//------------------------------// // Chapter 9 // Story: Whatever Way the Wind Takes You // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// From the journal of Gloomy August— It was far too difficult to write some of these things down just after they happened. Sometimes, things only make sense in hindsight. I’ve had to do a lot of reflection to make sense of all of these things, spend some time with tea and a sympathetic ear, (thank you, Princess Cadance) and even with all of that, I’m still not sure how to deal with everything that happened. But, I did reach one conclusion. Sometimes, the best days in your life are there to help prepare you for your worst days yet to happen. Meeting with Wormy was just about the best day of my life. Looking back on it all, I didn’t know that I had found my soulmate, but I am so glad that he was there. Something about that encounter gave me strength for what happened next. Wormy has that effect on me. He brings out the very best in me. He makes me want to be brave, to be good. Wormy inspires me to be a better pony. And on the very worstest day of my life, I was a good, brave pony. Feeling a little sad, Gloomy watched as Wormwood flew away from her. He had to go and do his job. He had to keep Equestria safe. They had kept each other safe, taking turns sleeping, and had spent a little time talking. Talking was good. While Wormwood looked a little different, he was still, for the most part, a pony. She checked the campfire once more, looking for any live coals, as she did not want to burn down the forest. It was soaked and appeared to be out. She kicked it with her hoof, not caring if she got a bit ashy or dirty. It happened. She looked up, hoping for one last glance, and saw that Wormwood was a tiny dot on the horizon. When she saw him again, there would be another chance to talk so she could get to know him. He was going to be a busy pony for the next five years. She wondered what he would do when he was retired, other than settle down. She wondered what dreams he had, what goals, what he hoped for. There were so many questions to ask him. Packed up and ready to go, Gloomy took one last look around, spread her wings, and took flight. The wind picked her up, lifted both her spirits and her body. She soared with little effort, found an updraft, caught a ride, an in mere moments, she gained several hundred feet of altitude with very little effort. Wormwood was gone, he had slipped over the horizon, heading north, towards the mountains, off to look for manticores. The wind blew Gloomy eastward and she settled in for an easy glide with the wind pushing against her tail. She tucked in her legs, grinned for all she was worth, and with the light feeling that she had in her heart, she was certain that she would be buoyed up over the clouds. Flying over the treetops, Gloomy followed a river that snaked through the valley floor below. It was all quite beautiful, there were lots of pine trees down in the depths of the valley with some deciduous trees dotting the upper elevations of the hills, where the sun shone the strongest. Giant ferns dotted the marshy areas where the river took a turn. The water was a pleasant shade of greenish blue, and it sparkled like diamonds as the sun glistened on the surface. Ahead, a thin column of smoke rose up over the trees, it was black, much darker than regular smoke, and Gloomy wondered what was up. Was somepony burning wet wood? She flapped her wings for a bit more speed and flew ahead, cautious, curious, and wondering what was up. There was a clearing in the trees below and the ground was dotted with berry bushes, which seemed like a delightful reason to land. Well, that, and investigating. As she flew overhead, she noticed something on the far end of the clearing, near the treeline. Something big. She also saw fire, the source of the smoke. Worried, she stayed in the air, but investigated. She dropped down below the treetops for a better look, and as she hovered in the air, her blood went cold. There was a manticore! It wasn’t moving, which was odd, and then as Gloomy took everything in, she realised it was dead. All around it there was—was that blood? Queasiness overtook her and her gorge rose. Fighting back the urge to gag, Gloomy flapped her wings and moved a little closer. Something was moving, something covered in—oh dear that was a lot of blood, Gloomy thought to herself. Trying to be as brave as possible, Gloomy landed and her hooves squished in the spongy ground. She tried not to think about what made the ground spongy. Near the manticore, there was a fire that poured smoke into the sky. Beneath the manticore—Gloomy took a deep breath—was a griffon. It was pinned beneath the beast and covered in blood, but alive. A spear had been rammed through the manticore’s head, it had gone in beneath the jaw and exited the top of the manticore’s skull. Just looking at it almost made Gloomy lose her breakfast. She trembled as she took a step closer. “Help me,” a weak voice said. “Okay,” Gloomy replied, not knowing what to say or how to respond. Standing beside the grisly scene, Gloomy almost screamed when the griffon’s bloody talons wrapped around her leg. She looked down and discovered that it wasn’t a griffon, but a griffoness. The talons clutching her leg were feeble, weak, and the points of her claws tickled, but did not pierce Gloomy’s skin. Rearing up, Gloomy planted both front hooves against the manticore’s head, braced her hind legs, shoved, and rolled the beast off of the griffoness. She heard a groan, dropped down on all fours, took one look at the griffoness, and then, without further ado, Gloomy turned her head to one side and barfed. She blew chunks until there was nothing left inside her, and then dry heaved for a while. Gasping for air, her sides heaving, Gloomy returned her attention to the griffoness, determined to help. She had been clawed, her body was covered in horrific gashes, and she had been stung. The gaping wound could be seen on her girth, her chest. Gloomy was pretty sure that bones were visible. But the worst thing of all was the egg lodged in the griffoness. Her legs were caked in blood, and so was her stomach. It wasn’t hard to figure out and Gloomy’s imagination filled in the blanks quite well. She had tried to lay an egg in the wild, perhaps it had come sooner than expected, it got lodged inside of her, she had trouble passing it, and the scent of blood had attracted the manticore. The griffoness, caught in a compromising position, had fought for her life and the life of her egg. It was just about the worst thing that Gloomy could think of, and it crushed her. “Save my egg,” the griffoness asked, gasping out what was sure to be a final request. “How?” Gloomy replied, not knowing what to do. The griffoness blinked and struggled to draw in air. “You will find a way. Against all hope, a rescuer came for me. Do what you must.” As Gloomy stood staring, the griffoness went still. There was a soft huff, a wet sounding exhale, and then, it was over for the griffoness, who suffered no longer. Her claws twitched once, and then went still, never to move with the animation of life ever again. Gloomy, an optimist, the sort of pony who could find the good in anything, could find nothing good in this. She tried, she tried and tried, but was unable to think of anything good at all. There was only sadness here, along with blood and death. A life had been interrupted. Ended. A mother who had been about to bring a new life into the world had been attacked and killed. The reality of the situation crushed Gloomy, and she could find no good. She wept. Everything she believed in, all of her hopes, all of her dreams, everything seemed insignificant to this moment. Even Wormwood was forgotten as Gloomy began to suspect that the world was awful, and that there was nothing good in it. Everything she had believed in before had all been a lie, a sham, a delusion that persisted because she had lived such a sheltered, protected, wonderful life, free of danger, harm, or grief. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her world crumbled down around her. Gloomy’s inner light flickered, growing dim, and threatened to be extinguished by the darkness now pressing in on all sides. There was nothing good to be found. Beset by darkness, Gloomy’s inner light struggled, battling for its life, its very existence. It was in mortal peril, in danger of going out forever. Refusing to go down without a fight, it reminded Gloomy about the egg. Blinking, still sobbing, and gagging as her stomach threatened to revolt again, Gloomy looked down at the egg that was half inside the dead griffoness. Something bubbled to life within Gloomy, something terrible, something fearsome, something that terrified her, but also gave her strength. Her inner pegasus, the ancient primeval brute, had woken up, and it was pissed, as primeval internal brutes tended to be. Something maternal flared up and Gloomy’s inner light ignited, blazing anew, driving back the encroaching, creeping darkness. She let out a fierce, warbling cry that was part battle cry and part gag as she tried not to retch. “There is still some good to be had,” Gloomy said to herself as she willed her legs into action. “There is always a silver lining in even the darkest cloud.” She began to pace back and forth near the griffoness, trying to determine what to do. Deciding that action was necessary, she began to examine the egg, which was wedged in tight. She poked it with her hoof, it was bloody and sticky. The coppery tang of blood filled Gloomy’s nostrils. It was the smell of life and death. The griffoness had died defending her egg and by sheer random chance, Gloomy had seen the smoke of the distress fire. She couldn’t make the egg wiggle around, so she tried pressing on the griffoness’ stomach. She poked, she prodded, trying to figure out what to do. Nothing seemed to work. That egg was lodged in tight. It was stuck. Lifting her head, Gloomy looked over at the spear that had been skewered through the manticore’s head. It looked sharp. It was too horrible to even think about, but the egg had to be saved, something good had to come out of this, and Gloomy would have her silver lining, even if it meant that she had to do something awful. It was time to get her hooves dirty. Clutching a bloody egg in her forelegs, Gloomy hugged it to her barrel, not caring about the gore soaking into her hide. The spear lay on the ground close to her. She needed to clean the egg up and she needed a bath. She wanted to be away from this place. She began to prioritise. The egg needed to be cleaned up, but it also needed to stay warm. It needed to be protected. Something terrible and primal now lurked within Gloomy’s mind, something had woken up and would not go back to sleep. Her ears registered every sound around her, twitching, and it seemed as though every muscle in her body was now somehow connected to her ears. The river was close. She could clean up the egg and herself, bundle the egg up in some blankets that she had, and then fly away from this terrible place. She needed to put the smouldering fire out. She needed to figure out a way to carry the spear with her, because for some reason, Gloomy thought it would be a good idea for the griffon cub to know about their mother. Once she was away from this place, she would have to find caretakers for the egg. She knew that ponies had orphanages and orphanariums, but griffons? She didn’t know. Not sure what to do, she decided to head north to the Crystal Empire. Maybe Princess Cadance and Prince Shining Armor might know what to do. It would be a short trip, and if she flew fast, she could be there in just a few hours. Flying five hundred or so miles wasn’t too hard to do in eight hours or so. If she pushed herself, she could get that time down to six hours, or maybe four. It was possible. Gloomy did not know it, but she no longer looked like the happy-go-lucky pegasus that had left Ponyville. Bloodied, with a savage snarl on her lips, she looked positively feral as she clutched and cradled her egg while sitting between two dead corpses. Even with the horror all around her, Gloomy had found her silver lining.