A few months before he was enrolled at the School of Friendship, Gallus was just trying to survive another day on the streets of Griffonstone.
Gallus's childhood wasn't a very happy one, to say the least. With no family to speak of and nogriffon willing to take him in, he was constantly locked in a struggle against his own hunger. Fortunately for the young griffon, doing the odd job or two was enough for him to afford the food sold at the marketplace.
Unfortunately, there were days where that wasn't an option. This is one such day.
Written by TheAncientPolitzanian Special Thanks to "Spooky" Cover taken from S8E15 "The Hearth's Warming Club"
Autumn's end had come abruptly. Nearly an entire month earlier than usual and with no warning whatsoever, winter had forced its way into Griffonstone almost overnight. The aftereffects of the previous night's storm were plain to see: long, sharp icicles hung from many buildings' rickety rooftops, ankle-deep snow coated large sections of the city streets, and the entire region found itself blanketed beneath a somewhat dense fog. What little there was of an agricultural industry was scrambling to salvage as many of its crops as it could, all the while cursing the ponies for selfishly withholding their weather-controlling techniques.
Of course, the griffons were capable manipulating the weather as skillfully as any Equestrian pegasi, but they continued to grumble nonetheless.
Most griffons, dissuaded from their daily routines by the chilly temperatures and the lowered visibility, were more than content to hide themselves away in their homes, sit down beside their fireplaces, and spend the rest of the day letting their bodies adjust to the sudden change. At the same time, others, purely through stubbornness rather than determination, chose to soldier on and maintain their usual schedules.
Amongst those braving the outdoors was a young griffon named Gallus.
Even to those who didn't already know him, he was instantly recognizable. After all, his bright blue feathers and fur starkly contrasted with the duller colorations of his peers. There was an explanation for this strange trait of his, albeit one with a rather unhappy backstory. He was one of many griffons throughout history to be born with a genetic "defect" that had plagued the species for generations. How it'd come to be was a total mystery. Maybe it was just a freak mutation, and nothing more than that. Maybe the trait was carried over from the offspring of one of the rare pony-griffon romances; assuming that the legends of hippogriffs were untrue, of course. Heck, maybe it was literally just magic. Nogriffon had found a decent explanation yet, and none had ever really tried to figure it out.
Whatever the reason, the end result was well known: sometimes, griffons would grow almost unnaturally colorful feathers and fur. It was by no means a common occurrence; quite the opposite. in fact. But this was little consolation to the small handful that were born with it, especially considering the scorn it would quickly earn them. Before King Grover had unified griffonkind, tribes of griffons would often have violent skirmishes with each other. Through a convoluted series of coincidences involving those conflicts, ancient griffons had grown to believe that the bright, almost pony-like colorations were an indication that the chick-cub would grow to be weak, cutesy, and overall a disgrace to the species.
Which was why, even all these years later, most would-be parents would want nothing to do with them. Sure, they'd have the decency to give their chick-cub a name and keep them alive for their first few months of life, but the moment they displayed even the slightest amount of self-preservative capability, out the front door they went.
If they died, oh well. If they somehow managed to survive, then good for them.
By some miracle, Gallus had survived. Feral instincts alone had kept the griffon alive through his early years. Not many others like him could attest to even that long of a life. Of course, it hadn't been easy for him, and it still wasn't, even now that his brain had developed to the point that he could think rationally. There were still plenty of days where he found himself with an empty stomach and no idea how he would get his next meal.
And, as his growling stomach had not-so-kindly reminded him, today was shaping up to be one of those days.
Most of the time, finding food was simple. There was always somegriffon who wanted something done, but was too preoccupied and/or nonplussed to do it themselves. This was where Gallus would usually step in; he would offer to help them with said task, in return for a couple of bits. Then, once those errands were finished and the bits were in his metaphorical pockets, he'd make his way to the market and buy some food: a slab of meat, maybe some fruit... whatever he could afford, really.
Unfortunately for him, last night's sudden snowstorm had torn those plans asunder. All of the other griffons he'd usually run errands for hadn't even answered their doors, and his metaphorical pockets still remained empty and bitless. The house around the corner was the final one among his usual customers he'd yet to visit; it was almost certainly his last chance to be paid, and therefore his last chance to buy something to eat.
Gallus walked around the corner, trying his hardest to continue ignoring the stinging sensation he felt every time his talons and paws touched the cold snow. Once he'd finished rounding the corner, he stopped in place and looked up at the front door.
The house in front of him had belonged to the griffon known as Grandpa Gruff for as long as almost any other griffon could remember, let alone Gallus himself. But there were several other griffons that lived in this particular house, not just Grandpa Gruff. Any one of them could be the one to open the door.
Best-case scenario, it'd be Gabby; as irritating as her cheerful demeanor could be, it was definitely useful for Gallus. He'd also be glad if it was Gilda, or even that one chick-cub Gruff had recently taken under his care (What was his name again? Gallus asked himself. Wasn't it Gavin, or something?). Really, he was fine as long as it wasn't Grandpa Gruff himself. Based off of past experiences, he knew that his odds of finding work at this specific house, and therefore getting paid by its inhabitants, went up if Gabby or Gilda served as a "bridge" of sorts between Gallus and Gruff.
But if Gruff himself answered the door... To say things would get a bit complicated would be an understatement. If that were to happen right now, what little hope Gallus had would probably evaporate instantaneously.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Gallus knocked on the door. After about fifteen seconds of dreadful near-silence, the door abruptly swung open, and Gilda flinched as the cold air from outside rushed inside and smacked her in the face.
"Okaaaay, wow," she groaned to herself, "I should not have stood that close to the door."
Gallus held back a sigh of relief. While it wasn't his best-case scenario, Gilda could be fairly reasonable; especially recently, for some reason. Tartarus, with all of the conversations she'd tried to start up with him over the past few months, one might come to the conclusion that she actually wanted to be friends with him. But that couldn't be the case, right? Griffons didn't really do the whole friendship thing. Acquaintances, maybe, but even that was an unlikelihood.
And either way, Gallus decided, it didn't matter. Keeping himself from starving to death was far more important than meaningless musings about friendship of all things.
"Hey there, Gilda," he greeted (Try to be sociable, he reminded himself). "So... how are things?"
Gilda shrugged. "Eh, you know. Same old, same old. Lovely weather we're having, huh?"
Gallus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you can say that again."
"I'm surprised you even bothered to go outdoors today."
"Honestly, I am too."
He felt his stomach start to rumble again, and coughed into the elbow of his left foreleg to cover up the sound. The last thing he wanted was to look like he was begging.
Granted, that was exactly what he was doing, but being that upfront about it typically didn't work in his favor.
"So, anyway," he started, "while I'm out here- and seeing as you're still in there- is there anything you'd like me to do for you? Some errand you'd like me to run, or...?"
The older griffon's eyes narrowed. "Huh. That's what this is about, then. Trying to make a quick bit, huh?"
Alarm bells started ringing in Gallus's mind. "What? Wait, nonononono, I just thought that-"
"Dude, I'm just messing with you." Gilda chuckled. "I get it, man. You gotta do what you gotta do."
"Phew, you were scaring me for a moment there. Is that a yes, then?"
Uncertainty creeped into Gilda's expression. "...Maybe. I'll have to ask Gramps if there's anything he's willing to pay someone else to do. I think he might be in one of his 'moods' though, so don't get your hopes up. Just, um... wait here, 'kay?"
Before Gallus could get even a single word out, Gilda reached for the doorknob and quickly pulled the door shut. He tilted his head and pressed his right ear up against the side of it, but the conversation that had begun on the inside remained muffled.
"Alright, what is it you want?" Grandpa Gruff harshly demanded through the shut door.
Gallus jolted backwards, the sudden noise catching him off guard. "O-oh, Um, hey there, Mr. Gruff. I was just wondering if... if there were any errands you needed me to run today!"
Gruff's answer was short and painfully to the point.
"No."
Don't panic, don't panic, Gallus frantically reminded himself. "A-are you sure about that? Maybe you have some mail that needs to be delivered? I can go grab you some food from the marketplace. I mean, there's got to be something I can-"
"I said no! Now go away and quit trying to pilfer my hard-earned bits! Kids these days. Trying to scam a griffon like that. The nerve!They just don't understand the meaning of hard, honest work anymore. Back in my day..." Gruff's voice faded out of earshot as the older griffon presumably walked away from the door.
Again using his past experiences as a reference, Gallus knew this was typically the point of no return; it'd be an honest-to-Grover miracle if Gruff somehow changed his mind now.
And so, conceding defeat, he turned around and started aimlessly walking down the street. The cold snow continued to sting his feet, and his ability to ignore the feeling had been stolen away by his downtroddenness. His stomach grumbled again, as if to snidely rub in the fact that he still had no idea how he was going to feed himself.
...Well, not necessarily.
As much as he hated to do so, Gallus was willing to obtain the food he needed through far less legal methods. A childhood spent mostly on the city streets had taught him the basics of thievery, and then some. It certainly helped matters that certain griffons often stole from food carts just for kicks. He'd had plenty of time to "study" their techniques. Now, he could actually use them.
And with these thoughts in his head, he made a beeline for the marketplace, desperately hoping that somegriffon had bothered to set up shop today.
The number of vendors actively peddling their wares in Griffonstone's marketplace could fluctuate wildly from day to day. On some days, there could be as few as eight at peak hours; on others, seventeen different griffons could find themselves aggressively competing over customers. However, these numbers made the presumption that the weather outside would be fairly decent. And given the cold, foggy weather that'd fallen over the city, as well as most griffons' response to it, Gallus wouldn't have been too surprised if nogriffon had bothered to set up shop today.
But fortunately for him and his still-grumbling stomach, that wasn't the case. As he walked further down the long, wide street, he saw the outline of a vendor's cart emerge from the fog. Shortly after that, a second, and then a third. A few more steps forward confirmed that these were in fact the only ones present. He also managed to spot two griffons gazing at what was in stock at the first cart, plus a third, airborne griffon who quickly vanished into the fog.
Within the next minute or so, Gallus would have to figure out which one of three vendors he was going to swipe a piece of food from, and figure out a way to do it without drawing the attention of any of the five potential eyewitnesses.
...And then pay back the griffon he'd stolen from at a later date, but that part of the plan was for when he didn't feel like his stomach was going to start eating itself.
He slowed down to a somewhat-leisurely pace, trying his hardest to look like a random shopper and not like the thief he was about to become.
The first cart Gallus passed belonged to a tawny-feathered/furred griffon named Gianis. For the longest time, the merchant had held on to a pipe dream of finding a relic that would put even the Idol of Boreas to shame, and in doing so restore pride and glory to all of griffonkind. He himself recognized that the likelihood of this happening was small, but nonetheless he found some small amusement in the journeys he embarked on. Plus, he'd been making a fairly good living off of selling the various knickknacks he discovered over the course his travels.
If by "knickknacks", he meant "whatever I found lying by the side of the road."
On days where Gallus had some spare bits left over from purchasing food, he would often take a look at the items Gianis was selling. Even though today there were more important matters at hand, he couldn't help but sneak a quick peek. Today, Gianis's little collection happened to consist of, amongst other things, a wagon wheel, a dirty pillow, and a piece of wood. Since Gallus obviously couldn't eat any of those things without doing serious harm to his internal organs, he just continued walking.
The second cart, on the other hand, was almost exactly what Gallus was looking for. Laid out in neat, orderly columns and rows on top of it were various raw meats, mainly rabbit and squirrel. Cooking them wouldn't be an issue; Gallus could easily start a fire, even in these conditions. For all intents and purposes, this particular cart was the perfect candidate.
Except for the fact that it belonged to Gerard.
Gallus had tried stealing from Gerard once before. The quite literally eagle-eyed griffon, his vision and reflexes honed by decades of hunting in the surrounding forests, had instantly caught Gallus in the act and forced him to pay in bits and in free labor. He'd spent the next week flying around town while holding a sign and proclaiming to passersby that "Nogriffon can beat Gerard's meats!" (For all his hunting prowess, Gerard wasn't very good at marketing.)
Over three years later, Gallus still considered it the most embarrassing thing he'd ever done, and it would likely hold that title for the rest of his life. He was definitely not going to run the risk of letting something like that happen again. And so, he reluctantly walked past the gray griffon and the delicious-smelling meats he had for sale.
His only remaining option was now the third cart, which happened to be filled nearly to its brim with apples, apples, and more apples still. It was owned by Gage, a pale-yellow griffon who seemed to always have a satchel resting beneath his left wing. Gallus didn't know that much about him; they'd seen each other in the marketplace a couple of times, but on the few occasions they had conversed, it'd been little more than the brief sentences generally associated with the interactions between seller and buyer.
But what Gallus found most important was that Gage looked absolutely bored out of his mind; his hands was pressed against the sides of his face, and his eyes were only halfway open. Gage likely hadn't gotten many customers today, especially considering the rumors that last night's snowstorm had spoiled all of the agricultural products. The lack of stimulation and the chilly temperatures had clearly taken their toll; a part of Gallus wouldn't have been surprised if Gage fell asleep and faceplanted into his apples right there and then. And although those spoiled food rumors appeared to have some merit, Gallus could spot a few apples that appeared to have somehow survived winter's sudden onslaught.
In which case, bingo. This was the perfect storm of circumstance and good luck for Gallus to steal something and get away with it. Gage probably wouldn't even know he'd been stolen from.
Gallus took one final look around him. One of the other two shoppers had left, and the other was heavily engrossed in a probably-futile attempt to barter with Gianis. The coast seemed clear enough.
He made his move.
Mid-stride, he flicked his tail off to the side and wrapped it around one of the less-rotten-looking apples in such a way that the indigo tuft of fur at its end obscured the red fruit. Just as quickly, he swung his tail back behind him; at no point did he slow down or suggest he was doing anything other than just passing by. It was a classic technique amongst griffon thieves, and one Gallus had easily learned to mimic.
Unfortunately for Gallus, mimicry was not the equivalent of skillfulness. In the process of pulling the apple away, the imprecise movements of his tail managed to dislodge one of the other apples in the cart. It rolled over its brethren, then fell off the edge. Upon impacting the ground, its moldy exterior crumpled, and it loudly splattered against the snow.
The unpleasant-sounding noise forcibly yanked Gage back to reality. "H-Huh, what?"
The vendor's eyes opened wide, the irises panickedly darting around. Once they'd focused in on the left side of his field of vision, they located a certain blue griffon trying to abscond with a stolen apple. His tiredness immediately gave way to shock, then anger.
"Hey, kid!" Gage squawked, accusingly pointing a talon at Gallus, "Get over here right now and pay for that!"
Gallus's eyes widened, his pupils shrinking to the size of pin-tips. He proceeded to completely and utterly disregard Gage's instructions, breaking into a desperate sprint away from the scene of his crime. Gage hurriedly slammed the cart's lid shut, locked it with a metal lock, and dashed after the younger griffon.
It quickly became apparent to Gallus that he couldn't rely on speed alone to outrun his pursuer. Although he was a fairly athletic griffon, Gallus was disadvantaged by the fact he was yet to reach adulthood. Gage, meanwhile, was a fully-fledged adult still in the relative prime of his life; as such, he held the benefit of having fully developed muscles.
The only way he'd be able to get away, Gallus decided, would be to get out of Gage's sight long enough to hide himself away in the fog. He turned to the left and aimed himself towards a space between two of the buildings lining the side of the street. At the speed he was running at, it was unclear whether or not he'd be able slip through the hole. But with the help of a few quick flaps of his wings, Gallus barely managed to slip through the alleyway, the side of his right hind leg briefly scraping against one of the walls. As quickly as he'd entered the alley, he shot out of its other side, nearly bowling an older griffon over as he emerged. The griffon yelled some curses and cusses at Gallus, but they quickly faded out of earshot. Not that Gallus cared.
Risking another quick glance behind him as he ran, Gallus saw that, unfortunately for him, Gage was still on his tail. By which he meant that Gage was still chasing him, not that he'd actually gone and grabbed his tail—
Focus, Gallus, he scolded himself, Seeing as your previous evasive maneuver didn't work at all, do you have anything else up your sleeve?
As a matter of fact, he did. He put on the brakes, his claws and talons digging into the ground beneath the snow. As he slowed down, he twisted his body, causing himself to turn a complete one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. Having turned himself around, he then leapt forwards, travelling almost straight towards Gage. With another pair of wing flaps, Gallus moved out of the older griffon's path and prevented the impending head-on collision. Gage made his own attempt at preventing the collision by rolling out of the way, but in doing so stumbled into the snow and lost all of his momentum. This gave Gallus ample time to hit the ground mid-stride and, after another few seconds of running, hide himself in another alleyway to his right. He took a few more steps into the alleyway, flicked his tail away from its entrance, and pressed his back up against one of the buildings' walls, his two hind legs being the only limbs he allowed to remain on the ground. His chest slowly rose, fell, rose again, and fell again as large bursts of much-needed oxygen rushed their way into his lungs.
...Breathe in... Breathe out...
Inhale... Exhale...
After a precious minute completely devoid of any running in terror whatsoever, Gallus risked a peek around the corner, before quickly pulling his head back in. He hadn't seen anygriffon, but just to be safe, he checked once more. Reaffirming that there was no sign of Gage, he ducked back behind his cover again, then let out a long sigh of relief.
He'd gotten away.
He looked down at his tail, and the shiny red apple still tangled up in it. A small chuckle escaped his beak.
He'd gotten away.
Now all he had to do was get back home and–
"Thought you'd gotten away, didn't ya?"
Gallus yelped in surprise and, reluctantly, turned to face the source of the noise. Sure enough, it was Gage. The younger griffon tried to escape, but the older one slammed a hand down onto Gallus's tail, painfully gluing him to the ground.
"Nope, we are not doing that again. C'mere." He pulled the stolen apple out of Gallus's tail with his free hand, then yanked the young griffon further into the alleyway by one of his ears.
"Owowowowow," Gallus groaned in pain. He tried to push himself out of Gage's grasp, but the effort was in vain.
"Oh, quit your yapping," the pale-yellow griffon groaned. "This is your fault, anyway. You're the thief here, not me. And you're a terrible thief at that; that has to be one of the most amateur escape attempts I've ever seen. You have wings! All you had to do was keep flying and I wouldn't have seen your prints in the snow. But noooope, you were stupid. And now here we are."
Yes, Gallus was certainly here now. He really didn't want to be. Gage's glare felt like it was trying to carve out his soul, and the griffon's sharp tone felt like daggers cutting into him. Gallus's stomach felt like it wanted nothing more than to murder him, and his feet felt as cold as ice, and the alleyway was too small and the walls were about to reach out and devour him whole and Gage would stand there and gloat and let it happen and and and and–
"L-Look, Mr. Gage," Gallus blubbered, trying his hardest to hide the feelings of dread rising inside of him, "I'm really sorry about all this, but I–"
Gage interrupted him with an exasperated scoff. "You're 'sorry', huh? Oh, give me a break! You're just saying you're sorry because you got caught!"
"I-I was going to pay you back!"
"Likely story."
Gallus's annoyance started to shove away his fear. "Y-You... Do you seriously think I like doing this? I don't just take stuff for the heck of it!"
"Well then, enlighten me," Gage growled, narrowing his eyes. "Do tell what noble cause has driven a youth such as yourself to rob from a honest, hard-working griffon such as myself?"
"Keeping myself from starving to death, thank you very much," Gallus answered indignantly.
"Stop lying to me." Gage tightened his grip on Gallus's ear, eliciting another yelp of discomfort from the younger griffon. "Honestly, what have your folks been teaching you? You're either a bad listener, or your parents have no clue how to do their job."
That managed to strike a nerve. "Well, considering that they threw me out the door as a cub, I think it might be that second one." Gallus gestured at his oddly colored feathers and fur. "Are you colorblind, or have you seriously not noticed this yet?"
Gage raised an eyebrow. "'Colorblind'? C'mon, don't be ridiculous, I know you're blue. But someone had to've taken you in. You wouldn't be alive otherwise."
Gallus's response was quick and to the point: "No. Nobody ever offered to take me in."
There was a brief pause. "...I thought you were one of Gruff's," Gage said, eventually.
"Pffft, yeah, I wish. For some reason, I didn't get that kind of treatment."
"...You've been keeping yourself alive?"
Gallus nodded.
That seemed to have shut the older griffon up. His beak remained open for some time, but no words came out of it for the length of that while. In spite of himself, Gallus couldn't help but feel a tad smug.
"If you're telling the truth, then... color me impressed, I guess," Gage finally responded. He coughed into his free hand. "You better not be lying."
Gallus shrugged. "I'm not. Go ask Gruff if you get the chance."
There was another brief silence, during which Gage re-steadied himself. "Listen, kid, I–“
"Please stop calling me that," the younger griffon interrupted. “My name is Gallus. And I'm not a kid."
"Well then, Gallus, how old are you?"
Gallus had no idea. Without a birthday to reference, he couldn't tell for certain how old he was. Somewhere in his early teens, he presumed, but there was no way of knowing for certain outside of some sort of medical test. And he obviously couldn't do that right now, even if he had the bits to pay for it. Which he didn't. All Gallus could do was shrug his shoulders in response.
Gage buried his face in his free hand. "Oh you have got to be kidding me," he quietly murmured to himself. "Do not let him win, do not let him win, do not let him– ugh, cluck it."
He lowered his hand back down, a weary and defeated look on his face. "Alright, fine, keep the apple. But, you're going to have to do me a favor. Several, as a matter of fact."
Somewhat reluctantly, Gallus nodded once again.
"First off," Gage began, "at some point you're going to have to pay me back. With interest. How about we make it, um..."
His eyes trailed up towards the sky as he thought. "...Let's make it... triple. Yeah, triple. That means you owe me six bits.
"And," he continued, "You know that store by the Abysmal Abyss? The one that sells spelunking equipment?"
"I’m sorry, spelunking? What the heck is that?"
"Cave diving! Y’know, ropes, harnesses, stuff like that?"
"Oh! Yeah, I think I know the place."
Of course, the main thing Gallus knew about it was that the griffin in charge had allegedly once left an injured pegasus to die in the Abysmal Abyss, but now didn‘t seem like a good time to bring that particular detail up.
"Well, once Mother Nature gets her head back on straight, you're going to hightail it over there and do whatever the griffon in charge asks of you. Organizing the shelves, counting the bits, taking–"
"Wait, why there?" Gallus interrupted, partly because of his own confusion and partly because he’d already figured out the basic gist of what his "job" would entail.
"Because the griffon that runs that place happens to be my wife, thank you very much," Gage explained indignantly.
"Oh."
"Yeah, 'Oh.’” Gage rolled his eyes. "Anyway, just to make sure you can't worm your way out of this little deal of ours..."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. “Here, write your name on this," he said, handing the piece of paper to Gallus. The blue griffon proceeded to scribble his name on the sheet of paper in borderline chicken-scratch. Once he'd finished, he handed it back to Gage. The older griffin promptly looked over the signature, checking to make sure it was suitably legible. A frown quickly formed on his face.
"Write it again," he said after some time had passed, outstretching the sheet of paper once more.
"Wait, seriously?" Gallus groaned.
"Just do it!"
"Okay, sheesh!"
Gallus wrote his name again, right under his previous attempt. This time, Gage found it satisfactory. With a sigh, he rolled it back up and lowered it into his pack.
"There, happy?" Gallus asked.
"I suppose I am. Now then..." He took a step forward and pointed a talon at Gallus's chest. "If you are lying about any of this, or if I figure out that somegriffon's been shoving a silver spoon down your throat your entire life, then trust me, there will be Tartarus to pay. You got that, Gallus?"
Even though he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn't lying — you couldn't create over a decade's worth of fake memories, after all — Gallus shrank underneath the older griffon's sharp glare. "Y-yeah, I've got it."
"Good. I hope to see you soon, Gallus."
"S-Sure thing."
Gage didn't utter another word. Silently, he chucked the apple at Gallus, the young griffin hurriedly catching it in his hands. Taking no notice, Gage walked past Gallus and back towards the marketplace. He walked farther and farther away, eventually becoming consumed by the surrounding fog and vanishing from Gallus's sight.
To say Gallus had just dodged an arrow would be an understatement. It would be far more fitting to say that, instead, the arrow had struck him in the heart and somehow hadn't killed him. Gallus, still coming to terms with this fact, could only stand in place for a few moments. His legs felt like they were glued to the ground.
After some time had passed, he finally mustered the will to move. He wrapped his tail around the apple once more, then stepped out of the alleyway. He started walking down the street at a pace just above leisurely. He wasn’t in any particular hurry, but at the same time, he would’ve preferred to escape the frosty weather sooner rather than later. He spent the next few minutes wandering the city streets, taking lefts and rights whenever he spotted a familiar landmark.
Finally, after several minutes’ worth of walking, Gallus spotted a certain building. To any other griffon, it was a bit run-down looking, but they'd likely seen far worse. For all intents and purposes, it was just another building on the side of another random street. Nothing more than that.
Gallus opened the door, stepped inside the house, and then closed the door behind him.
“Home sweet home,” he muttered to himself.
From what Gallus had gathered from the single unframed photograph that had been lying on the floor when he’d first moved in, the house had once belonged to a family of three. They'd long since moved out, for reasons that were unknown to Gallus, and no one had ever moved in afterwards.
At least, not until Gallus himself. He’d stumbled across the building two or three years ago during a particularly harsh snowstorm, and it had quickly proven to be a godsend. Sure, particularly gusty winds could blow through the building whenever they pleased, and any competent government would've had the building condemned and torn down years ago, but it definitely beat sleeping in a narrow alleyway next to a burning oil drum.
That year-and-a-half had been especially sucky, Gallus thought to himself.
Putting aside his recollections, he rubbed his feet and hands against the raggedy mat beneath him, rubbing off the rest of the snow that still clung to them. With that out of the way, he walked forwards and sat down at the table that stood in the center of the house. He flicked his tail so its end lied closer to his right arm, reached down, and picked up his apple.
Gallus dug into the apple with the sharp ridge on the end of his beak, ripping a chunk out of its side. To his surprise, it didn't taste as bad as he'd been expecting. He'd give it a solid... seven out of ten. Maybe make that seven-and-a-half out of ten.
Does that seem too generous? Yeah, probably. It's more of a... more of a seven-and-a-quarter out of ten.
But in the end, the rating was pretty much meaningless. The apple was edible, and therefore it was good enough for Gallus. The fact it tasted somewhat decent was just a bonus.
Remembering an old trick Gabby had once told him about, Gallus turned his wrist so that the apple's bottom faced his beak. If he ate it from the bottom up, she'd explained to him, for whatever reason he'd be able to eat more of it. How exactly that worked was a complete mystery to him, but seeing as it benefitted him, he saw little reason to complain.
Once he'd finished eating half the apple, Gallus stopped. He ran a hand along the surface of the table to brush the dust off, then placed the remaining half of the apple on top of it. He'd have it for dinner.
For the time being, he had a few hours to himself. He fluttered over to one of the cabinets lining the sides of the room, pulled out a book, and sat back down at the table. Like the rest of his books, he'd "borrowed" it from the ruins of Griffonstone's library. Gallus opened to the page he’d left his makeshift bookmark (the family photograph he’d found lying on the ground) in, and continued the slow, laborious process of reading the novel aloud.
Now, if one had a suitable level of skill in reading, they would have had little to no trouble reading the following paragraph:
"But even if he has been wicked," pursed Rose, "think how young he is, think that he may never have known a mother's love, or the comfort of a home; and that ill-usage and blows, or the want of bread, may have driven him to herd with stallions who have forced him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for mercy's sake, think of this, before you let them drag this sick foal to a prison, which in any case must be the grave of all his chances of amendment."
Gallus wasn’t as lucky. While he did have a rudimentary understanding of the written word, there were more holes in his knowledge than a slice of cheese.
"'But even if he has been whike… wicked,' pursed — wait, since when was 'purse' a verb? — pursed Rose, 'think how young he is, think that he may have never... may never have known a mother's love, or the comfort of a home; and that ill-usage and blows, or the want of bread, may have driven him to herd with stale... stallee… stall-lions who have forced him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for mercy's sake, think of this, before you let them drag this sick fool' — no, wait, that says foal, not fool — 'this sick foal to a prison, which in any case must be the gra… grave of all his chances of a... amand… ame—' Ugh!"
Discouraged by this, the most recent in a string of defeats, Gallus chucked the hardcover novel across the room. Immediately regretting his shortsighted decision, he winced as the large tome hit the wooden floor with a loud "thud!" Hurriedly flying over to the book, he examined the damage and, much to his relief, found that there wasn't much.
Taking another deep breath to steady himself and thank Grover he’d bothered to nick a hardcover copy, Gallus sat down on the floor, picked up the book, and continued to try making sense of the rest of the novel. After all, he reminded himself, he was already two hundred pages into it. If he stopped now, all of his struggles up to this point would be for nothing.
There was probably a good metaphor for his own life somewhere in that statement, but he couldn’t be bothered to look for it.
The griffon's train of thought having been violently derailed by the sudden question, he looked up from his lunch and turned to face his dragon friend.
"H-huh, what?" he sputtered.
Smolder scratched the side of her neck. "Sorry, it's just... you weren't talking as much as you normally do, and the way you were staring at that apple looked kinda wierd, and- Ugh, You get what I'm saying." She groaned and turned to the rest of their friends. "C'mon, guys, back me up here!"
Ocellus looked up from her Honesty notebook. "You did seem a bit distracted, Gallus," she commented.
Sandbar finished swallowing the hayburger chunk in his mouth. "Ditto."
"Eh, didn't really notice," Silverstream shrugged. Her expression quickly became one of concern, however. "But now that you mention it, Smolder, he did sound quieter than usual. I mean, technically he wasn't making any sound because he wasn't talking, but still..."
Yona remained silent, but did give Gallus a similar look of worry to Silverstream's.
Gallus responded to those concerns by lightheartedly rolling his eyes. "Okay, wow. Way to put me on the spot, guys," he quipped. "I'm fine."
He looked back down at the shiny red apple in his hand. Remembering his hunger, he ripped a piece out of it with his beak and let it rest on his tongue for a few seconds.
The apples grown at Sweet Apple Acres, Gallus mused to himself as he savored the taste, were the greatest thing he'd ever eaten. Sure, there other foods that he objectively considered better (in particular, cupcakes came to mind), but there was just something about the apples grown at the Apple family's farm that felt, for lack of a better word, special. Maybe it was because apples had been such a large part of his diet back when he was growing up in Griffonstone. There were a lot of experiences and memories he could theoretically associate with the taste of that particular fruit; in fact, he'd just been thinking of one such memory. To be fair, though, the apples grown back in Griffonstone didn't taste anywhere near as good, and most of those memories weren't exactly fond ones, but still. Heck, maybe that was why eating these apples felt so amazing. It was like they reminded Gallus of home, but if everything about home wasn't as terrible.
It was almost... nostalgia, in a way. Nostalgia for feelings he'd never felt, for a life he'd never lived.
Or maybe he was just crazy.
He swallowed the bit of apple, then looked back up at his friends. The looks that still lingered on their faces suggested that his previous remarks had only added to their concern.
"Seriously, I'm okay. I was just, uh... reminiscing," he added, silently thanking Grover that someone had invented the dictionary. It felt so bizarre that just a month ago, he hadn't even known what cousins were.
The rest of the group continued to give each other uneasy glances. Gallus hadn't told them much about his life before he'd met them all, but given the few pieces to the puzzle he'd offhandedly revealed to them, the half-finished picture didn't make his childhood sound like a particularly happy one, to say the least. And given the "Hearth's Warming Eve Incident" from last month, his choice of words wasn't as reassuring as it normally should've been.
"Just 'reminiscing', huh?" Smolder remarked, a hint of suspicion present in her voice. "What exactly were you reminiscing about?" She reached for one of her rubies and took a small bite out of it.
Gallus couldn't help but feel the slightest tinge of annoyance at his friends' persistence. At the same time, however... Gods, it felt so good having creatures who were willing to be that persistent for him. Who cared about him that extent.
When Princess/Headmare Twilight Sparkle first announced the whole "Friendship School" thing, Grandpa Gruff had taken the initiative to hunt down somegriffon to send there. It just so happened that someone had anonymously given a letter to Gruff suggesting that Gallus would be the perfect candidate. And Gallus knew for a fact he wasn't the one who sent it; even back then, he wasn't willing to stoop that low. He still didn't know for certain who it was.
Even so, Gallus had accepted the offer in a heartbeat. After all, he'd be getting a welcomed change of scenery, free lodging, and he wouldn't have to pay for some of his meals! All he had to do in return was sit in a classroom for a few hours every weekday and pretend to give a hoot about the things he was "learning". He'd have to be the dumbest creature alive to turn down an offer like that!
But Gallus had quickly gained something worth just as much, if not more than ventilated rooming, or free food, or any of the other luxuries the opportunity had given him. The best thing he'd gotten out of the experience was, of course, the friendships he'd formed with the five creatures currently sitting beside him and fawning over his mental wellbeing.
Meeting Sandbar, Smolder, Ocellus, Yona, and Silverstream was undoubtedly the greatest thing that'd ever happened to him, and it would likely hold that title for the rest of his life.
And you know what? If there was anyone in all of Equestria — no, all of Equus — he could make himself a bit vulnerable to, that he could let see the exposed, vulnerable underbelly of his mind, it would have to be them.
"It was a random thing from, like, a year ago," he confessed. "Before I met you all. I was hungry, some stuff happened, I found food, the end. It just... got stuck in my mind, I guess. No big deal." Especially not now, he thought to himself.
"Huh," was all Smolder could really say in response. She took another bite out of her ruby.
"Were you hungry a lot?" Ocellus asked.
"Eh, every once in a while," Gallus answered.
Ocellus gave him an empathetic look. "Yeah, I know the feeling."
Everycreature understood what Ocellus meant. Before Thorax had taken the throne, she'd once told them, there had been days where there wasn't enough love to satisfy everyling's hunger. Fortunately, with the new king's arrival and the introduction of friendship to their lives, those days had become a thing of the past. Still, there were moments where the young changeling couldn't help but reflect on those darker times.
In that regard, she and Gallus had something in common.
"Soooo," Ocellus continued, "Are you feeling better now?"
Gallus's eyes trailed over to one of the room's many windows. Up in the skies, Celestia's sun could be seen shining brightly from just behind a cloud. The winter weather had held out for as long as it possibly could, but it looked as though it was finally conceding victory to the forthcoming springtime. Quite a fitting metaphor, actually.
"Yup," he said, a small smile visible on his beak, "It's alright."
