6 - Summer Days
When I got to the city on Monday morning, Iron had an envelope for me. It made me wonder just how many ponies actually handled my letters, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Resigned, I asked, “Mail?”
“Inn reservation,” he clarified with a close-eyed nod. “Wednesday night’s going to be tough to find a room... heck, this room wasn’t the easiest to get ahold of.” He held it out in front of me and continued, “Don’t lose this, or open it... and it’s refundable if you change your mind.”
A room at an inn. His gift filled me with a sense of foreboding. Pointing to it, I asked, “Uh... what is this?” Iron’s mouth slackened, probably since he just finished explaining what it was; I clarified, “I mean, uh... who is that for?”
“Oh!” His eyes shot wider. “Just you. I mean, technically, it’s for one pegasus, but uh... no, this is only for you.”
“A pegasus?” I asked flatly.
He shrugged a little. “It’s so they know to put feather shampoo in the bathroom.”
“Shampoo?”
We stared at each other for a few moments before Iron extended the reservation a little farther and shook it slightly. Offhanded comments about personal hygiene or no, it sounded like he did go through some trouble to get me a low-committment way to enjoy the solstice. I took the envelope, then my face got warmer. “I... you didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re the one going out of your way to spend time in the city for the evening...”
I put the reservation in my coin sack; it’d get a little dinged up, but I wouldn’t forget it there. “Yeah.” I nodded. “But I’m covering dinner.”
Iron smiled at that, but then it was time for me to get started with the week. I said goodbye and headed into the city, to the citadel.
That morning, another guard was standing in front of Sherry’s desk. She was decked out in the usual armor of an officer; beneath the steel, she was a pale shade of purple, but her tail was was a deep, dark red.
When I got over to wait my turn to speak with Sherry, the purple officer extended a hoof and greeted, “Hi, uh... Gilda, right?”
I took it and returned the greeting. “Hi, but it’s just Gilda.”
The other guard reeled a bit at my joke, but that was standard pony fare. “Anyway,” she continued, “I’m Sunset, from the night shift. I was wondering if you could cover my shift this coming Wednesday?”
“Sorry,” I answered with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve got something going on that night.”
“What?” she sneered. “Like what?”
I sneered back. “Oh, you know. There’s some homeless hornets near my home, I’m going to teach them how to mind their own bees’ nest.”
Something hit the left side of my helmet with a metallic ting, so I turned. Sherry was staring at me with a deadpan glare. “No,” she mock-barked, pointing a hoof at me. “No puns before noon. Now get me back my pencil.”
It was technically a direct order, I mused, and I didn’t have anything better to do until she gave me my patrol orders for the day. As I looked for the pencil, Sherry turned and said, “And I told you it was a long-shot, don’t get mad at her because she’s got a life.”
“Right... sorry,” Sunset responded. “It’s been a long patrol.”
I picked up Sherry’s pencil, then saw that Sunset was looking at me. “It’s fine,” I replied. For good measure, I added, “But good luck finding a replacement.”
“Thanks.” She flashed me a grin, we traded nods, and she walked around me on her way out of the room.
Sherry met my eyes as I handed her pencil back, but she didn’t say anything at first. After a quick look around, she asked, “So... you and Iron?” in an amused tone.
“Uh...” I began. “Who told you?”
She pointed her pencil at me and winked. “You just did.”
I glared back, so she added, “Also, Iron, yesterday.”
That news came as an unpleasant surprise; yeah, it had technically been two weeks, but I didn’t remember saying that we were telling anyone. Sure, Dash knew, but she was several hundred miles away, not someone I worked with.
Sherry must’ve picked up on my irritation, because she added, “Technically, I brought it up. But between shouting matches near my favorite bar and trips to the park, you two suck at keeping things ‘private.’”
I hated being trapped, but she had a point. “Fine,” I admitted with a shrug, “we’re dating. So what?”
“Good for you,” she whispered back with a smile. It was both warm and weary. “And I wish you two the best of luck. You’re going to need it.”
Wednesday evening, as the time neared six-thirty, I noted that I was probably going to be late for my date with Gilda. However, she was mostly reasonable. Presently, and for the third time in three weeks, Maxie was shouting at me in our living room. “So now you’re replacing me?!”
“Max,” I leveled back with her birth name. “Are you so blind you can’t see how unfair that is to me?”
“Unfair to you? I’m the one—”
“Who I asked last week if you wanted to go with me to the festival,” I interjected. “And for the fourth year in a row, you declined. But now that I’m taking a friend—” I hated the necessity of the lie, but that was a different battle for down the road. “—you change your mind.”
As soon as I won that point, the argument changed pace. “Why can’t you have normal friends?”
Why can’t you have any? I wanted to ask her. It was frustrating how lonely she was; all she wanted was to stay home and read comic books. Which was fine; we both had our sofas, when no one was visiting, so I could even join her four nights out of the week. But now that was in jeopardy because I was dating someone, I felt guilty that she didn’t have anyone else—no coworkers, no former classmates—to spend her time with.
However, I wanted this conversation to end peaceably, or at least, relatively peaceably. “She’s something new,” I answered, more defensively than I would have liked to. “You know I like new things. Why should foreign individuals be any different?”
“Because she’s a griffin.” Maxie threw a hoof out for emphasis. “How many travelers go missing every year?”
“Less than five,” I cut back. “Do the words Captain of the Guard mean anything to you?” She had finally succeeded in getting me to raise my voice, so I continued, “And that’s counting travelers to the south and east, and since everyone needs a special permit to travel north anymore, I’ll answer your actual question: zero.”
She didn’t have an answer immediately, so I changed tactics. “Anyway, I need to leave. I’m running late to dinner...” Maxie started to retort, so I spoke over her, “If you wish to join us, the offer still stands.”
“No!”
Mildly relieved that she hadn’t called my bluff, I turned around and walked over to the entrance to our home. “Then in that case...” I opened the door, stepped through, and turned around. “Have a good—”
The door slammed, inches from my face. Right when I was hoping that I had remembered to bring my key with me, I heard the lock click, so I blew my frustration out the side of my mouth. Our neighbors had a spare key, at any rate.
Several minutes later, as I expected, Gilda was waiting for me in her usual spot—roughly ten feet inside the archway, on the right-hoof side. I liked that about her; she was a good mixture between reliable and mysterious. And she was punctual. For that, I apologized, “I’m sorry for being so late.”
She scrunched up the right side of her face. “You’re only like two minutes late.”
Shaking my head, I responded, “I usually like to run early, not behind.”
“Oh...” She stretched the word out in flat sarcasm. “Well, I guess I can let it slide this time.”
I let out a weak chuckle. “All right, then. Where would you like to eat dinner?”
By that point, the question was a formality; like always, she responded, “Wherever you want.”
With a nod, I led her north; I didn’t know where we’d eat yet, but she didn’t need to know that. Getting dinner with Gilda was always a slight challenge; between her lack of positive preferences and the list of foods that made her sick, it was hard to pinpoint exactly what she would hate the least.
However, we would manage.
As we walked—I had until the first block to make a decision—I asked her, “Are you ready for tonight?”
Her head bobbed in the corner of my vision. “Yep. Armor’s at the citadel, invitation’s in my bag.”
I grinned. “You’re going to like the celebration.” And it was the truth; every year, the parks and recreation service-ponies worked hard on the Summer Sun Celebration.
When we got to the intersection, I hadn’t decided on a restaurant yet: a diner would be too cheap, she wouldn’t like pizza... with a mental shrug, I took a left turn into the Residential District... then I was struck with a stroke of genius. I smiled to myself a second time, which prompted a “What?” from my left.
“You’ll see,” I responded.
Five minutes later, we entered the restaurant: a dinner buffet with a wide variety of entrées. Gilda looked around for a brief moment before she turned to me with an amused glare. “So your choice...”
“Is your choice.” I smiled back at her, and she shook her head with a small chuckle.
Once we got situated within the restaurant, I started to take note of what she was eating. Given a full array of choices, she stuck to grains, fruits, and tree nuts. I filed that information away for later; for now, we were eating, which meant conversation.
Tonight, I started off with a somewhat risky topic: “So, what do griffins do for the summer solstice?”
Gilda shrugged. “Not too much. It’s more a big...” She paused, and her eyes drifted to her plate. “Crap,” she muttered, as if she’d forgotten something.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, that was more a...” She shook her head before looking up at me. “Like I said, not too much.”
“Just a big...” I led in, then I realized her silence meant she was hiding something. As frustrating as that was, I started to rack my mind to fill in the blank with things I remembered about Gilda: her ex-tribe, the summer solstice... Clockwork, an earlier word of hers came to mind, and I smiled. “Just a big birthday party?”
“No,” she answered far too quickly.
I gazed upwards, trying to remember her comment from when we were filling out her visa application. “Every summer solstice, like clockwork?”
She smoothed the feathers on her left temple backward, sighing. “Fine, yeah. Just... just don’t make a big thing about it.”
“Hmm,” I agreed. “I’ll tell city hall to send the small parade.”
She stared back with a “do it and you die” expression, which only made me smile. But the joke had gone on long enough, so I clarified, “Don’t worry, if you want low-key, we can do low-key.”
“Or no-key,” she countered.
I half-shrugged, half-nodded. “Or no-key.” Still, she had raised an interesting area of griffin culture, so I asked, “What usually happens during... is it a communal birthday party?”
“There are only two times griffins are ever really hatched,” she answered. “So... that leads to the July thing. No one really cares about December hatchings, though.” Her jaw line tightened. “Not a lot of them make it.”
Her tribe’s culture could be disturbing at times. However, I couldn’t phrase it like that, so I clarified, “I... uh, is that a food situation, or...?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, the ones who do it? They think that freezing to death is a gift.” Her last word came out as a snarl, which filled me with a sense of dread and guilt. Luckily, she gave a small shake of her head, then held up a hand. “New topic.”
I jumped right in. “What happens at the communal summer birthday party?”
With a small nod, she started listing: “There’s a fire... usually a fight or two...” She reached into the feathers on her chest and pulled out her wallet. “Some griffins get gifts. That’s where I got this, anyway.”
I grinned, glad that her wallet finally came up in conversation. “What’s the story behind that bag, anyway?”
Instead of answering, she tilted her head slightly and squinted, which made me think I was was losing the battle to not ask questions that were difficult for her to answer. After a long silence, she shrugged. “It’s a long story. The short version is that it belonged to a traveler...” She nodded slightly. “Back around the time Farrington was still young.”
By her tone and how she sat there, waiting, after mentioning Farrington, I knew it was my turn to talk about my culture. Given the evening, I told her about the history of the Summer Sun Celebration, including a small warning that it would be Farrington’s turn in a few years. The Guard was already making preparations.
Regardless, Gilda listened intently while she ate; I could tell that, even if it were about an Equestrian national holiday, she was glad to be on the receiving end of the conversation.
At seven-thirty, it was time for us to leave to head to Reservoir Park. True to her word, she paid the bill for dinner. As we left the restaurant and began walking north, I apologized, “I’m sorry about my luck with asking about your culture.”
She shrugged and answered quietly, “It’s all screwed up.”
I didn’t have an answer for that; either through distance or violent seclusion, griffin cities weren’t the easiest to contact. It had taken two weeks to hear back from the government officials in Elpithasus, who had basically told me that I’d have to make arrangements regarding her, if any other griffins entered the city.
Other than that, Farrington’s library didn’t have much information on griffins that was current within the last few centuries. The best that I had come up with was to visit some of my old acquaintances in the Mining District; the only thing I got from them was that, every few months or so, someone from the eastern coast city of Elpithasus would place an order for rare metals.
The easiest course for me to investigate griffin culture for myself should have been to try Stalliongrad; that was where the Elpithasus griffins usually bought their industrial supplies. However, even if Maxie were willing to visit their library in the first place, I doubted she’d be able to find the time during her busy evenings there.
That meant, effectively, that Canterlot would be the simplest, most reliable place for me to attempt to get more information from. It was close to three days’ travel by hoof, one way, which would effectively mean at least a week’s trip.
It would be faster to fly, I mused, but between my two pegasus friends, one of them couldn’t make the trip, and one of them wouldn’t.
Gilda and I continued walking toward the Reservoir Park, and I agreed with her. “Screwed up indeed.” She turned and frowned, defensively, so I clarified, “I’m speaking about the difficulties I’ve had in trying to find any Equestrian writings on your culture, and how I wish our two societies could learn more from each other.”
She gave a shrug in between walking steps. We were still a ways off from the park, but I could already hear the drums of the band that was performing. She must’ve heard them too, because she resigned, “Tonight’s your sun celebration, anyway.”
I gave a quiet, affirmative grunt; then, we turned onto the street that led directly into the park. From a few blocks away, I could see the decorations and various carts set up near the entrance gate. The entire park was full of entertainment venues for the celebration; there’d be games, shows, music, and...
“How come we didn’t eat here?” Gilda asked.
“Festival snacks aren’t the best thing to make a whole meal out of,” I answered honestly enough. “And I figured if you were paying, you’d prefer something safer to try out than fried sugar on a stick.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
When we got to the entrance gate, I stopped walking. Gilda took half a step before she realized I had stopped, then she looked at me. “What?”
I smiled. “I’ve been to this celebration since before I could walk. Since this is your first time, I’ll let you choose where we go.”
She didn’t argue, which made me glad, and for the next ten minutes, I walked alongside Gilda as she explored the park. She stayed away from high-traffic paths and ignored most of the food venues, but her gaze did wander to some of the games of “skill” that were weighted against the players as much as some ordinance or other allowed.
When we walked past a puppet show, Gilda stopped and did a double-take. I looked at the show, too; it was a retelling of last year’s Summer Sun Celebration, where six mares from... Ponyville, it clicked, the city Maxie always complained about taking letters to because...
“I know these ponies,” Gilda whispered, pointing at the puppets.
“Let’s go have a look?”
She nodded, and we walked over and took a seat one one of the benches set out in front of the cart-turned-stage. I remembered reading the newspaper, last year, but I couldn’t quite remember their names. They came back as their puppet versions “spoke” with one another; when I heard that the sky-blue pegasus was named “Rainbow,” my stomach lurched.
Pointing a hoof at the show, I turned and asked, “Rainbow... Dash?”
“Yep,” Gilda said.
My eyes wandered down to the stripe on her chest, then I turned my head back to the cart. I had always known that Gilda could be hostile, partly because she had been raised in a hostile environment, but I had never dreamed that her friend, the same friend she had been sent out from her tribe with the mission to kill, was one of the six ponies who had saved Equestria and restored Princess Luna.
Had her father known? I glimpsed at her; she was enjoying the show with a slight grin. Turning back to the show, my answer came shortly: Twilight Sparkle reminded me that the Elements of Harmony had been sealed away for a thousand years until the six bearers rediscovered them, one year ago. Gilda had been banished three years ago, so it was all an unfortunate coincidence.
After the show ended, we stood up and I asked a neutral question, “So... how did you like it?”
“They missed the part where Dash was the hero there.” She chuckled and shook her head. “I mean, to hear her side of things.”
I agreed with a nod. Then, I considered pressing the matter about Rainbow Dash and Gilda’s past more; however, for once, her mood seemed slightly better than “above average.” With that in mind, I told myself that she knew what she had done without me reminding her, and she had already made improvements in her attitude in her month in Farrington, so I swallowed my reservations. “Where to next?” I asked.
We wandered around for a while longer, until finally, Gilda pointed to a game booth and turned to me. “What is that?”
“That,” I explained, “is a game of ‘knock over the incredibly heavy bottles with the hollowed-out wooden ball.’”
She scoffed lightly. “Some game.”
I nodded. “Indeed. Want to play?”
Gilda turned to face forward, but shook her head. “Last time I tried a pony game, I ended up with a concussion and a mustache.”
“W... what?” I responded to her nonsense.
“Long story,” she admitted.
I vowed to ask about that one some time later, but I pressed, “Still, win or lose, it might be fun.”
“Oh yeah?” She raised an eyebrow.
I smiled back at her. “Let’s try.”
It didn’t take any more convincing after that, so the two of us walked up to the counter. The game’s operator—a yellow stallion wearing a cheap suit—flashed a big, wolf-like smile when he saw the two of us. “Ah! Lookin’ to win somethin’ fer yer guest?”
The sign on the back wall had the prices, so I put six bits on the counter. “We’re both playing.”
“Suit ‘cherself,” the operator beamed. Then, he reached under the counter and put three balls in front of each of us. I picked one up in my left hoof; my left shoulder still had issues from time to time, so it wasn’t the best for things like throwing. I looked over at Gilda, trying to gauge how much effort I needed to put into the game. She was weighing one of her balls, which forced me to suppress a chuckle. Right-hoofed it is, I decided, passing the ball to my other hoof.
Three of my best throws later, to the amusement of the game operator, all three stacks of milk bottles were still standing. I hadn’t expected much more, so I shrugged and turned to Gilda. “Your turn.”
She made a small, scooting motion with her left hand, so I stepped away from her. From the right-hoof side of the booth, the operator jeered, “Uh, oh. Someone’s gettin’ serious.”
Gilda flared her wings, stood up, and raised her arm, all in one sudden motion. And just as quickly as she stood up, she swept herself back down, throwing the ball.
It not only knocked over the bottles, but I heard the distinct sound of pottery breaking over the game operator’s curse.
With two more throws, all three stacks were destroyed. Silence fell over the three of us for an awkward moment: Gilda had a strange, vacant look about her, the game operator looked like he couldn’t decide if he were more scared or angry, and I remembered the medical report for Fast Hooves’ mild concussion.
Never stood a chance, were the words that came to mind.
Someone nearby broke the silence by yelling, “Woo!” I turned to look, and several ponies were in the process of turning back to their festivities.
Finally, on my right, Gilda found her voice and asked, “So, uh, do I win?”
The game operator slowly nodded. “Yeh.” He pointed to the top shelf of prizes, which held several stuffed animals that were only slightly smaller than Gilda. “Jus’ don’t, uh... come back.”
Amused, I watched her scan the shelves before her eyes shifted downwards. I could already tell that there wasn’t anything there she’d like.
However, she surprised me by pointing at the middle shelf and claiming, “I want that one.”
After the game operator handed her prize to her, we turned and left. I fought to keep a straight face; she had to cradle her stuffed animal, while she walked, and for about twenty seconds, I felt like my ears were going to explode from the pressure of the laughter I forced myself to keep down. It was her choice, after all, and I wasn’t going to mock her over it.
Still, the whole scene was too adorable. When I could muster a neutral tone, I asked, “So... a, uh, decoration for your cave?”
“Ha. Ha,” she faked a flat laugh. “No, I’ve got enough crap in there already.” A few steps later, she held out the toy. “This is for you.”
“Oh!” Instantly, I felt bad for finding her choice in a prize amusing. My guilt was quickly replaced with gratitude when I smiled and accepted her gift: a small, plush otter, about ten inches tall. “Thank you.”
Gilda shrugged, then said, “It’s fine. But now it’s your turn to pick a place.”
I glanced around, looking for a clock. I couldn’t find one, but it had to be past eight o’ clock. “The ‘Raising of the Sun’ performance starts at nine. We should probably find a spot on the bridge before all the good ones get taken.”
The bridge was about five minutes away, even now that I had to walk on three legs. On the way there, I began chatting with Gilda about the performance, but it mostly came out disjointed and hesitant because I didn’t want to ruin the experience for her.
I saw Lieutenant Starfall before he saw us; he was glaring at the other ponies in the park while defending a brown paper bag he held in one hoof. We met eyes, and his expression lightened for a moment before he gazed off to my right, at Gilda.
Holding my reservations back, when we got into speaking distance, I waved my otter at him. “Hey, Star. Enjoying the festival on your dinner break?”
“No,” he shot back. “But Hailey bit someone today, Comet couldn’t find a sitter on short notice, I’ve already got my hooves full with extra security, so I can’t take her, and Moonshine...” Starfall waved his bag and shrugged. “He wants a funnel cake, and he’s been doing better in math recently, and what?!”
He ended his rant by abruptly wheeling on Gilda, so I turned to. Her eyes were wide, apparently surprised, and she stammered, “I, uh... nothing.”
“Then don’t stare like some half-brained moron—”
“Starfall!” I raised my voice a few decibels, loud enough to cut him off and turn his attention back to me.
“I said half-brained, Iron...”
I felt my anger rising, but I shoved it back down long enough to say, “Leave. Now.”
Starfall blinked his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them and cocked a grin. “Okay, then. I’m on a schedule, anyway. Enjoy your date.”
As he walked away, I realized that was as close to an apology as I was going to get for his verbal attack of my date, which only added to my frustration. On my right, Gilda asked, “Okay, seriously. What crawled up his butt and died?”
“Something with teeth... and stingers.” I gave a frustrated sigh; I didn’t want to further the rift between the two of them, because that would mean furthering the rift between Starfall and me. At the same time, I didn’t know if she had been making a rude face at him... “I mean, what, staring at someone?”
“I was confused,” Gilda admitted. “I mean... what’s a funnel cake?”
With a shake of my head, I started walking again and explained some of the types of festival food to Gilda.
However, the whole trip to the bridge, I felt a gnawing doubt in the back of my mind. Both my sister and my best friend hated Gilda because of what she was. Even if Starfall had assured me that my dating Gilda wouldn’t affect his friendship, his word meant nothing if he couldn’t control his actions. I hated the injustice of how, inevitably, it was going to lead to a choice.
Sighing, I remembered Sherry’s advice on the whole thing, which was simply, “Love makes it all worthwhile.” And while love might’ve been a strong commitment to apply to our situation, I did enjoy Gilda’s presence. And her presents, I mused, squeezing the stuffed toy for good measure.
When we got to the bridge, a lot of other ponies were already there. Luckily for us, it wasn’t packed, and we were able to find a place to sit and chat before the performance. The lamps in the area weren’t lit, and the hundreds of candles were relatively hidden, so the only light came from the carts that were off in the distance in the main section of the park. Gilda sat on my right, so I set down her gift on my left side; as an afterthought, I sat it upright, so it was also facing the water.
On the other side of me, Gilda asked, “So, uh... what’s up?”
“Hmm?” I turned to face her.
She raised the insides of her eyebrows. “I mean, uh... you’re quiet... er... than normal.”
“Oh,” I answered, but I looked out over the dark pond before continuing. It did affect her, if our relationship was difficult for me, but at the same time, there was a correct and an incorrect way to phrase things. I settled on, “I’m disappointed in some individuals’ reactions to us dating.”
“Individuals?”
It sounded like she was questioning the word itself, rather than to whom I was referring, so with a shrug, I corrected, “Okay. Technically ponies, but I don’t mind using more generic phrasing.” I turned and asked, “I mean, I prefer to judge based on someone’s personality rather than what they happen to be.”
She looked around at the ponies sitting around us, then replied, “When did you start using ‘individuals?’ Like, before or after we met?”
I thought back to my younger days, when I was a miner trying to make ends meet for Maxie and myself. The Farrington mines had been—and to my knowledge, still were—host to a small population of dogs. They hated the sunlight and anything above ground, but their knowledge of rock formations and minerals were invaluable for Farrington’s economic success.
They were mostly ignored and content to be ignored. As my mining foreman had put it, “They keep to themselves, so you keep t’ yourself. Got it?”
It was one of the few lessons I liked to remember from those mines.
With a small grin, I answered Gilda: “Long before we met. Granted, sometimes it’s more precise to quantify a group as ‘ponies’ rather than ‘individuals,’ but that doesn’t change my sentiment.”
That seemed to be good enough of an answer for her, or at least, she nodded before looking around again.
Silence fell over us as the last of the daylight faded, and I was about to ask her what she was thinking when she spoke up, “What are they doing?”
I looked at her, then followed her gaze, hoping that whoever “they” were, they were doing something chaste that wouldn’t require an embarrassing explanation leading to an arrest.
When I found the pair of ponies, I let out a small chuckle. “Oh, holding hooves?” She looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language, and I realized that technically, I was. Instead of clarifying, I took a gamble and held out my right hoof. “Want to try?”
Gilda’s eyes shifted to my outstretched arm as she considered my offer. Finally, slowly, she stretched out her left hand and gripped my hoof around joint at the base. To my slight relief, her talons clicked on the solid part that didn’t really have much sensation; when I rolled my hoof so we could rest our arms on the ground, our wrists crossed, and all things considered, it fit.
It was a small gesture, but it filled me with hope—both for us, and even though I knew it was foolish, for our two races. In that one moment, I realized just how unique our pairing was, between our two societies.
I looked up at Gilda, who remained fixated on my hoof. After about ten seconds, she quietly declared, “Well, this is dumb.”
My delusions of grandeur escaped me in a quiet, nasal chuckle, but I appreciated that she could keep me grounded in reality. I shrugged my free arm and replied, “We can stop if you want.”
“I... I didn’t say it was bad,” she mumbled.
I smiled.
We sat like that for a while, in comfortable silence, looking over the near-pitch-black water. When nine o’ clock came, all the lights in the park went out, which caused a slight stirring among some ponies. Gilda stayed mostly still, and when I glanced over at her, I could barely make out that she was still looking out across the water.
On cue, a single point of light flickered into existence, showing the unicorn mare who was playing Celestia. In the dim candlelight, it was hard to tell that her wings were fake, but I supposed the real giveaway was that she was only about half the height of the actual princess.
Her magically-enhanced voice boomed out across the entire pond. “Ponies of Farrington! On this, the night of the longest day of the year...” She took a deep breath and her horn lit up. “I give you... the sun!”
The entire park suddenly flashed to life as hundreds of white candles throughout the area lit up. The evening’s flames illuminated everyone who was present in soft, flickering light. Some ponies cheered; others stamped the ground...
But on my right, Gilda let out a tiny, “Oh...” as she looked around.
I couldn’t help beaming as I watched the hundreds of candles reflected in her wide-eyed wonderment. Her grip tightened, and then she looked down at my hoof, then up at me. “Okay, this is cool,” she whispered.
She looked like she wanted to say something more, but she hesitated for a moment, so I simply nodded. “See why I brought you here?”
In response, she scooted over slightly, then slowly leaned her head onto my shoulder. My heart rate sped up a few paces, but I managed to keep everything together long enough to notice how soft she was. I felt her take in a breath before she answered, “Thank you.”
I considered moving my arm to put it around her in a hug, but that idea came to a standstill when I remembered her wings; there was some rule or other about it with pegasus mares, and I didn’t want to ruin a good moment.
Instead, I cherished what we had, for as long as I could. It wasn’t a bad thing, either.
Finally, at what felt like only moments later, but after most of the other ponies had left the bridge, Gilda sat back up. “Ah,” she complained, “dude, I’m, uh...” She paused, with a noticeable blink and stretching of her mouth. “I’m falling asleep.”
With a nod, I let go of her hand. “Well, then, let’s get you to your inn.”
She agreed, then stood up with me, and I began taking her into the Business District. The trip took us about fifteen minutes, but whole way there, Gilda was silent. However, every time I glanced over at her, she had a new, serene look on her face that made me glad.
Throughout the prior evening, she had surprised me, so when we got outside the inn, I made sure to close the window for any euphoria-laden mistakes on her part. “Well,” I started, “thank you for coming...” I waved the stuffed animal in the air. “And for the otter.”
“Thanks for bringing me,” she replied, still beside me. “And, uh... guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”
I nodded back. “Sleep well, Gilda.”
“You too, Iron.” She rubbed her head on my shoulder, briefly, before walking away from me and up to the front door of the inn.
Once she was inside, I turned and headed back to my own home. Her parting “hug,” I was going to call it—though I guessed that griffins wouldn’t really “kiss,” but that was a question I wished I could ask someone other than the girl I was dating—filled me with a warm glow that lasted me all the way back to my house.
Luckily, I had remembered to get my key with my money; when I got to my front door, it was locked. With an echo of regret, I felt slightly relieved that Maxie had already gone to bed. However, it was almost a quarter ‘til ten, so I needed to sleep as well.
After I was ready for bed, I decided to ignore the rules of grown stallions and toys, and hugged Gilda’s otter as I climbed between my sheets. As I recollected the night’s events, I decided that, even with Starfall’s intrusions and errant dinner conversation, the date had been a great one.
Recalling our conversations raised one impending question, though, and that was what I was going to get her for her upcoming birthday.
Thursday morning, I woke up on a bed that wasn’t mine, to the noise of an alarm clock that also wasn’t mine. It took me awhile to remember where I was and why I was there, but when I did, I gave a soft chuckle.
Last night had probably been my best one, ever.
I stood up, stepped out of my circular lump of bedsheets, then got off the bed. Sleeping that way probably wasn’t the “normal” use for a pony bed, but whatever. It was how I wanted to do things, and they had to wash everything anyway.
By the time I left the inn, it was almost a quarter ‘til eight, which still gave me ample time to head south, get breakfast, and come back to Farrington for my guard shift. When I passed the south gate heading out of the city, some strange stallion was in there, which made me reel; then, I realized that I had never been in Farrington, awake, so early in the morning.
When I got back, Iron greeted me with a confused smile. “Did... did you sleep well?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I just wanted food before work.”
“Ah.”
On that note, I continued, “But yeah. I had a good time last night. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” Iron replied.
With a shrug, I continued, “So, uh... it’s Thursday.”
“The twenty-second, at eight-thirty-seven...” I stared at him, blankly, so he continued, “Do you miss that?”
I thought back to how empty my life had been, comparatively, back when I only visited Farrington once every few months. “Not really,” I said. Iron nodded slightly, so I continued on with my original point: “But, uh, did you want to do something this weekend?”
* * *
Our Friday evening dinner was pretty normal, but that wasn’t a big surprise; I didn’t feel so entitled to dates that “holiday celebration” would become the new standard.
Anyway, Iron was busy that Saturday, and we never did anything Sunday; that meant Monday, we waited until the next day...
Then Tuesday morning came and I was a year older. Yay, me.
When I got to Farrington, Iron wished me a happy birthday before asking if I were ready for that evening.
“Is there something I need to be ready for?” I asked with a disdainful glare.
He shook his head, but still, when the evening came around, I felt slightly on-edge. The restaurant that Iron brought me to was on the fancy side—candlelit tables, white decor, and soft, blue carpeting—so I figured I didn’t have to worry too much. Still, I counted myself lucky that there weren’t any balloons or streamers involved; the only thing I disliked were the raised eyebrows of well-dressed ponies.
Either way, I went the entire meal without having my taste buds burned off with joke candy. All in all, it was a pretty good birthday dinner.
After the meal, the waiter came over with another tray. We hadn’t ordered anything, which made me look from him, to a purposefully neutral-looking Iron who was staring off to the side, and then back to the waiter. He pulled the lid off, and there, on a platter, was a small box tied up with a ribbon.
I swelled up a little at what I knew was my gift. Looking back to Iron, I wobbled my head. “You didn’t need to get me something.”
He waved a hoof. “It’s not much, but... I didn’t quite know what to get you.”
That just made me curious, so I put my talons to good use by slicing open the package. I cut the strings, got the top open, and folded it back to reveal...
“A Hornkerblitsen!” he stated proudly, with a huge grin.
I fought to keep from glaring at my past self as I pulled the small, spherical cactus plant out of the box. It had its own pot, which I guessed was useful; at the very least, I wouldn’t have to worry about planting it.
After the initial shock wore off, though, I couldn’t help but smile, and that turned into a rich bout of laughter. When I finished, I wiped some tears away and said, “This... actualy came up again...” Iron beamed at me from across the table, so I smiled back. “It’s awesome.”
“It was easy to remember, because it reminds me of you.” I looked down at the plant, then back at Iron. “Or at least, the prickly exterior over the the soft insides...”
Silence passed between us before I finally raised an eyebrow and asked, “Soft insides?”
Iron looked like he were trying to eat his upper lip, but he managed to stammer, “I... I didn’t mean it like that.”
I was still amused at how he remembered such a passing thing between us, so I let him off easy with a grin and saying, “I know.”
By the time we finished dinner, it was later than usual, so it was time for me to head home. When we were under the torches in the southern archway, I once again thanked him for dinner. And the cactus.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “I hope I succeeded in keeping everything low-key?”
I nodded. “And thanks for that, too. I mean, I’ve never liked—”
Iron leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. He pulled away with a small grin, and I blinked a few times as my face turned hot. Before I could think of anything more, Iron quietly bade, “Good night, and happy birthday.”
“G-good night,” I returned, flustered but still remembering his kiss. The heat in my face permeated the rest of me, and my first reaction was to return the gesture, but that would more than likely leave him bleeding. That frustrated me even more, so I settled on stepping forward and hooking my neck around his. He chuckled as I rubbed, but he brought up a hoof to pat me on my other shoulder as he hugged me back with his neck.
That was as close as griffins got to “kissing.”
After that, we parted, and I flew back to my cave alone with my thoughts. The more and more physical tokens of affection we gave each other, the more our cultural and physical differences were starting to show.
That bothered me, and it was something we were going to talk about. However, by the time I nestled down on my blanket, I had come to the conclusion that, while we might need to discuss certain aspects of romance later, for now, we were figuring things out in a slow, comfortable manner. Part of me didn’t want to risk bringing things up with him, because that might change the rate and natural ease that things were progressing in.
As I drifted off to sleep, I kept in mind that we really did have a nice thing going for us.
* * *
Four days later, on Saturday morning, a yell shook my cave and commanded me to, “WAKE UP, G!”
I snapped awake with a jolt, looked over to the entrance of my cave, and for a split second, I thought I was still dreaming. Rainbow Dash was sitting there, holding a small box and wearing a huge grin.
We stayed like that for a few seconds, her smiling and me becoming more and more aware that I was lying on my talons. Fortunately, that pain was a not-so-pleasant reminder that I was definitely awake. That only raised more questions, though; mainly: “Dash? Wha... what the hell are you doing here?”
The tone of my question took the edge off her glee, making her wilt a little, so I shook my head. “I mean, hi, dude, but how did you...”
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she said in a small voice, “but I guess that wasn’t the best idea...”
Sneaking up on a sleeping griffin rarely is, I wanted to say. However, I kept my anger to a minimum; now that I was awake, I realized that Dash had flown a long way to come see me. Now, I was ruining that by making her feel guilty. “You definitely surprised me,” I said as I stood up, and I didn’t have to fake amusement. When I thought about it, her showing up on my landing was probably the last thing that I would have expected.
I looked down at my abdomen to inspect my self-inflicted damage; the skin had broken in one place, so I licked a finger and rubbed it some. It was gross, but for minor wounds, my spit had both a numbing and a cauterizing effect.
After I was patched up, I looked back at Dash. “Sorry I kind of freaked out a... lot,” I admitted. Pointing my finger at her, I mock-accused, “You know I’m not a morning griffin, though.”
Her eyes lit back up at that. “Remember Cloudy’s nose when he tried to wake you up that one morning?”
I grinned back. “I wasn’t asleep that time, though.”
She put her box down and flashed over to me for a hug; while we were together, I asked, “How have you been, dude?”
“Oh, you know,” she said, rolling her eyes a little, “just being awesome.”
I chuckled at that, but still, I tried to wrap my head around everything. “How did you find this place? I mean, I don’t really have a sign out front.”
“Sometimes, I amaze even myself,” she started. “I figured you had work on Tuesday, so I’d come visit you on the weekend—”
That raised another question. “How’d you know the date?”
“That day we hung out together at Junior Speedsters’. You said it was your birthday; it’s also Spitfire’s birthday! Which is pretty cool,” Dash clarified, and I braced for more trivia about the Wonderbolts. She surprised me by staying on-task with her story, “But anyway, I left Ponyville late last night, so I started off in Farrington right when the gates opened. One way or another, I came across a fan of mine, and he was so happy to see me that he let me know that you lived about forty minutes to the south. Then, uh, I spent the rest of the morning checking caves, and I figured we’d find each other eventually.”
“A fan?” I asked. More specifically, I was worried about how some random stranger in the city knew so much about me, but I didn’t want to trouble Dash about it.
“Some tall gray guy with blue eyes and not much mane left, but he knew me before I even had to introduce myself!” She was almost swelling with pride. “He was out jogging in the main street, and I can respect a fellow athlete, even if he’s nowhere near as fast as me!”
I vowed that someday, I would visit the world that Dash lived in. For now, though, her joy was contagious, and I felt myself both smiling and unable to burst her bubble by telling her how she had run into Iron—and I remembered him telling me about his Saturday morning jogs—so I was how he knew her. There was also the whole “saved Equestria from eternal night and, therefore, death thing,” but I let her have her athletic heroism.
Dash looked around my cave like she were walking on a thin-frozen lake. “Anyway, uh... nice place you’ve got?”
A quick glance around told me what she was nervous about; for years, I had just left things where they lied, so between my sacks of pay, armor, and blanket, the whole place was an ironic combination of barren and disheveled. At least I don’t have to explain the clock. It was behind me, so Dash probably couldn’t see it.
At any rate, I shook my head and apologized, “I don’t usually have guests, I guess.”
She shrugged, then pointed over to Iron’s cactus, which was over by the entrance where it got sun. “That’s nice.”
“Yeah, that was a gift,” I replied, walking around Dash to my cave’s entrance.
“Oh!” Dash also went over to the landing and picked up her package. Holding it out for me, she added, “I brought you something, too!”
I hesitated for a moment, but then I realized that, while, she had pranked me with “spittin’ snakes” a while back, Dash was smart enough to play her gifts straight. I took the box and, sure enough, inside it was a small, brown-colored cake with white trim and sky blue icing that spelled, “Happy Birthday G.”
“Heh, ” I reveled in the novelty. “You brought me a little cake that looks like me.”
“With the best color for the letters!” she agreed.
We split the cake, which was probably not the best breakfast, but I didn’t care: I was glad to see Dash again, and since it was just the two of us this time, things were bound to go a lot smoother than... two months ago, I realized.
And sure enough, we spent the entire morning together. On her suggestion, we flew several miles east so we weren’t over “Sharptalon Wood.” I despised that name, but I kept it to myself.
Anyway, once we were out in the open, we took turns doing stunts, tricks, and generally having fun. The only limiting factor, really, was whether we called it a game of “Pony” or not. I still lost all three games we organized, but for the first time ever, it had come down to the “y” for both of us.
I was shocked that, in as little as a two months, I was much better at stunts and maneuvers than I had been in Ponyville. Then again, I was used to wearing about a hundred extra pounds of armor when I flew. Dash noticed it, too; even though she was always too supportive to say anything negative, I didn’t pick up any hesitation behind her praise.
Dash’s enthusiasm for flying had a limit, though; around noon, she collapsed onto a cloud in a nap. I had actually slept that night, so I went to get some lunch instead of sleeping. I took care to wash up afterward; I didn’t want to return the favor to Dash by freaking her out because I was covered in blood when she woke up. Even if she would have found it funny, and she wouldn’t have, we didn’t really spend enough time with each other to waste it on dumb pranks.
After lunch, I sat on the edge of her cloud, somewhat bored, but I didn’t mind. Her ear twitched every so often while she was sleeping, which gave me some amusement. But around three o’ clock, she woke up with a sly look on her face. “Stunts and games are one thing, but do you want to see something legendary?”
Of all the things I could ever accuse her of, “not being a good showmare” was not on the list. I sat there with piqued interest as she continued in a slightly nervous voice, “I mean, you’re kind of the first one to see it anyway, but...” Her voice trailed off as a horrified expression crossed her face.
“Is it the sound barrier thing?” I guessed. Two months ago, she had caught me out of a suicidal dive, and she had broken the sound barrier to do it. I didn’t even think that it was possible for a living being to do it, but... there I was, alive to give testament to it.
“Yeah, I just... sort of forgot how I remembered I could do it.” She hesitated, guiltily, before asking, “How are you doing, anyway?”
“Better,” I said, serious but not sad. “I mean, no doubt, the last few weeks have been the busiest and weirdest of my entire life, but I’m getting by.”
She nodded. “I won the Best Young Flier competition with the Sonic Rainboom last Sunday.” It was bragging, but it seemed to be somber and quiet, like she wasn’t completely proud of it. “I mean, it was awesome!” she corrected. “But after all the excitement wore off, I realized that if I had messed it up, or if I hadn’t been there...” she shuddered.
“Wait... what happened at the Best Young Flier competition?”
“Twilight made some wings for Rarity, but they kind of burnt off in the sun when she was at max altitude. She was falling, so I saved her, and the Wonderbolts.”
From anyone else, I would have demanded proof. But I knew Dash and her exaggerating tone; she hadn’t used it. She continued, “I mean... I’m not even sure I can do it right now, if I wanted to; I can only do it when someone’s in danger... or if I’m standing up for someone, I guess.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Seems like that’s a pretty clutch talent, then!”
Dash smiled weakly. “I mean, I did it on Wednesday, right over Ponyville...” She trailed off, smiling pensively and chuckling at her memory.
I gestured at the plains around us with a wing. “I don’t think you’d bother anyone out here.”
She beamed again, but there was still a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. “So, you think I can do it again?”
“If anyone can break the sound barrier at will, it’s you, dude!” I meant it, too.
With that, Dash snapped a salute to me, then took off flying upwards. She leveled off when she was barely a cyan blur against the clear blue sky, but I could still see her whisper something to herself before doing a small flip and flying straight towards the ground. She stretched her front hooves out in front of her, and she started to pick up speed until I could have sworn she was starting to stretch out...
BOOM.
The resulting explosion hurt to look directly at—it was almost as bright as the sun itself. As it spread out, the shockwave took on every hue in the rainbow, forming a ring that grew to at least least twenty miles wide. Dash’s usual multicolored trail seemed to solidify, and I could easily follow her flight path as it turned around and headed back up to the cloud I was sitting on.
As she flew up, she shouted something, but I couldn’t hear it for how far away she was. She landed next to me, which rocked the cloud, but it held. A split second later, Dash mouthed the words, “Hi G!” with a wave, but it sounded muted and far away. Then, it struck me that it was her shout from earlier, when she had been flying faster than it.
Needless to say, I was impressed. She was winded by effort, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. “You’ve been holding out on me,” I joked. “All those times you let me win a race.”
Dash caught her breath quick enough. “C’mon, G... You know diving’s... different from straight-out flying.”
I shrugged. “I guess. Still,” my voice got louder as excitement got the better of me, “that was incredible!”
We sat around, and Dash regaled me with all of the flight techniques she needed to use in order to pull off the “Sonic Rainboom.” I grinned; it was just like the good parts of Junior Speedsters’, and it almost made me want to go start training for stunt flying on my own. I reminded myself that “on my own” was dangerous, in case I had an accident. Maybe if I lived in civilization, I counseled myself...
Dash segued into her training regimen, and I found myself envious of her lifelong passion. I liked being a Farrington guard, but it wasn’t something I got as excited as Dash did her flying. Then again, I didn’t really get excited about anything.
When she got done with her story, she changed the subject to me. “But enough about what I’ve been doing. How’s life up in Farrington?” It sounded weird to hear the name being spoken in... I supposed it was a Cloudsdale accent.
Instead of getting hung up on the names she called the places I lived in, I tried to sum up the past month or so in a simple manner. Finally, I shrugged and called it, “Busy.”
Dash looked at me expectantly, so I continued, “Being a guard for a foreign nation is weird, I guess... but you know about me and home. But my sergeant’s cool, and Iron’s...” I felt myself get a few degrees warmer before I added, “Fun.”
I looked over to Dash; she had a blank look on her face, so I clarified, “Iron Bulwark. The stallion I’m dating?”
At that, her face lit up. “That’s right! You’re dating somepony now!” She seemed to forget all social pretexts as she unleashed a deluge of personal questions: “How’re you two doing? What’s he like? What does he look like?”
I took them on one-by-one: “We’re doing well, I guess. It’s weird dating your boss, but we’re getting over it. He’s...” I paused, trying to find the right word. I settled on, “Quiet, but not because he’s shy. He doesn’t really talk about personal stuff, anyway.”
Dash rolled her eyes. “Boys. They never say what’s on their mind.”
I was about to refute the stereotype, but then I realized it fit Iron well enough. “Yeah, but he doesn’t just fake interest or anything,” I said, thinking back to how some of the males in my tribe acted with who they were courting. “I mean, he keeps helping me out with stuff without really asking for anything in return. How else can you measure if someone cares about you?”
She shrugged. “I mean, you like him and he likes you, right?”
I chuckled at the simplification. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it in a nutshell.”
Her curiosity returned, but in a naughty way. “Is he a good kisser?”
I reeled from the question, slightly, and I felt my face warm up. I sputtered a few times before I started, “I mean... no, like, we haven’t... lips!”
It was Dash’s turn to chuckle, and that annoyed me slightly. She caught on quick enough, though, and apologized, “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t think that through.”
I accepted her apology with a shrug. “I mean, he kissed me, but it was like on the cheek...” I remembered some of the pegasi from flight camp, and how they seemed to almost be sucking on each other’s face. “So I’m not sure if that’s what you’re going after,” I answered with a shrug.
Dash remained silent, so I kept going, “I mean, there’s other stuff like that we’re going to have to work through, so...” I didn’t know where I was going with that line of speech, but I felt my cheeks growing warmer, so I just shrugged again.
Conversation began drying up after that. It ended finally when Dash was telling me a story about one of her so-called “boyfriends”—it lasted two days—that she had in school. She punctuated the story with an enormous yawn and said, “B... but anyway, this was nice,” she started, “but I don’t think it did any favors for my sleep schedule. But it was worth it!”
“You taking off?” I asked. I was disappointed to have her leave after what felt so soon, but if she were exhausted, there wasn’t much I could do about it.
“Yeah,” she admitted, “I’ve got weather stuff tomorrow afternoon, so I should get back to Ponyville.” Fearful recognition flashed in her eyes. “Speaking of, uh, are you gonna come visit soon?”
It was a question with fairly deep meaning, at least as far as Dash was concerned. If I went back to Ponyville, I’d first have to make amends to all of her friends for acting like a complete bitch to them the first time I had visited. I sighed inwardly; Dash was my best friend and I loved hanging out with her, but there was still that wall of pride I had that kept me from liking the idea of going back and apologizing to everyone. “I’ll think about it,” I promised, and I meant it.
That answer must’ve been better than Dash expected, because she broke out in a huge smile. She came over into a goodbye-hug, which I returned. “Bye, G. I missed you.” Her voice was happy, but quiet.
“I missed you too,” I replied.
We parted ways on a much happier note than we had two months, or at least, neither of us was crying that time. I watched her weird rainbow trail behind her until she was completely out of my sight; she was a fast flier, but it still took a few minutes. When she was gone, I looked around and saw that I was alone, so I decided to head back to my cave.
I puzzled over what I was going to do for the evening—Iron and I hadn’t made any plans, so I resigned to stay in my cave for the rest of my weekend. It felt lonely, even if I should’ve been used to it by now.
Really, it just gave me a long time to think about what I promised Dash I would consider, and how even after the Hell I went through for three years, things were starting to look up for me.
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Good to see Dashie and Gilda making amends, getting their friendship back on track. I'll admit I'm a little disappointed that there won't be any Rainbow/Gilda shipping in here, but as I've said before you've got a wonderful thing going with Iron so I'm happy to see that through.
He remembered the freaking cactus!
I knew that would somehow be brought up again!
I don't get it...
I'm not sure "lonely" is the right word here. More anti-social based on what comes after the semi-colon.
.
Wait, what? How'd he come to that conclusion? Am I missing/forgetting something here?
I think you're missing a word here. "the ones who do make it"
Oh? This is the first mention of an injured left shoulder Iron has.
"this" time. "that" time in this sentence would have been referring to the time where Gilda almost killed Rainbow.
I just had a thought. Iron is around 25, and Gilda is seventeen . . . though the age difference isn’t really that bad, I wonder what Iron’s reaction will be when he realises that the head of the guard is dating a minor. Because it seems Gilda hadn’t mentioned her age, and probably wouldn’t think much of it.
1988140 Well now she's eighteen, fair game
I was going to say that I loved the Summer Sun Festival scene, but everything else in the chapter was eclipsed by this.
Brick jokes are best jokes.
achievements.schrankmonster.de/Achievement.aspx?text=Hornkerblitsen
Nice bit of world building before the Mulch has an Inevitable Inelastic Collision with the Reciprocating Pneumatic Impeller
6173221 I prefer "fecal matter". Mulch doesn't have the same connotations.
6333990 Unless you've ever made mulch