered. There was a fire next to me that I didn’t even realize was there. Her inner voice seemed to have bled out back on the field alongside her anger. She certainly wasn’t going to miss it and had nothing left to say to it anyway. The rising wind from the north drove her from the cold darkness to the feeble light of the fire, and she dragged herself to her roost between it and the wall of her shelter, sitting down heavily upon arrival. Gilda made sure the surplus fuel she had gathered was at her talons, and finally laid down fully. The fire was tiny – barely big enough to warm her talons – but necessary to drive away the cold and would-be predators. With a forelimb hovering over the fire, Gilda examined her new injuries. Her talons had several scuffs and cuts in the leathery skin. Thankfully, whatever bleeding there was was minuscule at best, the cold and snow having driven the blood away from the surface. She picked at a fragment of flint that had become lodged in her skin, not having felt any pain from its removal. The injuries didn’t even look like they’d form noticeable scabs. I’ve seen worse, Gilda thought as she sniffed at the stench of singed fur. The griffon rolled to her back and lifted a large, feline paw for inspection. She’d pulled it out of the fire quickly enough, and aside from the blackened fur, no other damage was visible. She spread her toes, in doing so revealing her retractable claws. After flexing her toes for a few seconds to make sure they still worked like they were supposed to, Gilda quickly lost interest and rolled back towards the fire. Now, there was nothing left to do until morning. She had no meat to cook – the squirrel she had caught earlier in the day was still holding her over – and there was enough fuel to last the night. An all too common fatigue settled in her bones, and Gilda curled into a ball for sleep. She stared into the dancing light show of the fire, feeling her eyelids droop and the opaque nictitating membranes slipping across her vision. They finally closed fully, and she was pulled into sleep. In what felt like no time at all, Gilda snapped awake. She was shivering, and she looked around frantically for any threats, only to find none. The fire had died down almost completely – the few coals were her only light. The griffon felt blindly for the pile of wood, desperate to get her sole line of defense up and running again. Finding the fuel, she put several sticks and branches on the embers and stirred the ashes with a smaller stick. No matter how frantically she stoked her fire, it stubbornly refused to light. Finally, after several tense, agonizing minutes, the fire had only just reached a level of marginal strength. Feeling a little safer, Gilda breathed a sigh of relief and looked out into inky darkness. The fire wasn’t just for defense, but also a sigil. A beacon telling anypony (anything) out there where the griffon was. She squinted out into the night and blinked several times. Something was out there, just on the edge of the useable firelight. She tensed, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice – her mind picking at all the possibilities. It’s not a timberwolf, they’re not known for being stealthy. Too small for a bear, too. Gilda stared harder, seeing some hooves in the process. Is it… equine? The figure moved forward. The outline of the figure turned into the shape of a pegasus. It shimmered – a trick of the light, Gilda thought – colorizing itself into a multi-colored oddity. There was only one pony that the griffon knew of with that many colors. Dash. This was her chance to get back with Dash. Whatever was said here would make or break the union. However, Gilda was – strangely – no longer feeling the effects of her depression and she couldn’t fight the smug grin on her beak. Just like old times. Her next statement came all too naturally. “So, you finally decided to ditch those lamebrains and join me, huh.” Wha? No! that's not what I wanted to say. Gilda glowered. I'm supposed to be winning her over, not pissing her off. Rainbow Dash stopped just opposite of the fire, fixing her former friend with a glare of sharp steel. “You have some nerve coming around here.” The griffon instinctively took a step back, shaken by the intensity of the stare. Gilda didn’t know want to say, but it felt like somegriff else had taken control. Somegriff colder, insensitive… worse. “Woah dude, chill. Besides, what’s it to you? I’m nowhere near your little dirt town.” “You know what, Gilda?” Rainbow Dash stepped right up to the fire. The branches that were placed had begun burning with strength, brightly illuminating the scene. “I saw you at Sweet Apple Acres. I thought that maybe I should at least find you for the holidays. But, it still looks like you’ve still changed for the worse.” “Changed!” Gilda lashed out in anger, ending her last chance at redemption. “You’re the one who changed, Dash! I thought you had the stones to hang with a griffon. I thought you were different! But what do I find a few years down the road? You, with a whole bunch of new friends to play with, when the last time I saw you, you were complaining about only having me and Fluttershy. No, Dash! You’re the one who changed!” “Yeah, I have changed, Gilda.” Rainbow Dash leaned in over the fire, the flames from the now blazing inferno licking at her muzzle having no effect whatsoever. Her muzzle curled up in a cruel sneer. “Unlike somegriffon, I stopped lying to myself a long time ago.” “What!?” Gilda hissed. “What are you getting at?” “Face it, Gilda, you’re no griffon. You’re – You’re… what are you exactly?” Gilda reared onto her hind legs and flared her wings, balling her talons almost tight enough to draw blood. Even with the aggressive display, Dash’s lips curled up in a sneer, having caught the angry blush gracing the griffon’s cheeks and beak. “I’m a griffon, dude! I think that’s painfully obvious.” A tittering giggle cut through the cold winter darkness, Gilda’s head snapping around to spy the form of another pony coming into the light of her fire. Pink, with an overly-curly mane and tail. “A griffon? Oh, that’s just silly,” said Pinkie Pie as she trotted up next to Dash. She had a wide smile on her muzzle that matched the bubbliness of her hair better than the hard blue of her eyes. “You’re not a griffon! You’re a half breed! A freak that spends every day of her life pretending she has hooves! That’s why nopony likes you.” “I do not pretend to have hooves!” Gilda roared at her nemesis, not caring what kind of barb she would reciprocate with. She took deep breaths and prepared to continue arguing on. “I-I don’t even like you ponies.” Pinkie just giggled again. “Oh, stop being silly, Gilda, you old meanie-pants! You can’t even do that right. While we may hate you, you know the reverse isn’t true. If you didn’t like us ponies, then why are you even here?” Gilda’s brow twitched as her gaze darted between her two assailants across the roaring fire. The scornful looks they were giving her, how many times had she seen them on ponies around Cloudsdale? The patrons at the bar? How many times on even her own boss’ face? Why, why are you doing this, Dash? Are you really like all the rest now? She figured it was best to focus her attention on her once-friend. “Well, I don’t know, Dash. Maybe it's because I’ve always been in Equestria and don’t know any different! You ever think of that, dude!?” “Is that your excuse for why you suck so much at making friends?” Dash asked incredulously. “Come on! This is the land of friendship! You can walk into any town and make, like, five new friends in a day without even knowing what you’re doing.” Gilda shook her head. “Maybe for ponies. Maybe for ponies, Dash! But not for me! Friendship is not something I do.” “Really, Gilda, is there anything you can do?,” Dash laughed malevolently. “You want to know what I think, huh? I think that you’re a dweeb, a pathetic wretch who hides behind all her anger and sarcasm. And since everypony knows it, no pony wants to be around you.” “I-” “Actually, she’s a failure,” came a third voice from the darkness. Gilda looked to her left, spying the butter-yellow mare softly trotting through the snow. Fluttershy’s aqua eyes were as equally cold as Pinkie’s, her look full of nothing but disdain. “A failed griffon, so much so that whoever spawned her, dumped her the first chance they had.” Gilda bristled at Fluttershy’s words. “And who are you to talk about failure? A pegasus who lives on the ground, who can hardly take flight to save her life? You might as well not even have wings, for all the good they do you!” “I may be a failure as a pegasus,” Fluttershy conceded, though her words dripped with softly-spoken scorn, “but in the end, I’m still a pony. I could never be the failure that you are as a griffon.” Any retort was cut off by the piercing giggle that came from Pinkie. “Oh, Gildy, what are you? Not a bird, not a cat, nope, neither of those things.” Another round of sharp tittering. “You’re nothing, that’s what you are! You have no friends and you can’t make friends. All because you’re a freak that doesn't even know what she is. You try so hard to fit in, but at the end of the day, you’re no griffon, that’s for certain!” Dash delivered her killing blow. “And you’ll never be a pony!” Gilda staggered back into the rock wall, any of the arrogance and anger from earlier flushed out of her veins. Deep, warbling breaths racked her body as she fought back the sting of betrayal. All her shortcomings had been thrown back in her face. Her deepest, darkest thoughts laid out for all to see. Fear, and the other half of her fight reflex, had boiled to the surface. She needed to run. The ponies stood there around her, laughing, sneering. They had her surrounded, only the raging fire standing between them and her. She was hemmed in. She would have to knock one of them out of the way. If she really was nothing then she had nothing to lose. Steeling her resolve, she picked her target; the one that had betrayed her the most. “Dash!” With a roar and a lunge, she sought to wrap her paws around the pegasus’ neck. When she did so, it was like clutching hot coals. Gilda shrieked and flailed backward against the rock wall, scattering the softly glowing embers from where she had tried to grab them in her sleep. She continued to thrash about on her back, her great wings beating uselessly at the ground as she clutched the sharp agony in her front paws, her vision still too distorted by the dreams of ponies to see straight. When she finally calmed down, she was shivering and not from the cold. Her forepaws stung but the pain was quickly receding. She closed her eyes and focused on the crystalline stillness of the winter night as she tried to slow her hammering heart. Silence. No ponies. No laughter. No taunts. No Dash. With a low groan, Gilda rolled herself back upright and went about trying to reconstruct her destroyed fire. Thankfully her little breakdown hadn’t scattered things too badly and she was able to use a pair of sticks to scrape the coals back together and rebuild it into the state it was in her dream. Curling up in a ball before it, she quietly reflected on the dream. Ponies made friends easily enough, it seemed. Dash had made friends. Heck, Dash had even made her a friend. Once. Thoughts and memories swirled in the griffon’s head, but before sleep could take her once more, somegriffon had to have the last word. ‘Heh, you think I’m crazy, but you’re the one with toys in the attic.’