“I got some snot in your mane. Sorry.”
Brûlée twisted her neck to check her mane, then cast an eye over the gryphon. “I got some mud in your coat,” she said with a grin.
Ava chuckled as she wiped away a tear. “I guess neither of us are going to be very neat and pretty when morning comes.”
Brûlée used her teeth to pick a little white feather out of her crest, and spat it out. “Yeah, I could really do with a bath.” She looked out of the cave. “Do you think the storm’s passing? It seems quieter than before.”
“Hard to say, storms like that can surprise you,” said Ava. “It’s usually best to wait until you’re sure.”
“I guess that means we’re here till morning.”
“I prefer flying in daylight anyway,” said Ava. “Less chance of hitting things.”
There was an irregular dusting of stray raindrops that found their way into the cave, dotting Brûlée’s nose and forelegs, but at least her coat was mostly dry now. She allowed herself to settle down more comfortably and yawned. She felt she could finally trust the gryphon enough to let herself sleep, and by Luna she needed it.
“You’re not going to sleep, are you?”
Brûlée bristled. “I’ve been walking through the forest all day. Why shouldn’t I sleep?”
“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
“Sure I did,” Brûlée insisted. “I’m going... somewhere.”
“Away from somewhere, you said.”
“Right. Away.”
Ava rolled her eyes, and made a circular motion with one talon. “Away from...”
“Oh. Um...” Brûlée glanced around, looking for some way to avoid getting into the subject, but there was nothing in the little cave to save her from the direction this conversation was going. With no way around it, she had to say something.
Her ears flattened against her head as she reluctantly answered, “Away from... a stallion.”
Ava immediately narrowed her eyes, tensed her paws and talons, and looked even more predatory than before. “Some pony hurt you, is that it?” she snarled. “You want me to go say ‘hello’ to him?”
“No! Celestia, no, nothing like that. He was...” Brûlée picked at the words. “He was actually trying to be nice, I suppose. In a way. It was just... just too much for me.”
“He’s trying to mate with you?”
Brûlée spluttered. “No, not that either! That’s one thing he’s never done. If he had I...” She shook her head.
“Then what?”
Brûlée took a deep breath. “I told you I’m a dessert chef, right?” she said. Ava nodded. “Well, so is Rum Truffle. We went to the same culinary school, we spend four years doing the same classes, only he was always better than me. And more confident, and better looking, and friends with all the teachers, and won all the awards. I’m sure he got plenty of tail too,” she muttered. “So yeah, I graduated, and came back to my quiet little home town to open up my own little restaurant. Went into debt to do it too. And barely two months later Truffle swaggers up to my doorstep, and before I know it he’s challenged me.”
“To a fight?” asked the gryphon.
“To a bake-off.”
"A—?"
“Really, that’s what he called it, a ‘bake-off’, no irony in his voice at all.”
Ava was barely following. “Um. What’s involved in—”
Brûlée picked up speed, talking more to herself than to her companion. “He wants me to stand on stage in front of the whole damned town, and let everypony out there watch me show them all just how much better he is than me.” She stamped a hoof in frustration and shook her head. “It was bad enough challenging me in the market, in front of everypony. I was buying some spices and he just stood there and shouted it out, like he was on stage already and wanted to reach all the back seats!” She swung a leg expressively, taking in a non-existent audience. “I didn’t know where to look, and neither did the poor stall keeper. I couldn’t exactly say ‘no’ to him, not with everypony watching.”
She paused for breath, and realised she’d been shouting. “Oh, er... sorry. I’m a bit tired. And hungry. And cold. And I’m not really thinking straight.” Her head was swimming. She closed her eyes and her body seemed to wobble and lurch, like it was dropping into freefall.
Ava asked, “So the whole town would be, like, how many ponies?”
Brûlée blanched. “About... six hundred, I think,” she said, her voice cracking.
“And they’d all be watching you... cook?”
“Yes,” she said, drawing the word out as she hid her face under a hoof.
“So, instead of letting everypony see you doing what you do best, you’d prefer to be out in this forest, getting tired and hungry and cold.”
“Well, when you put it like that!” she berated, swinging her hoof around and catching it on the cave wall, adding to her collection of fresh scars. “Ow, dammit.” She dropped the hoof and sighed. “I just... couldn’t, okay? It’s more than I can do. I’m not a performer, I don’t need ponies to see me, I don’t want to shout ‘hello’ to everypony in town. I just want to work in my own little kitchen, maybe with a couple of other ponies, quietly making things that’ll make ponies happy.”
Ava considered for a moment. “There’s something I don’t quite get.”
Brûlée wondered how much more she could take. “What?” she asked in a tired tone.
“A minute ago you said this stallion was trying to be nice. ‘In a way,’ you said. But how is challenging you nice at all? Sounds to me like you let him chase you out of town.”
Brûlée replayed the conversation, realising she’d painted herself into a corner. “Oh.” She really wasn’t in a fit state to answer questions like this. She closed her eyes, picturing his big, annoying grin. “The thing is, I haven’t... My restaurant hasn’t been particularly successful. Yet. Not many ponies know it’s there. I think he picked up on that and figured if he made a really big splash in town it would drum up more business for me. It would be just like him to try and pull a big stunt like that. He did crazy stuff all through school.”
“Okay. So he’s actually a good guy?”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Brûlée admitted, “and that’s what makes it worse. I can’t even hate him properly. He’s not being nasty, he just... he doesn’t get it.”
“Doesn’t get what?”
“That it ain’t that easy!” Brûlée’s accent had slipped a little, and she stumbled over the words as she started crying. “That the rest of us can’t just sail through life getting whatever we want, being good at everything we turn our hoof to, risking everything on dice and coming up sixes every time. That, that he can’t just trot into somepony’s life and... fix it for them.”
She slumped forward onto her hooves, quietly sobbing.
This time it was Ava’s turn. Slowly, as if she was uncertain of the procedure, she reached a wing round Brûlée’s body and pulled her into a gentle hold.
The rain had stopped some time during the night. Patches of moonlight played over the forest as they slipped through shifting gaps in the rolling clouds.
“Brûlée?”
“Hmmmmn?”
“Are you asleep?”
“Hmmn. Yes.”
Ava paused. Her voice uncharacteristically shy, she asked, “You don’t... think I’m a wild animal, do you?”
Brûlée cautiously opened one sleepy eye, looking up at the dishevelled gryphon. She considered lying, but decided the cruel truth was needed. “You’ve got mud on your coat, blood on your beak, and feathers all over the place.” She didn’t mention the crust of dried tears matting the feathers on the gryphon’s cheeks. “You look pretty wild right now.”
Ava looked herself over. “Right, good point.”
“And you’re... um, not that I’ve met any other gryphons to compare you to, but from a pony’s perspective you look kind of... dangerous. Like a predator,” she said apologetically. “Ponies can be really sensitive to that. And once one of them gets spooked, the rest tend to follow.”
“Oh.” Ava sank. “I can’t really do anything about that, can I?”
“It’s okay. I’m sure when you get cleaned up you’ll look much better.”
“I’ll still be me though. And Gosling will still be a... a little predator in a room full of prey.”
Brûlée wished she could deny it, but it was true. She blinked some of the sleep away and a thought struck her.
“You know what you need? Clothes.”
“You mean those things ponies put on their bodies?” Ava asked. “What difference would that make? I’ve never needed clothes out in the forest.”
“Exactly. Wild animals don’t wear clothes. Ponies wear clothes to make them look like something more than just a pony. I wear chef’s clothes when I’m at work, that way everypony knows I’m the chef,” Brûlée clarified. “If you and Gosling turn up looking smart, it’ll change what ponies think of you.”
“You mean they’ll stop being afraid of me?” asked Ava sceptically.
“Okay, probably not,” Brûlée admitted, “but it’ll make them think you’re clever and scary, rather than wild and scary. They won’t want to insult you any more.”
Ava gave a sad little laugh. “I guess that’ll have to do. Um. I’ve never worn clothes before, so I don’t...”
“Let me think.” Brûlée sat up, shifted back into the cave wall and looked the gryphon over as best she could in the overcast moonlight.
“You don’t want to wear anything too closely tailored or it’ll look unnatural, especially with your big fluffy... what’s that called?” She indicated Ava’s chest feathers, currently somewhat dishevelled.
Ava pointed a talon at her chest. “You mean my frill?”
“Frill, right. And it has to be something they can see clearly while talking to you,” she added. “Presumably you don’t want anything to get in the way of your wings, or that’ll get sweaty or damaged when you’re flying. It needs to be something colourful to bring out your eyes.”
Ava was taken aback, and avoided her gaze. She clearly wasn't used to being looked at like this.
Brûlée decided. “You know, I think a simple scarf would work well for you, in a rich dark yellow with thin gold edging.”
“That sounds fancy. I don’t have any, uh, ‘bits’ to swap for it.”
You can come with me.
Brûlée hesitated. The answer she wanted to give was clear enough, but was she really ready to say that? They’d made a cosy little friendship in the last few hours, but it could easily be a convenience forgotten come morning. Might Ava turn on her once morning came and she needed breakfast? Was this chick really so different from the pony-eating monsters she’d heard about?
You can come with me.
Ava had welcomed her into this cave. She’d told her own story, confessed her mistakes and weakness, and clearly shown how much she loved her family. She’d listened patiently to Brûlée’s troubles. She’d leant her a wing to warm up, and offered her own food (even if it wasn’t to a pony’s taste). She’d cried, needed comforting, and had comforted Brûlée in turn. She’d earned at least a little credit.
And now, she needed Brûlée’s help.
You can—
“You can come with me,” she blurted out. “I’ll get you a scarf or two in the next town we pass through. One for you, and one for Gosling. What sort of colour is he?”
Ava perked up. She clearly liked talking about her brother. “He looks like me but with darker brown feathers, and big green eyes. Very handsome, he’s going to be a real ladyhunter when he grows up,” she said with a chuckle.
Brûlée tried not to think of the implications of a word like ‘ladyhunter’ in a romantic context, instead focusing on colour matching. “In that case... maybe a dark green scarf would look good on him. And a matching shoulder bag, for his school work.”
“Thank you.” Ava looked back at Brûlée’s back. “Er, you don’t have any bags with you though. Where do you keep your bits?”
“Oh, they’re at—”
Brûlée stopped and winced. She closed her eyes as the enthusiasm left her. The reality of her situation came crashing back down, and she couldn’t believe her stupidity – or that she’d forgotten it for even a moment. Somehow she’d got carried away and lost track of where she was.
She’d left home in a hurry, packing only what she could grab as she ran out the door: a few bits, some food, some laughably inappropriate clothes, and the old saddlebags that she’d been planning to throw away. Some time yesterday the strap had broken while she was fording a river, and her belongings had sailed away downstream.
She couldn’t buy a stylish scarf. She couldn’t buy a meal or a bed for the night. She had no money, no place in the world, no way to survive out here, no idea where she was or where she was going. She’d been a fool.
Her eyes still closed, she quietly finished the sentence: “—home.”
Ava seemed to understand, as her face fell in concert. They both sat in glum silence, faces turned aside, staring at opposite sides of the cave.
Ava broke first. “I have to go back, don’t I?” she said quietly.
Brûlée echoed her. “I’ve left my restaurant. Everything I’ve spent years working for. It’s all just sitting there, and I’m miles away from it, hiding in a hole.”
Ava turned to face her. “You need to go back and stand up to this stallion that’s been bothering you. That place is your territory, right? You fought for it. Don’t let anybody take it away from you, even if it means you have to do his stupid bake... thing.”
Brûlée smiled at the thought, and responded with, “And you need to go apologise to all those ponies. Let them see that you can be polite and friendly and civilised, and how much you care about your brother.”
“What if I just make it all worse? What if they say mean things about Gosling and I get angry again?”
“They probably will. Just remember what you’re there for. Ponies tend to stick together, they’ll follow the first one to react. So start with either the teacher or the mayor, be extra polite and ask them to help you with all the others. That should help to calm them down.”
Ava thought for a second. “Thanks, I’ll try that,” she said.
Brûlée’s smile faded again. “Can I really do it? After leaving like that, can I go back there and take it all back? Can I stand up in front of everypony and cook for a show? Can I look Rum Truffle in the eyes and say, ‘I’m the better chef’?”
“Are you?”
Brûlée was surprised by the question. “What?”
“Are you a better chef than him?”
“I... no, I... maybe, but... What if I choke? What if I see all those ponies looking at me and—”
“Forget those other ponies. Just tell me, right now, are you the better chef?”
Brûlée took a deep breath and sat up as straight as she could in the narrow cave before answering solemnly, “Yes. He relies on sloppy use of strong flavours and too much sugar, and overlooks the importance of balancing contrasting flavours for a satisfying taste. He ignores the need for a dessert to relate to the meal it was part of, or how a drink can affect the flavour. He doesn’t tailor the dessert to the pony who’ll be eating it, instead making spontaneous changes just because he feels like it.”
“Okay then. That’s settled. We’re both going to...” The confidence started to fade from her voice. “To go back and... sort out the messes we’ve left behind.”
Brûlée was nonplussed, but affirmed. “Right,” she said with less certainty than she’d intended.
“Right,” echoed Ava.
They both watched the moon as it slid slowly out from one cloud and behind another.