> Summer Days
>  by Nicknack
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 0 - Good Friends
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As my armored hooves fell on the hot, cobbled streets of Farrington, I wanted nothing more than to return home. While I was usually diligent about upholding my duties as a lieutenant of the Farrington Guard, so far the summer’s heat had been nigh-unbearable.
 
The city—my city, I liked to call it—had been built into the eastern face of the Violet Mountains, a range which, for all intents and purposes, marked the boundaries between Equestria and the griffins to the northwest. Their forest grew thick and wild on the other side of the mountains, and Cloudsdale was far away, which meant Farrington—and its twenty thousand ponies, unicorns, pegasi, and dogs—had to endure the weather in its most raw, uncultivated form.
 
For the last three weeks, that weather had been in the tune of “severe drought.” It made me sad to see the wilted flowers in the city’s planter pots, but I shook the idle sorrow out of my head. Water was scarce as it was, and if any more officers collapsed during their patrol, we’d have to submit a request for a thunderstorm.
 
I turned the corner onto my street, which was in one of the quieter parts of Farrington—the Residential District. Although, to be honest, most of Farrington was quiet. The only exceptions were the criminal lords in the Artisan District and the fringe doomsday cults that took the “Mare in the Moon” children’s story literally.
 
However, violent groups like those were an exception, not a rule. Most of Farrington’s citizenry were happy to go about their lives in a legal, honest manner. As I walked down my street, I smiled. I loved Farrington. The city could be hard, but its citizens were strong—forged in sweat and pain, much like the iron we refined.
 
Like nearly every able-bodied stallion, I had once tried my hooves as a miner. Those days, spent miles underground, had been some of my darkest. There was strength and dignity to be found working in the mines, just like in any occupation, but my true passion was defending Farrington from the criminals who would otherwise do her harm. That was what my cutie mark told me; I had earned that image of a golden shield at age eleven when I tackled a would-be mugger.
 
As I neared my house, I noted how my cutie mark story held a slight parallel to my current situation. Captain Reiner was currently off “burning some vacation time before retirement,” as he called it. His well-earned trips were becoming more and more frequent, and he made it no secret that he was testing Lieutenant Starfall and myself to see who would be the better replacement. This week, I was officially Acting Captain Iron Bulwark. Only time would tell if I earned the Captain’s golden armor.
 
At my doorstep, hunger hit me a moment before I remembered it was Friday. That meant it was my turn to cook—both a good and a bad thing. I opened the door and immediately, my sister greeted me. “Iron! You’re home!” She cantered over to me and was about to hug me...
 
“Maxie... wait,” I said, which deflated her excitement. I undid the buckles on one side of my armor and explained, “The armor’s only insulated on the inside; you might burn—” The outside of breastplate touched my bare coat, and I jerked back from it. Since my hind legs were still in the back part of the armor, trying to regain my balance only caused more burning, and I fell. Before I hit the ground, the world around me glowed light blue, all four of my hooves rested on the floor, and my armor was lifted off me. 

I looked at my sister; her horn glowed as she placed the armor on its rack by the front door. “Some ‘Acting Captain,’” she teased.
 
I chuckled, but put a hoof out for a hug. Maxie leaned in, then stopped and made an exaggerated act of bringing her hoof up to her nose. “Duh, you’ve been in the sun all day! You need a bath, Iron.”
 
“Oh yeah?” I smiled at her as she nodded. Then, before she knew what hit her, I leaped forward and pulled her into a smothering hug.
 
“Gah! Ah... Gross!” she complained, but she only pretended to struggle. “Guards, help, I’m being suffocated!”
 
I laughed and let her go. When I inhaled, I caught some of what she was referring to and had to suppress a gag of my own. “Okay, then. Dinner can wait until I’m less...” I paused, trying to think of an elegant way to describe my situation.
 
“Smelly!” my sister interjected with a huge grin.
 
“Offensive,” I corrected her.
 
“Smel-ly,” Maxie persisted, stretching the word out in a sing-song voice.
 
“Shut up!” I said, shaking my head and losing my fight to keep a straight face. Maxie stuck her tongue out at me with a smile, and I chuckled before heading to the washroom.
 

*              *              *

 
An hour later, we had both had our turn in the bath and were sitting down in my kitchen. The room’s size was well-suited for two ponies, and even though I wasn’t incredibly fond of the yellow paint of the cabinets, it wasn’t garish by any means.

That evening, my sister and I were about to dig into my latest attempt at recreating a dish we had recently tried at a new restaurant. Maxie’s suspicious poking didn’t come as a surprise; she had her comfort zone for a lot of things, and she rarely deviated from it. “What is this?” she asked.

“Stir-fry,” I answered, bringing a forkful of it up to my mouth. “Like at Chahn’s Wok last week.” At the restaurant, Maxie had finished her plate, so I had deemed it a prime candidate for an attempt at home re-creaction.
 
Maxie looked up at me, eyebrow raised. “This better not be as bad as your breakfast experiment. What was it again, cinnamon toast with...?” she prompted.
 
“Mayonnaise,” I finished bluntly.
 
“And then I had to go to the—”
 
“Hospital,” I interjected. Her constant reminders about the ordeal were getting to be grating. “Honestly, Max, it’s been three months, can you drop it?”
 
She pressed, “So what about the butterscotch nachos from two weeks ago?”
 
“That could’ve been the next dessert craze and you know it,” I defended myself.
 
“And the pasta-oatmeal salad?”
 
“That... was a mistake,” I admitted. “Anyway, this stir-fry recipe is from Choshi himself, so it can’t have turned out too badly.”
 
She stared blankly at me. “Who’s Choshi?”
 
“Choshi Chahn. Chahn’s Wok,” I explained, letting her connect the dots.
 
In reply, she tried a little of her plate, and I joined her in eating. Some of the ingredients had stayed in the oil for too long, so the dish was a tad soggy, but apart from the texture, it tasted okay.
 
Across the table, Maxie seemed to agree. “Not bad.”
 
With the food settled, I shifted the conversation. “So, how was the post office today?”
 
“Pretty well,” she answered cautiously. “This heat’s not great for the in-town delivery ponies, but they got by okay. Also... myperformancereviewwastoday,” she mumbled.
 
“How’d that go?” I asked, despite her attempts at hiding it.
 
“Mister Delivery says I’m really reliable as a clerk,” she started boldly. Then, her voice grew quieter. “He also says... if you’re okay with it... that I can start doing some of the out-of-town deliveries...”
 
I paused and thought about it. It didn’t bother me that her boss was asking my permission for her to do something; after our mother gave in to grief and joined our father in the cemetery, it had fallen on my shoulders to raise Maxie. It had been hard then, and though the worst of it was past, she was still considered a minor, and I, her guardian.
 
After a moment, I answered, “If Speedy wants to send you out on deliveries, I think he’s a better judge of your work ethic than I am. Tell him I said ‘yes,’ just...” I felt a tightening in my gut. “Just nothing to the north.” The griffins that lived up there had a brutal hatred of intruders; I didn’t want Maxie to end up impaled on Farrington’s north wall.
 
She must have missed the cause of my concern, though, because a huge smile broke out across her face and she squealed, “Really?!”
 
“Yeah,” I responded. “I was younger than you when I got a job as a guard anyway.”
 
Maxie spent the following ten minutes in an excited rave about all the “cool places she’d get to visit.” I smiled at her romantic interpretation of the job. She was smart enough to handle the rigors of travel, but she was still a filly at heart. I hoped that she’d stay that way.
 
Her fantasies of adventures were cut short by a knock. I sighed and got up to go see who it was; neither of us had been expecting any late-night callers, so it had to be Guard business. You’d better get used to it, I realized. There’s a fifty-fifty chance for late-night Guard business to become part of your permanent title.
 
I opened the door, and sure enough, one of Starfall’s officers was gasping for breath on my doorstep. “Sir!” he wheezed, snapping a quick salute. “Lieutenant... Market Square... netted... griffin!”
 
“Sh... oot,” I caught myself and grabbed my armor. Putting it on would slow me down, but I’d need authority because it involved Lieutenant Starfall... and a griffin...
 
As I buckled up my armor, Maxie sauntered into the living room. “Did he say something about there being a griffin in town?” She sounded worried, which didn’t surprise me; griffins were definitely outside her comfort zone.
 
The officer seemed to have caught his breath enough to reply, and he turned to my sister. “Ma’am... The Watchers netted a griffin out of the sky. She’s on the ground now, and we’re waiting for, er, someone to come deal with the scene.” He shot me an urgent glance.
 
I was still having trouble with the damn buckles, of all the things...
 
“I don’t see why Iron’s got to go,” my sister said in a pompous tone. “Starfall’s on-duty, just let him kill the filthy animal and be done with it!”
 
By the fifth time I missed the buckle, I was getting frustrated. But what she had just suggested... I shot her a glare. “Max, just shut the hell up if you don’t know what you’re talking about!”
 
Finally, the strap caught, so I declared it close enough and put my hoof back on the ground. I wouldn’t pass an inspection, but that was hardly important right now.
 
I looked back at Maxie, who looked like I had just slapped her. I’ll defuse that situation later, I promised myself as I galloped out the door at full speed. I looked back at the officer, who closed my front door and ran after me. As much as I hated to leave Maxie alone on that note, it was an emergency.
 
Lieutenant Starfall was quite possibly the worst guard with the appropriate clearance to deal with the scene. My temporary replacement, Acting Lieutenant Justice, was probably still at the south gate, so right now, I was the only pony in the city who could order Starfall to stand down.
 
If he kills her, it’ll be the end of his career. It wasn’t that he didn’t have clearance—the laws on dealing with airborne threats from Sharptallon Wood were purposely vague—it was that there was no way anyone would trust his judgment on the matter.
 
Not after what happened seven summers ago...
 
Comet had been past-due to return from a delivery by over four hours. From what Officer Starfall said about his fiancée’s punctuality, that was cause for concern. When our lieutenant heard, he asked for volunteers to form a search party. I raised my hoof at once. Not to be outdone, my sergeant volunteered the entire squad...
 
I turned a corner and slipped on some dirt; without thinking, I slid with it until my momentum changed to the direction I was going. Behind me, I heard a swear, a metallic thud, and another swear. There wasn’t any time to stop, but if he could speak, he’d be fine. I pushed my legs harder and sped up, closing distance between myself and the main drag.
 
The five of us plus Starfall began to sweep the northern road for clues about Comet’s whereabouts. I asked Sergeant Justice if there was even a point to searching the road for a pegasus; she told me not to call her by that name, and that a smart pegasus would stick to the ground if they were injured...
 
“You two! With me, on the double!” I shouted at a pair of officers as I passed their patrol. I didn’t know what we’d need in the Market Square, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I also knew my stallions well; without looking back, I knew that they both had snapped a salute before breaking out in a run.
 
We saw a brown earth pony heading towards us from the north. They might have seen a trace of Comet, so we rushed to meet them. It was only when we drew nearer that we noticed something was wrong. The mare wasn’t brown; she was covered in dried blood...
 
I turned onto the main drag of Farrington; the Market Square was just off it, but about a quarter of a mile to the north. I pushed myself harder, knowing that every second would count.
 
Comet Tail had been rambling incoherently when we found her. The sun had probably saved her life that day by drying the blood in her wounds before she could bleed out. That was a small blessing, though; her condition was grave.
 
Both her wings had been ripped out of their sockets.
 
Even while running at breakneck speed, even seven years later, the memory of then-Officer Starfall’s cry of rage and despair made me shudder. Even so young as I was, I knew I couldn’t fathom the depth of what had just happened.
 
Comet collapsed in Starfall’s arms, and only then did she let herself cry. With one hoof, Starfall grabbed my sergeant’s sword, cut his armor off, and flew off towards Farrington, carrying his lover.
 
I turned onto the street that led to the Market Square. By the waning sun, I could see Lieutenant Starfall in the distance. He was standing over a brown mass in a net. I didn’t know if I was too late or not, so I pushed my legs even harder to try and stop my friend from seeking “justice.”
 
When Comet woke up, two days and several blood transfusions later, she told the three of us—myself, Starfall, and a royal guard—about her trip. She had made it a clear point to hug the western slope of the volcano that marked the boundary between Equestria and the Sharptalon’s territory. I cringed when I heard that; only the eastern slope of the volcano belonged to Equestria. She had made a simple mistake, and paid dearly for it. When Starfall learned there’d be no real repercussions for the griffins’ actions, he had dissolved into a stream of obscenities and incoherent rage that got him kicked out of the hospital.
 
I finally reached the Market Square, and for a horrified moment, Starfall’s stillness over the bloody griffin made me think I was too late. I stood there, panting; then I saw the netted mass rise and fall—breathing. I could tell she was female, and pink for some reason, but I had more pressing matters at hoof.
 
Lieutenant Starfall’s face was pensive, but malicious; his non-regulation combat knife was unsheathed.
 
With as much authority as I could muster, I shouted, “Lieutenant Starfall! Stand down!”
 
He didn’t take his eyes off the griffin. “It’s interesting...” I was chilled by the hollowness of his voice. “The tables are turned; now, here’s a griffin who trespassed in our skies.”
 
I wouldn’t gain anything by playing dumb. “Starfall, killing her won’t—”
 
“Her?” he snapped and turned to me. “Do you think I give half a damn about what gender this thing is? The only thing I care about is justice!”
 
“If this were about justice,” I countered, “then you’d follow the chain of command and let me decide her fate!”
 
He gnashed his teeth in a snarl. “This doesn’t involve you, kid.”
 
I tried to hide a scoff in a wheeze. “This absolutely involves me. As Acting Captain, I order you to stand down!”
 
Starfall turned back to the griffin lying in the street. She was barely moving now, and for a perverse moment, I realized I’d probably only have to stall Starfall for a few more minutes before nature took its course and she died anyway.
 
He had other intentions than to wait. “You’ve got no authority on this one, Iron.” He took a step forward and pulled the knife back.
 
“No!” I shouted, leaping at him. As I flew, time seemed to slow down, and I saw the sunset gleam off the now-disgraced lieutenant’s dagger. Because of the net, Starfall didn’t have access to slit her throat in a humane manner; however, I sincerely doubted that the griffin could survive his best effort.
 
When I tackled Starfall, I couldn’t tell if he were guilty of murder. We hit the ground, and a sharp fire lit in my left shoulder, but I ignored it as Starfall began struggling to shake me off. I called out for the officers—any officers—to help me restrain him; he got in a few punches on my helmet before they pinned him to the ground. Realizing he was trapped, he began flailing desperately and cried, “No! Iron, let me do this!”
 
I stood up, noting that my left hoof was moving sluggishly. From below me, the griffin let out a small, feeble moan. First things first, I thought as I looked around. Two guards were standing around, doing nothing. “Get this griffin to the hospital, on the double!” I barked at them. They snapped a salute and picked up the broken girl. She was so limp, I feared it was too late. So much time wasted, I thought bitterly as I saw the crimson pool she left behind.
 
I turned back to the pile of guards and Starfall. I didn’t know what to do about him; any punishment would probably leave him out of the Guard by the time Captain Reiner retired. Then, it would look like that were my intention... I shook my head. Then again, if I ignored such blatant insubordination, what did that say about my objectivity?
 
“L-let him up.” My lips shook with nerve and adrenaline. Once the two officers were standing, I told them to return to their patrols.
 
When they were gone, Starfall stood up and stared at me with deep regret. Now that there wasn’t a griffin directly in front of him, I could tell that his rationality was returning.
 
We stared at each other for a while, and I felt sorry for him: He was a good stallion at the end of the day. He didn’t deserve his circumstances, or the current situation. After a few moments passed, he shook his head. “I... think we’re past apologies,” he said meekly.
 
“Never,” I replied, shaking my head with a weak grin.
 
His expression softened a little bit, but he was still ashamed. “Then I’m sorry for that. Sorry about humiliating you in front of your men and mine like that. And I’m sorry... for stabbing you,” he said, pointing to the left side of me.
 
Stabbed? I looked down. Sure enough, his knife’s hilt was sticking out of my left shoulder socket. I yelped, causing Starfall’s wings to flare out in surprise. “Wh... you stabbed me?”
 
All of the pain that I must have ignored suddenly crashed into me. Starfall made a sound of protest as I pulled the knife out; after I did, I could see why. It was a serrated bastard, so there were small chunks of my flesh caught in its teeth. Wet warmth rushed over my arm, and the world began to spin slightly.
 
Starfall caught me as I fell, and I heard despair in his words. “And now I’ve assaulted a city guard. I’m going to prison, aren’t I?” His voice broke at the last part.
 
“That was an accident.” I blinked a few times, trying to get my swimming vision to clear. “B-besides, I c-can’t lock you up. Y-you know that. Instead,” I paused, thinking of what would be a fitting punishment. “T-tell your w-wife about wh-what you almost did... th-that’s harsh enough f-for a first off—”
 
Starfall stood up, bringing me with him. “That’s fair enough,” he whispered. “But let’s get you to the hospital first.” With both of our suits of armor, I knew he couldn’t carry me. But he supported my weight, and together, we started on the same road that the pair of guards had taken the griffin.

At first, I didn’t trust the unorthodox sentence I had given Starfall. The more I walked, the more I knew it fit. There was no “right” punishment here. When a husband was acting out of love for his wife who had only accidentally trespassed into the land of the Sharptallons, who had every legal right to kill her... I pushed the thoughts out of my mind. The world was getting blurry.

The two of us turned onto the main drag, where the hospital was located, and I hoped that Starfall hadn’t completely ruined his shot at becoming captain. He was a good guard, and a good pegasus, but most importantly, he was a good friend.





> 1 - Dangerous Individuals
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Father stared at me coldly. Or maybe that was the frigid air around us; we were down in the Jägerwald, in the middle of winter. Dead trees poked at the sky above, and I fought to keep from shivering. Any sign of weakness would betray me; I fought to be strong, for once in my life.
 
“Why are we here?” Father’s question escaped in a breath of fog.
 
Because you dragged me here, would be the wrong thing to say. Instead, I looked around, trying to find a clue, something in the frigid terrain. There was nothing. It was cold. Wind blew in my eyes, and tears formed. “I... I don’t know.”
 
“No?” he smiled and took a step forward. Inside, I braced myself. “What is around us?”
 
I desperately looked around for an answer. What is it? I couldn’t find it. I was cold. “There’s nothing. Just us, and the forest.” I knew better than to lie.
 
“So there is nothing here for you to lose?”
 
The question was a trap. Still, I answered. I had to. “No... there is.”
 
Father smiled. “And what is that?”
 
I winced. Whatever I said, it would be taken from me. Be specific... I begged myself.
 
“Tsk... tsk...” I opened my eyes, and Father was shaking his head. “And here, our lesson was going so well. Up until your failure...” He let the word fall heavily. “Allow me to speak simply, then, so that you may understand: everything can be taken from you. And they will take everything from you...”
 
Lightning-fast, he grabbed me, we spun, and I landed chest-down in the sharp snow with Father on top of me, stretching out my left arm.
 
“N... no,” I stammered. It was futile.
 
“No, they won’t take everything from you, or no, you won’t let them?”
 
“I won’t let them!” I begged.
 
The world blurred in agony, but I knew he was grinning down at me. “Not if you let them see your weakness. That...”
 
His grip tightened.
 
“Will only end...”
 
Tighter.
 
“In pain.”
 
The wet snapping of my arm was drowned by shrill, loud ringing. My eyes shot open and reflexively, I threw out a punch. Instantly, the memory came back to life as pain burst up my arm.
 
“Scheisse!” I swore, shaking my hand. The pain faded after a few seconds, and I looked at the ruins of what used to be an alarm clock. With my slightly-less-maimed right hand, I scooped up the remains and threw them at the entrance of my cave. As they cleared the landing outside my cave, I shouted, “And rust in Hell!”
 
With that settled, I flexed my left fist a few times; it wasn’t broken, which was a small favor. My right hand was almost fully healed, but it was still a little tender from...
 
I pushed the thought out of my mind. I still felt bad for what I had done to Dash, but I’d have time to dwell on it during the hour-long flight to Farrington. Today was my first day of Farrington Guard training, and I didn’t want to be late. It had been three years since I crash-landed there, but for the first time, I actually had an obligation to that city.
 
Out on my landing, the sun wasn’t high enough in the sky for the day to be bright yet. I grumbled a few syllables, but I didn’t vocalize words; between the pain and the sound, my alarm clock had done a good job in waking me up. Once.
 
After a fish breakfast and a quick bath, I took off north for Farrington. The concept of running on a schedule wasn’t new to me, but it had been a few years since Junior Speedsters’. I guessed a schedule would be better than sitting around doing nothing all day; at least while I was in the middle of it, I really couldn’t complain. Part of me reveled in the simplicity of my mornings: first eat, then bathe, then go to the city.
 
Beneath me, the Jägerwald rushed past, and I wondered what the upcoming day might entail. Other than standing in a wall booth and walking around the city, I had no idea what Farrington guards did. Stop criminals? What were crimes in Equestria?
 
At that, I stopped mid-air, and my stomach dropped a few feet. What had I signed up for? Mentally, I slapped myself, but I didn’t need to. The full weight of my commitment hit me like a sack of bricks.
 
My first instinct was to turn and flee.
 
My Verbannungsprüfung only applied to griffin territories, but those were tiny compared to Equestria, let alone other countries. Heck, it’s not like anyone in Farrington knows where I live...
 
Suddenly and angrily, my logic returned. Coward, I scolded myself. The captain takes a chance on you, and you’re going to bail? I clenched my beak shut to stifle a yell; I was pathetic. Using that self-loathing as fuel, I forced myself onward to Farrington.
 
As I got closer to Farrington, my sense of dread grew. About fifty yards south of the gate, I hovered in place, looking for the a clock tower. I had heard it, several times in the city, but now I was on a schedule, I actually needed to know what time it was. I found it and read the hands: almost seven-fifty. I also saw that two of the guards along the top of the wall were taking interest in me, so I decided it would be a good time to land.
 
I walked the rest of the way to the arched gateway that the captain had told me to meet him at. Still uncertain about what the day would bring, I braced myself for the worst and sat down. Within a few minutes, I saw Captain Iron Bulwark turn a corner and start down the road toward me. When he saw me, he smiled and trotted faster.
 
The closer he got, the more and more nervous I became. Start small. Say “Good morning, sir,” I instructed myself.
 
The captain waved at me when he reached me. “Good morning, Cadet.”
 
“Sir morning!” I croaked. Damn!
 
At that, his smile broke into a burst of laughter. I fought to maintain eye contact and keep the embarrassment off my face. It was difficult to do when standing right in front of him; the captain was a good half-foot taller than I was without his black-maned helmet. He nodded at me and gave me a comforting smile. “I take it that you’re nervous for your first day?”
 
“I... yes.” It would’ve been dumb to lie at that point.
 
“Good,” he replied. “I have seen too many recruits who think that it’s acceptable to be more confident than they are competent.”
 
Well, at least there’s that, I consoled myself, and I felt a flicker of hope light in my chest.
 
“Anyway, we’ve got a long morning ahead of us, so if you don’t mind...” He turned and beckoned for me to follow him. “Let’s talk as we walk.”
 
I stood up and walked alongside him, even though I didn’t know exactly where we were headed.
 
“I won’t mince words, cadet,” he started. “Being a guard is hard work. And as a griffin, you will face an additional set of hardships during your time with us. Most of the other guards, at least, will only judge you by your own merits and deeds, but still: I can’t order the ones who won’t to stop feeling centuries’ worth of animosity.”
 
Great. I rolled my eyes. The captain was too wrapped up in his speech to notice.
 
“I don’t tell you this to excuse anyone’s actions to you; just as fair warning. That being said...” We turned and headed up the stairs to the Guard’s headquarters. On the landing in front of the door, he stopped and continued, “I expect you to deal with your peers both gracefully and tactfully. If you reciprocate their aggression, you’ll only serve to enforce their prejudices. On a personal note, you seem to do an adequate job of that already, or at least, I haven’t had any real complaints about you during the past few years.”
 
I wondered if that had anything to do with how little time I spent in Farrington; after a few months at the start of my exile, I had probably only spent a week’s worth of time in the city “during the past few years.”
 
Captain Bulwark opened the door for me, and I passed into the Guard’s headquarters. I looked around while I waited for the captain to catch up with me; the room was pretty much the same as it had been last week: empty, despite the benches on the wall and desk that stood in front of the back wall.
 
When he caught up to me, we started walking, and the captain continued, “At any rate, I should tell you: regardless of any preconceived notions of a guard’s duty, your main role as a Farrington guard will be to maintain order, not to stop crimes.”
 
I blurted out, “What’s the difference?”
 
We stopped, and Captain Bulwark turned to me with a small frown. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to bring this up: when with a superior officer, you will be required to hold a certain level of respect. You will address us as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am,’ and you will wait until we are finished speaking to ask any relevant questions. Understood?”
 
His reprimand drained any confidence I might have been feeling. Then, for a split second, his attitude reminded me of my older brother. Gerard was also a pretentious bore that demanded everyone respect him.
 
Of course, I used to throw his cock-sure attitude back in his face at every available opportunity. Then he’d call me a “contemptible bitch,” I’d call him a “pretentious blowhard,” then he’d jump at me and we’d try to kill one another before Father intervened and beat both of us...
 
Ah, family...
 
As soon as I remembered Gerard, I noted several key differences between him and the captain. For starters, Captain Bulwark actually regarded me a certain level of dignity, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized why I should respect him: he had earned a position of authority, unlike my brother’s dubious honor of being one of the few males in my tribe.
 
“Yes,” I finally answered. As soon as I said it, I realized that what I had just been scolded for, so I added, “Sir.”
 
I caught a glimpse of pride from the captain before he started walking again. My pride returned a little, and I kept up with him as he continued speaking. “To answer your question, it’s a distinction that some ponies in this city don’t make at all. The criminals, at least, see the two as one and the same. But to stop a crime means that order has been lost. Restoring that balance is the role of the Guard that makes the headlines, but ultimately, it should only be a side effect of your true goal.”
 
We reached the door on the right-hand side of the back wall; once again, Captain Bulwark held it open for me. I entered into a stone hallway that smelled strongly of damp earth. It was still dark in there; between the weak morning sun and the windows on the left wall being tiny, not a lot of light got through. Across from the windows, the wall on the right had four doors set into it.
 
We walked deeper into the hallway, and the captain finished his point: “Unlike restoring order, maintaining order is difficult to observe. That is because order is the natural state of life in Farrington. What that means is that the most important part of your duties is to be a pillar of the community in such a way that you prevent crime.”
 
At the last door in the hallway, Captain Bulwark pulled a ring of keys off one of the belts that kept his armor on. As he unlocked the door, he continued, “Of course, your presence will intimidate others at first. It’s an unfortunate irony, but at first, you will probably cause more disturbances than you prevent.”
 
The captain paused while he opened the door. The room was full of racks that held weapons, armor, and other supplies: the armory of the Farrington Guard. We crossed the threshold and stayed on the left-hand side of the room, and I took the captain’s continued silence as an invitation to speak. “So... why have me as a guard?” I quickly added, “Sir?”
 
“Why indeed,” he mused aloud. He turned to me, and I had a hard time reading his expression. “Because I believe that in the end, things will work out for the better. Too many of Farrington’s citizens still live in fear of a griffin attack, even though it has been centuries since the last conflict that took place on Equestrian soil. Am I correct to assume that your ex-tribe has no intentions of such an assault in the future?” he asked.
 
It felt weird to have a pony talk to me about the Sharfkral, but I put those thoughts away. It wasn’t like I could talk to any griffins about my banishment, so I shook my head. “Sir... we took a huge loss of territory just so we could be left alone.” With a shrug, I finished, “No one really cares about ponies, unless you count passive bigotry.”
 
“Duly noted,” Captain Bulwark answered. “But anyway, if the ponies of Farrington actually get to see a griffin, instead of hearing horror stories, then I think that minds might be opened. I won’t be so naïve as to think I can end all hostilities, but perhaps I can marginally reduce the amount of hatred our races feel toward one another.”
 
I thought about it for a moment; in theory, the captain’s logic was sound, but in reality, I doubted that any Equestrian peace offering to the Sharfkral would be met with any sort of sincerity. Hell, I thought, thinking back to the pegasus wings nailed to the wall in my family’s cave, Father would literally kill the messenger.
 
“It’s a noble goal, sir,” I replied. “But I don’t think my tribe’s going to change its mind any time soon.”
 
Captain Bulwark shrugged. “Be that as it may, your actions in Farrington will come under the utmost level of scrutiny. I have faith in you...” His tone hardened. “But if you fail in your duties as a guard, those failures will be addressed—in the Farrington courts, if need be.”
 
My fear from earlier came right back to my stomach. Being a guard was a serious, real thing; if I screwed up badly enough, I could end up in prison.
 
“So then, Cadet Gilda,” the captain asked, “what will you do? Do you still want to go through with this, or do you want to quit while you still can?”
 
“That’s a loaded question, sir,” I countered. I didn’t like being led on like that.
 
“Touché.” He nodded at me. “But still: if you aren’t serious about seeing this through all the way, to the end... it would save everyone’s time if you left now, and no one would judge you for it.”
 
“How long is it before I can’t ‘quit while I still can?’” I asked, making air quotes with the fingers on my right hand. “I mean... I’m not going out there alone today, am I, sir?”
 
The captain laughed, and I had to hide the aggravation from my face. “I apologize if I’ve misled you, cadet, but no. All Farrington guards go through a training period where they learn the proper procedures of being a guard.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “As for a point of no return... you’re free to leave the Guard at any time, depending on the manner in which you do so. Generally, though, there are no ill consequences if you leave before taking your oath; for you, that would mean Saturday.”
 
Six days? I wondered. I had less than a week to make what could be the most important decision of my life, and so far, the only thing I knew about being a guard was that I had to call my bosses “sir” and that everything was harder for me because I was a griffin. “No offense, sir, but I dunno what I’m getting into. I won’t flake out over anything stupid, but I can’t make a promise about something I don’t know.”
 
Captain Bulwark looked at me as if I had just said something profound. “That’s... wise,” he admitted in an impressed tone. He shook his head lightly and changed the subject. “Well, then, let’s get you suited up.”
 
“What?” I blurted out. For the first time, I noticed we were standing right by a rack that held several suits of armor.
 
“The armor,” he said, rapping his hoof against his own breastplate, “is a traditional part of being a guard. That’s why we’re here, cadet. You’ll have to wear the armor during your training shifts, and on all of your permanent shifts—if you make it that far.”
 
He turned to the rack and started clinking through all the suits, one after another. For my part, I just stood there, stunned. I hadn’t thought about wearing armor, let alone armor meant for ponies. There was no way it was going to fit me properly. With a small shrug, I resigned, Might as well do it right.
 
“Ah-ha! Found it!” The captain pulled a suit off the rack and pointed to a rounded indent in the shoulder seam. “Wing holes!” he boasted, like it was the coolest thing ever. He held out the armor in one hoof and asked, “Do you want help your first time, or do you want to figure it out yourself?”
 
“I’ll get it,” I answered. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the armor—wing holes or no—but looking at it, it would be incredibly awkward for two individuals to try to get it on.
 
I took the armor from the captain and almost dropped it; it was incredibly heavy. Once I got over that, I undid the four buckles and put on the back part. It dug into my neck and squeezed my shoulder blades together, but at least the bases of my wings fit into the provided holes.
 
Slowly and surely, I brought the smaller front half of the armor up to my chest. It fit, or what counted as fitting. Then, I started the buckling. Fastening the back two straps made the armor tight; when I started on the front two, I immediately felt that my armor wasn’t going to be anything short of “painful.”
 
When I got the final buckle done, I looked up at the captain. He held out a helmet. The first time I tried it putting it on, one of the big feathers on my forehead got pushed down into my eye. The second time, I smoothed my head feathers to the left before putting the helmet on. I lost all of my peripheral vision, but at least my ear sockets weren’t covered by the helmet; if they were, I’d be partially blind and deaf..
 
I looked back at the captain again; this time, he gave me an approving nod. “It’s not as tight as it needs to be, but you definitely look like a Farrington guard. How does it feel?”
 
Not tight enough? Compared to what? “Like I’m being crushed, sir,” I answered, unconcerned with the strain that was in my voice.
 
He answered with an apologetic glance. “Eventually, I’ll look into getting something better-fitting. For now, it’s the best we can do. Just be thankful the Officers’ armor is more open than Sergeants’ or higher; I don’t think a fake tail would suit you.” I glanced at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about; then, I saw how the back of his armor covered his whole butt area, whereas mine stopped at the joints of my back legs.
 
Different armors aside, the captain said, “One more thing before we head out to the lobby, can you go—”
 
“Iron, are you insane? What the hell is this beast doing wearing guard’s armor?”
 
The livid voice came from the doorway of the armory. In order to see who it was, I had to turn all the way around, in short, heavy, clanking steps.

The captain cried out, “Lieutenant Starfall, good morning!” It sounded cheery and fake.

When I could finally see the doorway, there was a dark-blue pegasus standing in it. He was wearing silver armor, except the edges were all trimmed with gold. The main thing I noticed was his look of raw, burning hatred that focused directly on me. Then, turning to the captain, he brushed something off of his forehead and spat back, “Good morning, sir. Do you mind telling me what is going on with this... thing?” He gestured at me like he were trying to flick something gross off the end of his hoof.
 
My first instinct was to tackle the smug asshole. Then, I remembered the armor, and my job, and the captain’s words about “setting an example for my race.” Since I was crippled, outranked, and had to be honorable, the only thing I could do was seethe silently.
 
Captain Bulwark’s voice flecked with anger. “Starfall, that’s completely uncalled for. She’s one of your subordinate guards.”
 
Somehow, the lieutenant’s face got even more hateful as he turned to me, then glared back at the captain.
 
“No.”
 
I slowly turned my head so I could look between the captain and... the lieutenant; I wasn’t sure if he was my lieutenant. Silence fell hard on the room, and I felt exactly like I did the times that one of my other siblings had gotten in trouble.
 
Finally, Captain Bulwark spoke, “We’ll discuss this later.”
 
Lieutenant Starfall nodded. “Later indeed. And you...” He turned to me, and his face twitched a little while he picked his words out. “Stay out of my way,” he spat. Then, quickly and suddenly as he had shown up, he was gone.
 
I heard a sigh from my right, and the captain looked disappointed. “That could have gone better,” he said to me.
 
“It could have gone worse,” I mumbled absently, remembering how my armor had kept me from attacking him on impulse. I didn’t like being judged for what I was, but at the same time, it was something I was used to by now.
 
Something hit my back, right below my wing joints; instantly, I was flat—or as flat as the armor would allow; I couldn’t really bend my hind legs. Looking up and behind me, Captain Bulwark had wide eyes, but he pulled back his hoof from his congratulatory pat on my back. Smooth... I chided myself as I stood back up. At least you kept your tail down.
 
“Er... sorry,” he apologized, putting his hoof down. “But that’s the type of attitude you need to have about this sort of thing.” I nodded slightly, and he gestured over to a shelf on the back wall of the armory. “Grab a belt, and a baton, and... I’ll take you around for your first patrol.”
 
I walked over to the shelf where a dozen or so belts hung off hooks along the bottom. For belts, they were pretty plain; the important thing, I guessed, was that they each had several pouches and a length of thin rope hanging from them. I grabbed one, and there was a lip on my armor for it, so I got it in place easily enough.
 
Sitting on top of the shelf was a pile of six-inch metal tubes—batons. Each of them had a small, spherical tip on one end; on the other, fIatter end, they were branded with some strange lettering and the number thirty-seven. When I picked one up, the rounded tip was only about an inch away from my fist. What the hell is this for? Throwing?
 
The captain appeared on my left and picked up a tube of his own. “We got these because they’re less intimidating than the full-length truncheons. But...” He took a step backward, flicked the tube down, and it telescoped out to a much more useful length. “They pack about the same amount of punch. There’s more training that goes along with these, but most of it is focused on when to use them. I’m going to assume you can figure out which end to bludgeon criminals with?”
 
“Yes, sir.”
 
“Excellent,” he replied. “Then put it on your belt so we can get started with your patrol.”
 

*              *              *

 
Two hours later, I was starting to realize that the morning’s short, boring conversation with the captain was going to be the highlight of my day.
 
For starters, I wasn’t used to walking so much, let alone while wearing metal skin that was far too tight. Walking in Farrington was already crappy; I always had to bend my fingers back to avoid losing a talon in the cracks between the cobblestones. On top of that, both of my hands were recently injured: my right had a tender scab from early last week, and my left was still sore from punching a clock.
 
Additionally, I didn’t have the lung capacity to walk as fast as the captain wanted me to. I kept complaining, mentally, that griffins were better-suited for quick bursts of lethal energy, not endurance. Between hunts, most of our time was quiet and still. We weren’t lazy or anything, it was just that there was a clear relationship between energy and food: the more you exerted yourself, the more you needed to kill.
 
Ironically, I didn’t really care that everyone was staring harder than usual. That was because I was distracted by the pains of walking, and how I felt like I was being slowly chewed by a giant metal monster. No matter what I did, I was uncomfortable. I tried to take long, slow strides, but bits of skin, fur, and feathers kept getting caught in the seams between the plates. I tried taking shorter, faster steps, but that only succeeded in wearing me out quicker.
 
So, when Captain Bulwark slowed to a stop outside of a small restaurant around ten-thirty, it came as nothing short of a relief. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to go over ‘break policy.’ There’s no real set rules or limits for taking breaks, because you’ve got to complete a certain quota of circuits per hour...” he trailed off into a quiz.
 
I parroted his words from earlier. “It varies based on patrol, but this patrol’s quota is two per hour.”
 
He smiled and continued, “And since running for an entire circuit goes against protocol, we don’t really have to regulate if and when a pair of guards decides to take a short break.”
 
With a nod, I glanced at the restaurant we were apparently taking a break at. I knew it was a restaurant because of the wooden sign that hung above the door, but other than that, it looked like all the other businesses in the city: stone with small windows. The ponies’ houses in the Residential District were a little more decorative—they were wooden and painted whatever colors the owners wanted.
 
I looked back to the captain, and he was giving me an odd look. “So, then, ah...” he paused. “Do you need to go inside?”
 
“Need, sir?” I raised an eyebrow.
 
“That’s where the restrooms are,” he answered.
 
“Oh!” I realized what he was asking. “No. No.” Thankfully, it was true; I wasn’t looking forward to figuring out those ranges of motion that my armor would and wouldn’t allow.
 
“Well, then,” the captain looked at the restaurant’s door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be brief.”
 
He stepped inside the restaurant, and again, I noted how his armor covered a lot more than mine did. With a shrug, I figured maybe I didn’t have it so bad in that regard. Anyway, I tried pushing that whole train of thought out of my mind, but the longer I stood there, alone, the more and more disturbing it got to think about what the captain was doing in there.
 
Then, from behind me, I heard a heavily-accented voice. “Well, well, well... what’ve we got ‘ere?”
 
The morning’s patrol had given me some practice, so I could turn around somewhat fluidly. When I did, I saw a sapphire-blue stallion with a bright red mane that bordered on “garish.” I didn’t catch his cutie mark, which was something I had to work on as a guard, but I did remember my manners. “Hi.”
 
He smiled, but the friendly gesture just made me feel a sense of dread for some reason. “‘Ello there, Officer...”
 
“I, uh, I’m not an officer yet,” I corrected him. Then I forced myself to stick out my hand. “But it’s Gilda.”
 
The red-maned stallion looked at my hand, then shook it. “It’s nice to meet you, not-yet-Officer Griffin.” I hid my annoyance as we broke out of the handshake; then, we just stared at each other for a few moments. “But where are my manners? I’m...” He tapped his hoof to his chest. “I’m the reason you’ve got a job right now, love.” He started walking in a circle around me, and I turned to keep my eye on him. “‘Course, when one o’ my associates told me that Bulwark’s got his own pet griffin, I thought he was having a laugh at first. But no, your captain, ‘e seems to think I’m something other than a legitimate business stallion... apparently enough to sic a Northerner on me.”
 
The more he spoke, the less I liked this guy. “Uh... what?” I didn’t know whether I was questioning his condescending tone or his crazy accusations.
 
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Open your pretty li’l eyes, love. No one hires someone for free, ‘specially not a guard. Your captain’s been harassing me for years, trying to catch me in the middle o’ something I’m not even remotely a part of. Now, ‘ere you are.” He widened his eyes and swept a hoof off into the distance. “A griffin! Captain Bullwark’s latest and greatest tool for puttin’ the screws to the citizenry.”
 
Behind me, the door to the restaurant flew open and a voice commanded, “Get away from her. Now.”
 
The red-maned stallion looked back behind me. “Well, well, well... speak of the Devil, eh?”
 
Captain Bulwark walked up beside me and continued, “You are now obstructing Guard operations. Leave. Now.”
 
“All right, all right.” The crazy guy waved a dismissive hoof. “I was on my way, anyway.” He turned and began walking away. Then, he looked back at me. “If you’re looking to be part o’ something tha’ respects you instead of just makin’ you a faceless tool, come up to the Artisan District later.” He kept walking after that, then he turned onto another street, and he was gone.
 
When I looked at the captain, he had his hoof on the hilt of his sword. He saw me looking, so he put his hoof down and muttered something about “half his assets.”
 
“Assets, sir?” I asked.
 
The captain shook his head. “Nothing of consequence, I suppose.”
 
He was still glaring off into the distance, after our weird visitor, so I asked, “Who was that?”
 
My question shook him out of his thoughts, and he grinned, slightly. “That, cadet, was a very dangerous individual.” I looked at the captain waiting for more of an explanation, and he looked back at me. “What did you two talk about?”
 
I shrugged. “Something about how you’re only hiring me because I’m a griffin so you can ‘put the screws to’ citizens.”
 
“And you didn’t believe him?” the captain sounded torn between relief and confusion.
 
I looked back at him. “The fun thing about getting talked down to by someone? Makes it really hard to take them seriously when they say they can help you. At least you’re real with me.” The captain raised an expectant eyebrow, so I concluded, “Sir.”
 
He nodded slightly. “I’d apologize for requiring formalities, but the chain of command is critical for the Guard to function.” He gestured off to the direction that the strange stallion had gone off in. “But anyway, we’ve got a patrol to continue.”
 
We both started walking, the captain continued his lecture about the chain of command, but that only made me think back to that morning, when the pegasus lieutenant had straight-up disobeyed the captain’s orders. He seemed to have something against me, too...
 
Captain Bulwark wrapped up his point and asked, “Any questions, cadet?”
 
For the first time that morning, I had one. “So, captain... am I going to meet any other dangerous individuals today?”
 

*              *              *

 
After lunch, Captain Bulwark took me back to the Guard’s headquarters to wait for Sergeant Justice, my sergeant and supervisor for the rest of the day.
 
The desk in the lobby was empty, except this time, there was a cute little sign that read, “Out to Lunch, Leave a Memo for Memo.” I glared at what I suspected was a pun, even though I didn’t get it.
 
Instead of dwelling on it, I went over to the right-hand side of the lobby to wait for Sergeant Justice. I wished I could sit on one of the low-lying benches, but mostly, I was glad to have a moment to collect my thoughts and take a break from walking.
 
My first impression of being a guard was that it was easy to learn, hard to do. The most I had to think about anything was going to be memorizing laws and Guard regulations for dealing with situations, but really, it was a lot of “act according to the situation.”
 
The hardest part for me, at least, was going to be the personal parts of the job: routine, reliability, and politeness. I hated having to be nice to assholes; it was one of the least-fair things that the captain had taught me about that morning. He had confidence in my self-restraint, or he said as much, which made me think it was doable. Similarly, I’d have to get another alarm clock before going home for the evening, but that was about all I needed to do to stick to a rigid schedule.
 
But routine—every day, being a guard for eight hours... it was physically taxing. I hated how exhausted it made me. My armor was heavy, unwieldy, and tight. Captain Bulwark assured me that once it was more certain that I was going to stick around with the Guard they’d work on getting something custom-forged for me. That just made it seem like I was stuck between a rock and another rock, and then they were tied around me with a strong length of chain...
 
Around two, the front door of the citadel opened, and an older, purple mare took one step, met my gaze, and called out, “Oh, very funny, Iron.” Her voice rang with a strange accent, and as she walked over to me she started muttering incoherently; the only word I caught was the end, when she breathed, “prick.”
 
Once in front of me, the pony—by her silver armor, I guessed she was my sergeant—looked me over from head to talon. Even though she was sizing me up, it felt refreshing to be eye-level with someone after being loomed over by Captain Bulwark all morning. Finally, my sergeant spoke up: “Griffin, huh?”
 
“Yep,” I answered.
 
She nodded, then shrugged, seeming to come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t getting a new pony underling. “The captain says you’re good, so that’s good by me. You ready to go, Hilda?”
 
I needed to correct her, but first, protocol. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, raising my hand as close to my head as I could for a salute. It couldn’t reach, so I just sort of held it out in the air in front of me.
 
My sergeant grimaced at the whole display. “No, no, no. I don’t care what the captain says, don’t ‘ma’am’ me all the time.” She looked at my hand. “And what the hell is that? A griffin salute?”
 
“I can’t reach my head,” I said flatly.
 
Apparently not taking my word for it, she grabbed my arm with a bright-purple hoof and rotated my shoulder joint a few times. I was amused enough to let her, but finally, she let me go and shook her head. “Iron’s on a comedy spree today, Hilda. I’ll be right back.”
 
She rushed through the door on the right side of the room, and two things went through my head:
 
First, I needed to get her calling me by my actual name. True, Father named me “Gilda,” but it was a hell of a lot better than “Hilda.”
 
Secondly, I wondered if she’d keep calling the captain by his first name to his face. For everything that I learned about the chain of command today, everything seemed to fall apart in practice.
 
A few moments later, she returned, carrying some straps in one hoof. She gave them to me and said, “Iron seems to have forgotten his own days as a private. Put these on.”
 
The straps looked like miniature belts, and I was confused for a moment; then it clicked. Four straps on my armor, four straps in my hand. I unbuckled my armor, then worked on putting the strap lengtheners on. When I finished, my armor was still uncomfortable, but it was loose enough where I could move—and breathe—again.
 
After a quick test of “sitting,” I stood up and nodded at my sergeant. “Thanks, m...uh, dude?”
 
She frowned with one eyebrow. “Try again, Cadet Hilda.”
 
“Thanks, Sergeant Justice,” I tried. It’s now or never. “But my name’s Gilda. With a ‘G.’”
 
That just made her roll her eyes. “Tell you what, ‘Gilda with a G,’ I’ll call you Gilda if you call me Sherry.”
 
“Works for me, Sherry,” I said.
 
She smiled and stuck a hoof out; I shook it.
 
“Anyway, Gilda, talk is boring. Let’s go outside, look for ass that needs kicking, and you can teach me how to patrol.”
 
The rest of my afternoon was almost a complete reversal of the morning. Where Captain Bulwark was all about rules, regulations, and stiffness, Sherry was laid back and fluid—but she was careful about keeping me in line, just like the captain had been.
 
True to her word, for the whole afternoon, Sherry played coy and let me explain to her everything that we were doing, and why we were doing it. I had to draw on a lot of my knowledge from that morning, but somehow, she seemed to ask just the right questions so that I could answer almost everything.
 
By the time clock tower chimed five times, I had definitely gained a respect for my sergeant. We walked back to the Guard’s headquarters, which she told me was called a “Citadel.” When we got there, she turned to me and said, “Looks like you survived your first day, huh?”
 
“Yeah,” I said. The whole Guard thing still seemed daunting, but I felt as if I had learned a lot that first day. I also felt that, given enough time, I could actually function as a city guard. That thought caused the hint of a smile to form at the edges of my beak.
 
Sherry responded by baring her teeth at me and squinting one eye. Before I could ask her what she was doing, she mused, “Heh. You smile weird.”
 
That killed it.
 
Instantly, she shot me an apologetic look and patted my shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try, though.”
 
I raised an appreciative eyebrow and grinned. “So, uh, what do I do now?”
 
“Dunno,” she answered. “Whatever griffins do for fun.”
 
The dismissal was clear to me, so I bowed my head a little. “See you tomorrow.”
 
“Night, Gilda,” she responded. Then, her eyes shot open. “Oh! Don’t take off too quick; Iron’s got some stuff for you at the south gate.”
 
With that, I left her for the evening. I didn’t go south right away, though; I needed to get a replacement clock. I turned and headed to the small shop that I had bought my first clock at, eight days ago; hopefully, they’d have another one in stock just like it.
 



 
By four-thirty, I should’ve been done with my lieutenant’s duties and on my way home. My schedule was screwed up this week; I was usually the night lieutenant. Since two guards were still hospitalized—and another was out with the flu, damn him—I had offered to take over the day lieutenant’s shift to make things easier.
 
It should have given me more time to spend at home with my children. However, since Iron had apparently gone completely insane in the last week, I had to go visit him on the south end of the city before I could go home for the evening. He was a smart stallion, but if I let him stew, it would be harder for him to see reason.
 
So, after leaving my armor in the Citadel, I went to go visit him at his station. As expected, he wasn’t happy to see me. When I saw his frown, I realized the feeling was mutual, and I asked, “Just what the hell was that about earlier?”
 
“You. Tell. Me.” He bit off each word.
 
I shook my head. “Don’t even act like you’ve got a hoof to stand on here.” I pointed at him. “When you gave me the paperwork for a new guard, nowhere did it say, ‘This guard is a mindless killing machine from the filthy half-breed cesspool to the north.’” I pointed a hoof on it. “There’s even a line for it, Iron. ‘Risk factors.’ And you wasted it on ‘possibly violent father?’”
 
Iron blinked a few times. “Okay. Here’s where we’ll begin.” He put both of his gold-armored hooves on the counter inside his room. “Call her ‘half-breed’ again, and I will dock your pay for a week.”
 
That caught me off-guard; Iron rarely threatened guards with their pay. As annoyed as I was at him throwing his weight around, he was captain, and I had a family to provide for. “Okay,” I agreed.
 
“Secondly, if you defy me like that in front of a subordinate again...” He grit his teeth. “Don’t make things difficult for me, Star.”
 
“You’re the one—”
 
“No, you disobeyed—”
 
I slammed both of my hooves on top of his.  “Griffin, Iron. After what they did to Comet, what part of putting her under me sounded like a good idea? Or are you trying to get me to resign?”
 
We glared at each other for a few moments before Iron broke the silence. “Get out of my face, and let’s continue this conversation like adults.”
 
With a flap of my wings, I pushed off the windowsill, stood up, and raised my front arms in surrender. Then I put them on the ground and folded my wings back in. “Fine. Sorry about doing it in front of the new recruit. But no, it really wouldn’t have worked.”
 
Iron raised an eyebrow. “Still?”
 
The question had some weight to it, but I couldn’t forgive griffins for what they had done to my wife. And I knew it would only cause problems if I tried to be the lieutenant who oversaw the one griffin in the Guard. So I answered with a nod. “Still.”
 
He sighed, then shrugged. “Maybe it was a lapse of judgement on my part, then.” He rolled the shrug into a stretch, and he stifled a yawn. “You know this means I’m going to have to juggle sergeants around. And I’m going to have to work late hours to get caught up on my captain’s duties.”
 
I shrugged apologetically, then asked, “Why’d you have to hire a griffin, of all things?”
 
Iron closed his eyes and he looked... sad. “Because she needed it. And a few individuals in this city need her... if not personally, then by presence.” His eyes flashed open and he stated, “They’re not all savages, Star.”
 
“Yes they are,” I corrected him. But we’d had this conversation before, so I changed the subject. “So, how’d she do for her first day, anyway?”
 
“Splendidly,” he returned, flatly. “Her armor doesn’t fit, she struggles with the boundaries of ‘appropriate behavior,’ and she met Red Hooves.”
 
I was tired of standing in front of Iron’s station, so I walked around to the side, turned, and stood up, propping my back on the wall. I crossed my front legs to match the posture, which was more comfortable than it looked. And it let me keep my hoof near my knife’s sheath. “No shit,” I chuckled. “How’d that turn out?”
 
“He offered her a job, but wisely walked away before things escalated.”
 
I suppressed a chuckle. “Iron, I’m afraid to go hoof-to-hoof with that animal. And, like Comet always nags, I spend too much time with ‘that darn thing.’” I tapped my knife with a hoof. “And I saw how stuffed into my old armor your cadet was; I doubt she’d be any help.”
 
Iron didn’t say anything; instead, he just grunted agreement. There wasn’t much to say, really; Iron was an orphan, and when he was sergeant, he had looked up to his lieutenant like a father. When Red Hooves killed Lieutenant Spade... well, everyone took that one personally.
 
Of course, there was no proof of that; just like he got the judge to say, the only eyewitness report could’ve applied to either Red Hooves or his sister.
 
We stood there, silently but amicably, for a good few minutes. Then, Iron greeted, “Good evening, Gilda.” Mentally, I sighed; couldn’t she leave a pair of friends alone? Then Iron continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so hateful while holding so cute a clock.”
 
At that, I fell onto my front hooves to take a look at what he was talking about. Sure enough, the griffin was holding a cutesy alarm clock that featured a rabbit that rang the bells. And sure enough, her immediate response was brutality: “Rabbits are food, not blacksmiths.”
 
I scoffed, and she looked at me; I wondered if she recognized me without the armor. I pointed at her and turned to Iron. “And that is why you’re nuts, Iron.”
 
She glared at me and Iron ignored me, turning to her. “So, how was Sherry?”
 
“Informative,” the griffin said with an indifferent shrug. I saw what Iron meant about “acceptable behavior,” but I didn’t say anything. She wasn’t my responsibility.
 
Iron leaned out of his booth and cracked a grin. “Extension belts...” Then, his eyes widened and he apologized, “I apologize, cadet; I should have remembered my smaller days.”
 
I hoofed at the dirt below me; normally, that would’ve been an excellent setup to a joke about how I was three-quarters of an inch taller than Iron. It didn’t feel right with the griffin there. Nothing did.
 
She shrugged again. “It sucked, but it didn’t let anything else distract me.”
 
“Then at least something good came out of it,” Iron agreed. Then he held out a trio of scrolls to give to the griffin; Farrington Guard’s standard rules, regulations, and policies. “These may be a bit drier than Sherry’s lessons, but they’ve got the same information in them for you to review over nights. Just... be gentle with them.”
 
There it was: Iron’s hypocrisy over my prejudices. I scoffed. “Like that animal’s not going to shred them in its claws.”
 
Iron was about to say something, but the griffin interrupted him with, “I’ll be careful, sir.” She turned to me with a glare, looked over her shoulder at the city, and then turned back at me.
 
Then, Iron’s pet griffin spat in my eye.
 
“Gah!” I was more frustrated than angry. By the time my knife was out of its sheath, she was twenty feet away and in the air; even with her armor, we’d probably be over Sharptallon Lake before I caught her. It wouldn’t be worth it to fight blind.
 
Behind me, Iron burst out laughing. It started as a few escaped chuckles, but then it rolled into an uncontrollable fit, and he was in tears by the end, when he finally regained enough control to offer me a towel.
 
I glared at him for a moment before I sheathed my knife and took the towel. As I wiped off my face, I suppressed a gag; her spit stank. After my eye was clear, my vision was still blurry. Better not be permanent, I seethed.
 
On my right, Iron was grinning like an idiot, so I balled the towel up and threw it in at him. It hit him in the mouth, effectively shutting him up.
 
“How do they even spit?” I asked. “They don’t have lips.”
 
“Accurately,” he answered, overjoyed. I glared at him, and he continued, “I’m not thrilled that she did that, but come on... everything else aside, you know at least know as well as Maxie does that she’s sensitive about her gender.”
 
Despite myself, I chuckled; I had forgotten about Iron’s sister’s mishap in the post office two weeks ago. Still... “So, what are you going to do about that?”
 
He looked at me with a strained grin. “Two off-duty guards, outside the city limits? Star...” He shook his head, still smiling. “I’m going to remember that image, over and over, every hour of overtime I work this week because of you.”
 
I sighed and shook my head. Then I walked back to my usual spot of wall and stood up on it again. Iron had a point, I had to admit—he did, technically, hire a guard, and I, technically, was making his bad choice harder on him.
 
And it was a bad choice.
 
Despite his “racial ambassador” angle he was trying to pull, I knew exactly how everything would end up. She’d try living like a civilized being, but then the stresses of living in an intelligent community would overwhelm her, she’d snap, and then she’d be a danger to Iron’s beloved city.
 
I put my hoof on my knife’s hilt, taking a small comfort in the fact that I’d be there to stop her, when the time came.
 
I couldn’t put it into thoughts, how much I hated that entire disgusting race. For all I cared, they could go die in a fire, and from what I heard, they were in the process of doing that anyway. So why? I pulled the knife out and looked at the blade, near the hilt; it had a small engraving of an “S” and a “C” surrounded by a heart. Why Comet?
 
“Bit for your thoughts?” Iron asked.
 
I swallowed hard, then asked, “Think she knows who did it?”
 
“Starfall...” came a warning voice.
 
I slammed a hoof against the side of his station. “I mean, what could Comet possibly have done to deserve...” Like every time I thought about it, the image of Comet flying for her life, then losing, then... I tried to put it out of my mind. I couldn’t.
 
“What would it change if she did know the individual who attacked your wife?” Iron’s voice sounded oddly close, so I turned to my right; his head was craned around the corner of his booth.
 
I wanted to ask how he was standing like that, but his question was more important. I thought about it, then admitted, “I... I don’t know. I just want some damn answers.”
 
Iron raised an eyebrow. “Then ask her. Or stop using your questions as a shield for your prejudices.”
 
I sighed; Iron was still angry about what had happened that morning. I didn’t want to keep fighting. “Again, I’m sorry about breaking the chain of command in front of your cadet. Will you forgive me if I start treating the griffin with respect?”
 
“No,” Iron said, shaking his head. “I’ll forgive you because you’re my friend, even though you’re a friend who says and does stupid things when angry. I want you to come to terms with Comet, Gilda, and all the other griffins in your own way, not just for my sake.”
 
I nodded back to him. “I’ll work on that, then.”
 
“Good,” he said, and he retracted himself back into the guard station. “That is an incredibly uncomfortable way to stand, for the record.”
 
I raised my head and stared up to the sky. “Yeah, were you mounting your desk in there or something?”
 
“Hey! She is a classy piece of oak; don’t talk about her like that!” Iron shot back with mock choler. I smiled at his joke, but I was more glad that he made it in the first place.
 
The clock tower struck six off in the distance, and I looked back at Iron. “Anyway, Comet’s expecting me. What time do you get off your shift?”
 
He shrugged. “Probably closer to seven.”
 
“You and Maxie should come over for dinner tonight; Comet’s pot stickers are amazing.”
 
An odd expression came over his face. “Maxie’s in Stalliongrad tonight, and vice-versa...” I hid a laugh in a quiet cough, but Iron continued, “But, yes, I’ll take you up on that offer.”
 
“See you after your shift, kid,” I said with a smile as I left. Iron was only few months over a year younger than I was, but we both liked my joke about it.
 
I considered flying around the city, because I lived near the north gate, but that evening, I wanted to take the long route home. Today had been a long day, and I wanted to sort everything out before I settled down for the night. As I walked up the main drag of Farrington, my mind flowed with thoughts of the Guard, the griffin, and Comet.
 
My trip home was quiet and peaceful, but in my heart, I knew it was the high humidity before a great summer’s storm.


> 2 - Wer Bist Du?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I had not thought about the repercussions of attempting to fly while wearing what felt like a hundred pounds of metal. Then again, I hadn’t recognized Starfall at first—his mane was cut close to his head, save for a slightly longer stripe down the middle—so the whole thing had been somewhat impromptu.
 
Anyway, after my quick departure from Farrington, the sharp pain in both my wings made it impossible to enjoy spitting in an asshole’s face. If there was any comfort to be had, it was that my armor didn’t constrict my wings at all. When I got up to full speed, it took less effort to keep myself aloft than it had to take off, but I was still beating my wings harder than I ever had to before.
 
When I finally got to my home turf, I realized it would be suicide to try “griffin fishing” in my armor. Instead, I went up to my cave to put everything away. Not only did I have the armor, but there were the reading scrolls, my coin sack... and that stupid clock.
 
Some pony had a lot of fun making that thing, I knew. But I hated it. It featured a Farrington-style house, painted pink, with a clock set into one wall. The “alarm” portion, though, was two bells that got rang by two hammers that were held by an apparently house-sized rabbit that sat on the roof. I hated it, but it was the only one the store I went to had in stock.
 
So for dinner, I went down to the forest and found some rabbits. It made me feel better.
 
I thought I was done with the clock, but then I realized I had forgotten to set it before leaving Farrington. With a shrug, I guessed that it took me an hour to make the flight, then another half to eat, so I set the clock to seven.
 
With that taken care of, I turned my attention to my task for the evening: reading. Ironically, Father had insisted that I be well-versed in both the written languages of the Sharfkral and the ponies... as well as their history, military tactics, and anatomy.
 
Kenne deinen Feind, our old saying went. “Know your enemy.”
 
Captain Bulwark’s scrolls weren’t very long or difficult, so I was able to get through the first two by nine o’ clock. At that hour, the sun was too low for me to read anything else, which made me feel... disadvantaged, compared to ponies and their indoor lighting.
 
It hadn’t been the first time that day, either. Even the captain, who made a big show of “you can just set a good example,” didn’t really trust me with those scrolls. “Be gentle,” he had reminded me. And then Lieutenant Starfall...
 
I rolled up the scrolls I had finished and shook my head. Gilda, Cadet of the Farrington Guard? The whole thing still sounded crazy to me. I looked at the clock, then the scrolls, then down at my chest—the stripe from when I had almost killed Dash.
 
Which one was I?
 
I mulled that question over for a while, but then I realized it didn’t matter who I was; that night, I was exhausted. Even while I was reading, I had to fight to keep my eyelids open. One day as a guard had sapped all my energy, so I wound up that damn, cutsey alarm clock, set it far away from where I slept, fluffed up my blanket, and nestled down for the night.
 

*              *              *

 
The next morning, I caught two fish for breakfast, hoping that they’d keep me going longer than the one from yesterday. Then again, I could probably blame Farrington’s food for leaving me hungry; Captain Bulwark had bought me lunch, but he had flat-out banned me from hunting outside the city for my meals.
 
After breakfast, I got my armor on, picked up the scrolls, and took off for Farrington. Flying to the city was a lot easier than coming back from it; I started off higher, so I could glide down instead of forcing myself to rise.
 
When I got to the city, there were only three minutes until eight o’clock, which made me cringe; I needed to set my alarm clock better. I headed to the Citadel to wait for Captain Bulwark, and also, I thought it would be good to at least try to finish the third scroll. I knew he was going to have something to say about me only finishing two thirds of my night’s reading, but I’d have to explain that I didn’t really have any choice in the matter.
 
Inside the Citadel, a cheery, yellow mare was sitting behind the desk. Her bright eyes warmed in a smile when she saw me and offered a “Hi there!”
 
I waved back with a quiet, “Hey.” She took it as an invitation to start a small-talk conversation about me, my favorite color, and other trivial stuff. Her energy and happiness made it hard to shut her down, so I obliged her with what I could.
 
Despite the distraction, which I had to admit wasn’t that bad, I took small comfort in the fact that I could finally sit on the benches while Memo, as she introduced herself, chatted her favorite flower—daffodils—at me. Mine was a very small comfort, though; the metal lip of my armor still dug into my hips, shoulders, and neck...
 
I shook my head. I had reading to do. Memo either didn’t notice or didn’t care that I unrolled my third and final scroll and sped through it. As fast as I read, it still felt like a long time had gone by when I neared the end.
 
The door to the Citadel opened, and Memo stopped talking mid-sentence, so I knew I had to choose between looking busy and acknowledging Captain Bulwark’s presence; I decided the latter would be better, so I looked up and choked on my morning greeting.
 
Lieutenant Starfall was standing in front of me and glaring.
 
I tried not to panic, even though I didn’t like the idea of the two of us being alone together—especially after my “parting gift.” Instead of bringing that up, he just sneered and asked, “Why are you just sitting around?”
 
“I’m waiting for Captain Bulwark to get here, sir.” The word tasted bad in my mouth. “He’s running late this morning.”
 
The pegasus looked at the wall behind me, then back to me. “Your training shift doesn’t start until nine. Don’t sit around in the open, it makes the Guard look bad.”
 
Because I’m a griffin, I added. Asshole. “Sorry, sir,” I said out loud. Every time I had to call him that, I wanted to punch something.
 
For a brief moment, his glare softened, and he opened his mouth to say something. Apparently, he thought better of it, and he turned to walk into the door on the left-hand side of the room. As he passed her, he gave an oddly warm, “Hi, Memo.”
 
She responded by hunching down a little and responding with a quiet, “Hi.”
 
After that, Lieutenant Starfall walked through the door behind her, and she looked down at her desk in a muted, sad gaze. I thought about asking her what was up, but I didn’t really care, either; I had reading to do.
 
It was also possible for me to go deeper into the Citadel; Starfall hadn’t locked the door behind him, so I could have gone and joined him in a place that wasn’t out in the open. That sounded as fun as incubating a hedgehog, so I sat back down like a contemptuous bitch...
 
I smiled at Gerard’s term; then I remembered I’d never see him again, so I went back to my scrolls.
 
Ten minutes later, Captain Bulwark entered the Citadel, exchanged greetings with the secretary, then looked back at me with a grin. “You thought your shift started at eight, didn’t you?”
 
“Sorry, sir,” I apologized. “But I got to finish last night’s reading.”
 
I held the scrolls out, and he chuckled. “That wasn’t one night’s worth of reading... that was the entire week’s worth.”
 
No one tells me these things, I lamented. “Sir, I’m confused: they only took a few hours to read.”
 
“True, there’s not a lot to read, but it’s useful to remember.” I heard the doubt in his voice, like he thought I was lying. He pushed the scrolls back to me and said, “Hold on to them until Saturday, so you don’t forget anything on the test.”
 
“Test, sir?”
 
The captain nodded. “Saturday, you’ll have a short written exam to certify your knowledge of Farrington Guard procedures. It’s to make sure that you understood the training.”
 
With that clarified, we headed out on patrol. That morning, instead of a lecture, Captain Bulwark spent the morning quizzing me over the scrolls’ contents. I told him what I remembered, and there weren’t a lot of gaps in my knowledge. And the best part was that I was too busy reciting facts and bylaws to notice how, again, everyone’s head turned to stare at me as I walked past.
 
When it was time for lunch, the captain led me to a restaurant, and he seemed impressed with my retention. “If you want this, Gilda, it will happen.”
 
I doubted his encouragement. Surely, there was more to being a guard than three scrolls’ worth of knowledge?
 
As if he read my mind, the captain clarified, “Granted, you won’t be able to give directions or help with current events until you learn the city itself, but that will come naturally once you’ve been here for a while. For now, you have a very solid foundation of our street laws.”
 
“Street laws, sir?” I asked.
 
“Well, yes, cadet. There’s more laws than the guards are able to enforce that govern this city. For example, you’re not going to have to go to around inspecting houses making sure they’re up to fire-safety code.”
 
That made sense, and that explained why everything seemed so simple—because it was. I swelled with joy when I realized what the captain meant: if I wanted to, I could be a city guard.
 
Confidence was not something that came easily in Father’s household. I remembered when he had taught me about a powerful healing herb—complete with an example wound to treat. It had taken three hours to find it, and as a “reward,” I was kicked out of our cave for the rest of the day, because I took so long...
 
We were stopped, in the middle of the street, and Captain Bulwark looked at me with a hint of concern. “Are you okay, Gilda?”
 
“What, sir?”
 
“You started to look pleased with yourself, but then you came to a halt and your expression turned...” He paused to find the right word. “Harrowed.”
 
“Sorry, sir,” I said without thinking. The captain still looked worried, but he didn’t press the matter any further. I was grateful; the past few weeks had brought up far too many memories of my childhood. Still, I felt like I needed to say something, so I added, “I’m just stoked that being a guard might actually work out for me.”
 
That answer made him grin, proudly. “Well, I’m glad for that. Now, let’s go to lunch.”
 
My stomach growled, and I agreed. “Yeah, right now, I’m so hungry, I could eat a hor—” I barely caught myself in time, but now I was stuck with half a word. To fix it, I played up the language barrier card and started sputtering random syllables: “nen... ko... blitzen.”
 
Captain Bulwark turned and stared blankly at me before smiling, “Okay, I’ll bite. What in the world is a Hornenkoblitzen?”
 
I remembered last Sunday, with Dash, how lying got me in trouble, but now, I was in too deep to quit. The best option was to go with something obscure that would never come up again: “They’re... those weird tree things in the desert with all the spikes,” I lied.
 
“A... a cactus?” the captain asked, wide-eyed and stumped. “I’ve been to every restaurant in this city, Gilda, and I don’t think any of them offer cactus.”
 
I raised an eyebrow. “It’s an expression, sir. But shouldn’t you be more concerned with how I’d be tripping balls afterwards?”
 
His face hardened. “Gilda...” he warned.
 
I bowed my head and raised a hand in surrender. “Sorry, sir.” He had a point; I needed to start to watch what I was saying. One “Hornenkoblitzen” was enough to show me that.
 
We ended up at an outdoor café for lunch, and both of us ordered potatoes. They weren’t my least favorite pony meal; they were cheap, didn’t try to taste good, and they filled me up better than a lot of other dishes. Not only that, but today, I could actually sit upright at the table; it was a vast improvement over yesterday’s over-tight armor fiasco.
 
While we waited for our food to arrive, Captain Bulwark continued the tradition of telling me about the history of Farrington, and again, I noted how amusing it was to see him getting excited about something. It almost sounded like Dash and the Wonderbolts, except the captain had a bigger vocabulary. It made me smile.
 
When our lunches came, the captain turned his attention to his cheese-covered mess, so I changed the subject a little. “So you really think I’ll make a good guard?”
 
He nodded, then swallowed. “But I think a better question is, do you think you’d make a good guard?”
 
I took a moment to think about it and came up with, “The training’s a lot to remember, but it’s not impossible.” Captain Bulwark smiled at me, but I had other things to bring up. “That’s not what bothers me, though. I mean, still, ponies are staring at me like I’m some sort of freak. Like, more than usual.” I shrugged. “I’ll get over it, I guess, but I can’t help but feel like I don’t fit in.”
 
“Well, you don’t, Gilda,” he replied, and I deflated a little. “But you’ve been a guard for less than two days. Ponies still aren’t used to seeing a griffin walking around in city, let alone one in Guard’s armor. Their attention will die down once you start to become part of their day-to-day routine.” He cracked a wary grin and added, “Plus, it’s not every day that I get away from the south gate and patrol like this. So, some of their bewilderment is probably directed at me, too.”
 
I hadn’t thought about it like that; yeah, I was a sore thumb, but I supposed the captain was a pretty important figure. Also, he hadn’t wanted for both of us to be paired; I remembered yesterday, when Lieutenant Starfall had blown off the chain of command.
 
After we dug into our meals a little, the captain surprised me. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what do you do in your spare time?” It was the first time he had asked about me, personally, instead of stuff that related to me and the Guard, or me and my tribe.
 
I took a moment to think; the honest answer wouldn’t really be “appropriate table talk.” So in lieu of that, I went back to my childhood, back when I used to explore the massive cave system in Sharfkral-Grat. It had used to be homes; now, it was mostly empty. Still, I was honest when I answered, “I like caves.”
 
The captain nodded. “Interesting...”
 
“What?” I defended my hobby.
 
He raised an apologetic hoof. “I only meant, you can fly, yet you prefer to stay underground.”
 
“Well...” I started. I didn’t know whether or not I should tell him about why I preferred hiding in caves, or the reason why I was afraid to be out in the open. “It’s quiet there, so it’s a good place to be alone.” With a shrug, I admitted, “Things were already pretty dark, growing up.”
 
Captain Bulwark thought about what I had said for a moment, then responded in a sober tone. “We both spent a lot of time underground, cadet.” He wasn’t dismissing my childhood, but his tone both told me that he both understood and didn’t want to talk about his own past.
 
Morbidly, I wondered which of us had it worse growing up, but my rational side made me ignore it. Either way, now we were sitting in tense silence. I tried to break it. “It’s nice that we ended up outside, sir.”
 
Captain Bulwark said nothing in reply, but he looked up to the sky with a pensive grin. I looked up, too, to see if there was something up there; there wasn’t. When I looked back at the captain, he was looking at me now, and for a few moments, we just kind of looked at each other. During that time, I felt like his usual pretext was gone, or at least faded; his expression was a lot softer than usual.
 
It was weird.
 
Our waitress came by to interrupt our eye contact, and again, the captain offered to pay for my meal. “We’re together,” he told the waitress. Then, his eyes shot open, and he corrected, “I mean, I’m paying for her. Because she’s training with the Guard this week.”
 
The serving mare chuckled a little, and after she walked away, the captain uttered, “Damn.”
 
Having sat through that entire exchange, I was slightly confused, to say the least. Did the captain really take that much stock in his word choice? If that were the case, I felt sorry that I had heard him swear. I pulled out my coin sack from inside my armor. “I can pay for myself, if that’s how officers usually do it,” I offered.
 
He declined. “There’s no real set protocol for a cadet’s training week lunches; usually, there’s so few prospective applicants to the Guard that it’s not a big deal to take the money out of our expenses budget... besides, you don’t eat a lot.”
 
I speared the last of my potato on a talon, slid it in my mouth, and swallowed. “No offense, sir, but this stuff’s not really my thing.”
 
“Well...” He closed his eyes and waved a matter-of-fact hoof at me. “You had better get used to lunches inside the city...”
 
“I kn—understand, sir,” I caught myself.
 
He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get used to our cuisine over the next few months.”
 
After lunch, I met with Sherry again. Like the captain, she quizzed me over the scrolls I had read, and like the captain, she was impressed with how much I had learned in one night. When her quiz was over, she remarked, “I never knew griffins were so well-read.”
 
“I never knew that Farrington was founded over two hundred years ago by a mining guild,” I replied with a bit of trivia I remembered from Captain Bulwark’s impromptu history lesson.
 
Sherry looked at me consolingly, “Did Iron tell you the whole history of Farrington this morning?”
 
“No,” I replied, “it was at lunch.”
 
She barked out laughter at that; it was a kind of harsh sound, but that was just how she talked. “Oh, man. Iron’s city and Starfall’s kids. Two subjects to not bring up if you have anything to say during the next hour.” Seeing my confused look, she added, “Well, okay, Starfall hates you, but anyone else...”
 
I nodded before asking, “Why does he hate me, if you don’t mind telling?” In lieu of calling her “ma’am,” I tried to be polite because I was going off-topic.
 
“Oh, but I do mind, cadet,” she answered, patting her flank’s armor. “Gossip about my old lieutenant? I like my ass in one piece, thank you very much.” Then she brought her hoof to her face, made the motion of drawing a zipper across her mouth, and that was that.
 

*              *              *

 
The next few days passed without incident, for the most part. My armor still dug into me and my hands still hated walking around the city for hours on end, but I knew I was getting better at being a guard. I remembered my scrolls, my patrols, and to keep my mouth shut if it didn’t need opening.
 
Friday afternoon at his booth, Captain Bulwark and I filled out some paperwork, which he told me was necessary for me to legally be part of the Guard, and to receive pay—technically, he reminded me, I wasn’t an Equestrian citizen.
 
When we finished, he gave me a tiny scroll—the “Guard’s Oath.” It was pretty standard fare, or at least, it lined up with everything Captain Bulwark had taught me over the past week.
 
Near the end, I noticed that part of it had been scratched out. I read it out loud, “...and I swear by...” I held up the parchment to the captain and tapped the scribbles. “What went here, sir?”
 
“I didn’t think it would be appropriate to have you swear allegiance to Celestia,” he answered levelly.
 
Gratefully, I replied, “Thank you, sir. Because I wouldn’t have.”
 
He nodded, but I doubted he knew the half of it; Celestia, the pony queen, hadn’t exactly advertised her extermination of the Schnelfluge tribe. The more naïve part of me thought that it could’ve been out of shame; more realistically, I figured she didn’t want to scare her subjects with how white-hot her fury could burn.
 
“I left it open for you to decide who or what to swear to,” the captain continued, “but what would have happened if I did require you to take that oath?”
 
I thought about it. I could justify being a guard in a city, far away from the Equestrian capital. But I still had some loyalty to my race; I would never pledge allegiance to her. So I answered, “I would have given the armor back, thanked you, and left.”
 
“It would have been a shame to see you leave, Gilda.”
 
I looked south, thinking about what it would mean if I had to leave Farrington. I had no ties to the area, so I probably would have finally left my cave for a new place. Or at least, I could’ve cashed in on those travel plans I always had.
 
Then I looked back to the city’s wall and thought about the crappy stone streets filled with hundreds of ponies going about their daily business. The city was hard and distant, but something about Farrington was endearing, even if I couldn’t put a talon on it.
 
I turned back to Captain Bulwark. “It would have been a shame to leave, sir.”
 
After that, I finished my shift and went home for the evening. The whole time, I went over the oath in my head. By the time I was back in my cave, I was less concerned with what the oath said and more about what it meant.
 
I sat on my outcropping, looking over the Jägerwald as the sun set. The coming night was going to be a warm one, but there was still a breeze, so the late-May weather wasn’t oppressive yet. Above me, the sky darkened to purple, and the first stars of the night were starting to shine through.
 
It made me think back to home, and who else from my tribe would be looking up at them.
 
Yet there I was, hundreds of miles away, an outcast. However, it was only now that I felt I was about to take a huge step away from my tribe. If I took that oath tomorrow, I’d be part of Equestrian society—it didn’t matter that I was a “resident alien” instead of a full-blown citizen.
 
Was I ready for that?
 
Oaths themselves were severe in their simplicity; I knew how griffins in my tribe were expected to uphold them. I shook my head and reminded myself that my tribe’s views didn’t matter: the Sharfkral were bound by their own laws to not care about what I was doing with my life. I didn’t have to honor their laws while I was banished, and since the price of going back was too high, I was going to remain here, alone until...
 
I closed my eyes and bowed my head. I didn’t want to think about it.
 
Then a fire lit in my chest, and I whipped my head back up, glaring off at the horizon. “Not thinking about it” was my favorite flavor of cowardice, so I laid it all out bluntly. I wasn’t a Sharfkral unless I killed Dash, and I had a stripe to remind me just how evil that was. If I clung to their laws, I’d have to break my own morals. So what, exactly, was wrong with distancing myself from my tribe?
 
Even back home, I used our legends, not our laws, for guidelines on how to live. And even though I was far away from the original texts, I could still remember most of their lessons.
 
I looked up; that night, there were no clouds, so I could see the entire beauty of the cosmos: stars that shimmered in different sizes and colors, great streaks of purple and green dust that flowed like wind, and a few, rare dots that were bright, steady, and different, somehow.
 
That night, I knew why the night sky was sacred to griffins. It was as beautiful as it was immense.
 
Above me, I found Jäger, god of the bountiful hunt. My tribe’s history stated that, back when he a was mortal, the elders of the tribe had sent him out into the Great Forest to hunt Hirsch, the great stag. For two weeks, Jäger went without food or drink as he stalked his prey. The night he found Hirsch, Jäger was approached by a mystical wolf whose pelt was the night sky and whose eyes were pale yellow moons. Jäger was so impressed by the creature’s beauty that, after felling Hirsch, he offered the kill as a tribute. In gratitude, the Sternwolf told Jäger its name, and then showed him the path to the night sky. There, the two of them remained, hunting together throughout the ages.
 
Some of the details of the story were probably exaggerated over time.
 
Still, the story emphasized patience and respecting nature’s beauty. I could get behind those virtues. The tale also held a bit of personal meaning to me: Jäger’s quest to fell Hirsch was the historical foundation of my own banishment. Over time, the Verbannungsprüfung became a punishment near the same level as death, but it started off as a coming-of-age ritual for young griffins.
 
I found comfort in the fact that Jäger, by his tribe’s standards, had also failed his quest. But in that failure, he became something better than he had been back home. I sighed, wondering what that meant about me.
 
Below me, the forest was dark and quiet. I entertained some morbid curiosity by  wondering what would have happened if I had returned to my tribe after killing Rainbow Dash. I wouldn’t have been hailed as a hero or anything by Father, but... I’d be able to see my sisters and some of the elders I liked. I wouldn’t be lonely anymore. Would that really be so bad a way to end up?
 
I turned to my right, and a withered, elderly griffin was perched next to me. For my part, I didn’t scream. I didn’t know who she was, but she sat slouched, like her whole life’s mistakes weighed heavily on her shoulders. Large patches of feathers and fur were missing, and the skin underneath was thatched with cuts and scars. When she turned face me, her left eye was missing, just like Father’s.
 
From her new position, I could see the spots on what remained of her chest feathers, and the deep scars on the flesh below.
 
I turned away in disgust, to my left. There, another griffin sat. She was the same age as the gnarled, gray ghost on my right, but unlike her, this griffin sat tall, proud, and bore the gold-trimmed armor of a Farrington lieutenant. It had been custom-forged for her, and she wielded an ornate spear instead of the gold-hilted sword that Lieutenant Starfall and Captain Bulwark both wore.
 
She was triumphant, and she grinned at me out of the side of her beak.
 
I looked up to the night sky again, but this time, Jäger was alone in an otherwise empty sky. Slowly, the constellation turned, and his eyes blazed like suns. His beak opened, and he spoke in a voice that was as vast and deep as the night itself.
 

“WER BIST DU?”

 
From the back of my cave, my alarm clock rang, and I bolted awake. I was still sitting on my outcropping, and I had fallen asleep like that, so my butt was stiff as I walked over to turn off that stupid rabbit.
 
When it was quiet again, I could concentrate on my dream. It had been freaky and vivid, but mostly, I focused on Jäger’s question: “Wer bist du?”—“Who are you?” It didn’t take a genius to see that the two griffins were both me, just in the future. The Gilda on my right was what would’ve happened if I had fulfilled my Verbannungsprüfung. With a queasy pain behind my right eye, I realized how that Gilda’s injuries had been self-inflicted.
 
The Gilda on my left, though... who was she?
 
I walked back to my outcropping again to mull things over. I had time; it was eight o’ clock, my oath ceremony wasn’t until ten, and I wanted to make sure I was going. I looked up to the north, to the two societies I didn’t belong to. One had violently rejected me, and the other... was starting to tolerate me.
 
But it’s still acceptance, I realized. Is that so bad?
 
That question came back to the same question from my dream. “Who am I?” I asked the sky. Now that I was awake, the sky didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, so I thought back to my dream. In it, there had been a clear distinction between the heroic guard I might become and the wraithlike horror I would have turned into. In that sense, my brain was hinting that I preferred Farrington to Sharfkral-Grat, at least in my current situation.
 
That realization hit me heavily, but not necessarily in a bad way. I figured that was as good a sign as any that I’d do okay among the Farrington ponies.
 
I cracked a little smile, then I leaped up and swooped down to my pond. I had to get ready for my oath ceremony.
 



 
At a quarter past nine, a knock sounded at my door, so I set down the Farrington Times to go answer it.
 
“Morning, Iron,” Sherry greeted me from my doorstep. “You doing the oath thing naked, or what?”
 
I chuckled at her suggestion. “That’s not until ten; I figured I had at least five more minutes to read about what an inexperienced oaf I am.” Then I stood to the side of the doorway. “Come in, unless you want to beat me to the Citadel?”
 
Sherry shook her head as she walked through the doorway. “And be alone with those press svolochs? Hell no. I just wanted to make sure you’re ready for the big day.”
 
My armor was on its stand to the side of the front door, so I picked up the first half and started positioning it on my back. “It’s not my big day, Sherry. And what makes you think I’m not ready?”
 
“Because it’s not every day that ‘Captain Iron Bulwark’ puts his reputation out on the line like this,” she answered. Then she pointed at my kitchen table, and the newspaper. “And, you’re procrastinating.”
 
“I’m not...” I usually had Saturday mornings off, and Maxie slept in a lot, which meant that it was the one day of the week where I had a guarantee of more than three hours to myself. Guards were normally sworn in on a Saturday morning, so whenever we got a new officer, I technically had to act as captain for thirteen mornings in a row. I could pay the neighbor’s colt to do some chores around my home to make up some of that time, but I held my extended coffee and newspaper time to be sacred.
 
Then again, my coffee had gone cold before eight-thirty, and I had spent a lot more time reading parts of the newspaper that I usually skipped. With a sigh, I resigned, “Okay, then. Yes, I’m nervous. But this is huge, Sherry. Both for me, and Farrington... hell, I got a letter from Elpithasus last week, asking for me to get in touch with them for some international guidelines I need to follow.”
 
Sherry blinked. “That seems big. Did you write back yet?”
 
I let her question hang as I attached the lower half of the armor and started buckling it. Sherry stepped over and helped, which sped the process up immensely. Only when it was done did I answer, “The next caravan isn’t until Thursday, so no.”
 
“That’s a long time to wait...”
 
I put my helmet on as I shrugged. “I forgot that Maxie wasn’t speaking to me, so when I asked her how she’d feel about delivering a letter to the griffin capital...” I paused; two days later, the incident still came as a shock. “She... lit it on fire. I didn’t know she could do fire spells.”
 
Sherry chuckled, then went to the door and held it open for me while I slipped into my greaves. “Well, here’s hoping it’s nothing important.”
 
“Here’s hoping,” I agreed. With one last glance around my home to make sure nothing needed attention, I walked out the door. “Besides, Gilda mentioned some things about being banished, so I figure it’s only some definitive terms of that for me to follow.”
 
“Or maybe she’s a spy, and they’re sending you her control word.” Sherry closed the door behind me, hoofed the key off my belt, and locked it. She put it back with a pat. “So, you’re nervous about swearing in a griffin? Or do you just spend too much time with your evil twin?”
 
I smiled at her nickname for Starfall, but I mused, “If I had a pegasus and a unicorn as siblings, maybe I would feel a little betrayed by the odds of genes.” Sherry didn’t buy the deflection, so I continued, “I’m sure she’ll do fine. It’s the rest of the city I’m worried about. I’m sure you heard about Red Hooves?”
 
Her eyes widened as her mouth curled into a snarl. “Don’t—”
 
I raised a hoof. “You know what I mean. That situation is a powder keg waiting to go off, if he were serious about his ‘job’ offer.”
 
We walked in silence for a few blocks. Four years ago, Sherry had been happily engaged to Lieutenant Spade; four years ago, the lieutenant had been murdered in the line of duty while investigating Red Hooves’ illegal operations. Four years later, she was still mourning, a process that involved equal parts obsession and self-obliteration.
 
There was nothing healthy I could do to help her with it. She knew that if it ever affected her guard duties, she would be let go; four years later, and we hadn’t had to cross that bridge yet.
 
It didn’t stop her from trying from time to time. Like now, when she uttered, “You should just let me deal with him and be done with it.”
 
“Sherry, no,” was still my answer.
 
“You wouldn’t even know,” came her answer. Its openness scared me.
 
“You’ve held faith in the system for so long,” I reminded her. “Eventually, he’ll be brought to justice.” I poked her shoulder. “Not slain by some Stalliongrad gang war.”
 
We got onto the main drag, and I poked her shoulder again. That time, I saw the hint of a smile crack through her face, so I did it again, then again. Finally, she broke out in a laugh. “If you poke me with that greave one more time, it’s going inside you.”
 
I chuckled, but started walking with four hooves again. When we got to the Citadel, I turned to her. “I should go on inside and deal with the press; will you proctor her exam?”
 
Sherry glared at me. “You know? Nineteen years as a sergeant, and no, today, I don’t feel like doing it the way it’s always gone.” Then, her tone softened. “Go on inside, you’ll do fine. She’ll do fine, Iron.”
 
“Thanks Sherry.” I nodded. Then, I walked inside the Citadel to get things ready for the Farrington Guard’s newest addition.
 



 
That morning, when I got to the Citadel, my sergeant was sitting behind the desk. “Morning, not-yet-Officer Gilda.”
 
I nodded. “Hi, Sergeant Sherry.” Even formally, I couldn’t bring myself to call her by her last name.
 
She smiled at me. “Today’s the big day. You nervous?”
 
I thought about it before answering, “Not as nervous as I was on Monday.”
 
“Well,” she said lackadaisically, “Iron’s busy right now, but I can get you started on your exam if you want.”
 
The test itself wasn’t difficult; I had read the three scrolls almost every night that week, so I knew how to be a guard on paper. While I was finishing the exam, I heard the Citadel’s doors open, but I only had two questions to go, so I ignored it.
 
After I handed over my completed exam, I turned to see who had come in the room; he was a lieutenant I hadn’t met before. At first glance, I thought he was white, but on closer inspection, his coat was a very faint orange. He looked at me, then at Sherry, then pulled out a pair of dark-tinted glasses from his armor. “I don’t know why Starfall rejected you. It’s not every day that we’re griffin a new recruit.”
 
He put the glasses on while I fought to keep from groaning; then, the orange comedian introduced himself. “Officer Gilda, this is our first time meeting. I am Lieutenant Horatio.”
 
I had heard of him by name; apparently, the captain had done some sergeant-juggling to fix Lieutenant Starfall’s bigotry. “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” I said, holding out a hand.
 
He shook it quickly, like he wanted to speed things along. “Things are dying down at the hospital, so I expect we might see more of each other in the upcoming weeks. Still, I let my sergeants file their own ranks, so I doubt it’ll be much more.”
 
My lieutenant was blunt, but there was a sort of functional politeness to it. I got the feeling that he would see niceties and formalities as wasting his time, so I just nodded at his statement.
 
“Have you given any thought to whether you would prefer a late-morning or overnight?”
 
I hadn’t; my gut reaction was that I liked the night enough that it didn’t matter. “Which one do you need more?”
 
“Morning shift.”
 
“Then a morning shift, sir,” I replied.
 
Lieutenant Horatio nodded. “Report in at nine o’ clock on Monday morning.” Then, abruptly, he asked, “Sherry! How’d she do on the exam?”
 
“Passed, sir.”
 
“Then let’s go to the press room, they’re waiting for us,” he said. Sherry stood up and walked beside him, so I walked behind the pair of them as we headed... wherever we were going.
 
Our destination was a small, cool room on the left half of the Citadel. On the opposite end of the room, Captain Bulwark stood on a raised platform as he spoke to a unicorn, who held a pad and took notes with her magic. As soon as we entered the room, the captain gestured to us. “And here they are now!”
 
There was an explosion of light, and I froze. When I could see again, I had fallen behind my superior officers, so I jogged a few steps to catch up.
 
At the front of the room, the unicorn broke away from Captain Bulwark to speak to me, quickly and in my face. “Officer Gilda, this is News Reel for the Farrington Times, do you have a minute after the ceremony for an interview?”
 
I was flustered. I did not want to do an interview. I didn’t know if I was allowed to give an interview. I didn’t know what questions she would ask, or how long it would take...
 
Sherry stepped in. “Take a statement that Sergeant Shared Justice has declined permission for her officer to give an interview.”
 
The dejected news unicorn stepped back, writing something on her notepad. “Thanks,” I whispered to Sherry.
 
“No worries, press is scum,” came her hushed answer.
 
The three of us climbed up the stairs of the platform in the back of the room and stood in order of rank while Captain Bulwark introduced us. Then he led into a speech about the purpose of the Farrington Guard, and how its duty was to protect citizens against all threats, both internal and external. He played me off as a new step forward in pony-griffin relations; I didn’t want to correct him.
 
When he finished, the captain turned to me and asked, “Are you ready to become a guard of Farrington, Gilda?”
 
I’m here, aren’t I? I asked him in my mind, but I realized the whole ceremony was for show anyway. “Yes, sir,” I played my part. We stared at each other for a very long moment; I didn’t know what he was waiting for.
 
Sherry sneezed loudly, but it came out sounding like “Oath!”
 
Right, it clicked.
 
Ever since Junior Speedsters’, I didn’t like canned speeches. However, the Guard’s Oath was more somber and serious than bragging about “sky-bound soars and daring dives.” I recited the words from the scroll, plus my addition near the end:
 
“I have taken upon myself the task of defense of Farrington and its citizens. Through my role as a guard, I swear to maintain the peace in this city by whatever means are necessary. I swear to put my duty before my family, my friends, and even my own life if need be. I understand the gravity of this oath, but I swear by my honor that I will do everything within my power to uphold it.”
 
On saying the words, I felt a wave of relief wash over me; it was real, now. Several more explosions of light followed my oath, but I blocked them out because Captain Bulwark smiled at me warmly and shook my hand.
 
“Welcome to the Farrington Guard, Officer Gilda.”
 

*              *              *

 
I got out of my oath ceremony after about twenty more minutes of the captain’s speeches, press’s photos, and a growing feeling of personal excitement. This is happening, I realized, but I fought to keep my face neutral and dignified; I didn’t want a weird smile to make it to the front page of the newspapers.
 
Once outside, I hesitated for a moment as I chose whether to go left or right. Left would take me home, but I wanted to celebrate becoming an officer. At the very least, I wanted to tell someone about my recent accomplishment. My family was out of the equation and my sergeant and captain had been there at ceremony, so I settled on Dash.
 
As soon as I thought of her, I remembered my trip to Ponyville and everything that I had done to her. I had apologized at the end, but looking back, I wondered how much that actually counted. “Saying” and “doing” were two different things.
 
I didn’t want to be the type of griffin that just left things said and undone.
 
I turned right and walked to the post office. Technically, it was my turn to send her a letter, anyway—and despite being in the city every day for the last six days, I hadn’t checked my mail. For all I knew, she had written something.
 
Inside the post office, a glare and an accusatory hoof greeted me. “YOU!”
 
“Wrong letter.” I pointed back with a grin. “My friends call me ‘G.’ You can call me Officer G, though.”
 
I didn’t know whether she was more horrified over my rank, or if she thought I was actually offering friendship, but she just stood there, wide-eyed and silent.
 
“Anyway...” I made a few air circles with my hand. “You know the drill. Any mail for me?”
 
She shook her head.
 
“Then I’d like—”
 
“Just write your damn letter and leave!” she shouted, levitating a piece of paper across the room at me.
 
Rude as she was, I wasn’t going to complain about getting out of there sooner. I took the paper and went over to the usual desk. Then, despite having more going on in my life in one week than I had in years, I realized I didn’t know how to start my letter to Dash. I had almost killed her as part of a nervous breakdown or something; I didn’t know how to address that. Should I be coy, like, “How’s your neck?” or repentant, like, “I’m so sorry...”
 
Finally, I settled on:
 


Hey Dash,
 
How have you been?
 
I still think about everything that happened two weeks ago, but I don’t know what else to say. Part of me hopes there’s nothing left TO say, but still... I’m sorry.
 
I know the conditions for coming back to Ponyville, but until then, I figure we can still do this the old-school way, right?
 
In other news, I got a job in Farrington. I’m a city guard now. I’m not sure how much I’m going to like it, but it beats sitting around my cave waiting doing nothing.
 
At least now I can afford all those nice things I’ve always talked about buying.
 
Hah.
 
 Anyway, I hope to hear from you soon,
 
 ~G.


 
I reread the letter, scowling at my scratched-out mistake. Then again, I doubted that Dash would read too much into it. If anything, I was more worried about whether my joke would make sense without me actually saying it. But I figured that if Dash were cool with me, I’d get points for trying. At that, I rolled up my scroll, wrote Dash’s address on the outside, paid its postage, and left without so much as a “thanks.”
 
There wasn’t anything else I really wanted to do in the city, so now that I had finished with my letter, I made my way to the south gate. I wanted to rest and enjoy my weekend; next week, I was going to be Officer Gilda of the Farrington Guard.

> 3 - Kindling Embers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

If I had to pick one word to sum up the first week of being an officer, it would be “lonely.”
 
During training, I had always been escorted by Sherry or Captain Bulwark, and we had spent the time talking—about Guard things, true, but it was still conversation. That ended once my training was over. Despite Sherry’s promise that I’d get a partner soon, there was an odd number of patrolling guards, so I was sent out on my own.
 
Even the ponies seemed to ignore me—but that was an improvement over being the center of attention. Sure, there was a glance from time to time, and more than a few scowls, but for the most part, I was old news.
 
I ate lunches at a diner. Captain Bulwark, as part of his cultural tour of the city, mentioned how they didn’t have the greatest food in the city, but that didn’t really bother me. What did bother me was how, on Monday, the first diner I tried had an owner who, despite my armor, “didn’t serve your kind.” I had better luck at the next one I tried; the waitress there didn’t care that I had a beak, and when the place got empty, she came by and chatted with me for a while.
 
On top of the loneliness, being a guard was physically uncomfortable. My armor didn’t fit right, and even though I started to get used to it, I spent most of my patrols slouched forward and most of my nights with sore, aching shoulders. Besides that, my first week as a guard was the last week of May and the first week of June, so the weather was starting to get hotter. Even though Farrington was fairly northern of a city, eight hours’ worth of exertion in a tight metal suit that didn’t breathe very well had interesting effects on my hygiene...
 
I started taking a bath every evening, as well.
 
Other than the sweat problem, walking with my fingers lifted was starting to have some long-term effects on me. I couldn’t make tight fists anymore. That worried me; yes, I had a baton that I could hit criminals with, but punches and grappling were integral to griffins’ fighting style. I didn’t want to give that up, especially if I needed to fight someone.
 
Thursday morning, that opportunity came close: I met my first criminal. I was near where the south wall of the city met with Mount Farrington when I realized that the beige stallion who was painting a giant bowl of fruit on a shop’s wall probably wasn’t doing it with the owner’s consent. Just to make sure, I asked, “Excuse me. Do you have a permit for that?”
 
He threw the finishing touches on a banana, then answered, “No.”
 
I looked at the painting, then back at the vandal. “You... you know I have to arrest you?”
 
“Yeah.” He nodded. “But, still, how do you like it?”
 
“Like what?”
 
“The painting.”
 
I didn’t know if he were stalling for time to finish, but I looked at it; given how he was doing the whole thing without fingers or magic, it looked... like a bowl of fruit. “It’s fruity,” I answered with a shrug.
 
With that, he walked with me back to the Citadel—willingly, so I didn’t have to tie him up. On the way there, I asked, “So, who are you?”
 
“Just Sum Pony,” he answered, and I seethed at Dash’s cute slang term.
 
Booking him was pretty easy, from an officer’s standpoint; Captain Bulwark didn’t want the officers to spend too much time off our routes. I brought the stallion into the Citadel, filled out the first three lines of a piece of paper, and gave it to Sherry. Then, she’d fill out the rest of the form, and, other than an “officer’s report” that I’d have to give when I was off-duty, I went back to my patrol.
 
The whole thing, from arrest to booking to getting back to the illegal painting, took less than a half hour.
 
Back on my patrol, I realized what Captain Bulwark meant about how my reward was mostly a big-picture deal; other than an offhanded congratulations by Sherry—who noted, “That fruitcake will be out of jail by Saturday”—no one really cared that I had made my first arrest.
 
All things considered, that was just part of the job.
 

*              *              *

 
On Friday, I received some official thanks for my efforts as a guard. When I reported to Sherry for dismissal, she held out a bag of bits for me. I looked at it for a moment, then asked, “What do I do with this?”
 
Sherry stared back at me and smiled, blankly. “Buy something?”
 
Ha-ha. I bristled, but I knew she was kidding, so I smiled back as I took the bag. Since I didn’t want to take two bags of bits home with me, I pulled out my personal coin sack and combined the two. When I was done, my coin sack was dangerously close to being completely full, and when I felt the bulk of it pressing into my chest when I strung the bag back around my neck, under my armor, I realized Sherry’s advice wasn’t exactly the worst idea.
 
On my way out of the city, I said goodbye to Captain Bulwark at his usual spot. He caught me checking the far side of his booth and he chuckled. “Lieutenant Starfall is back on his usual shift, and knows not to take a break during shift changes.”
 
“Huh,” I commented at the trivia. Still, I had come to fulfill my time-honored tradition of saying goodbye to the guard in the booth, so I added, “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you next week, sir.”
 
Captain Bulwark nodded. “Did Sherry give you your wages?”
 
I returned his nod. “Yep. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it, but it’s money.”
 
“You could always find something to do in Farringon.” The captain’s advice wasn’t a new idea to me, but other than shopping and mailing letters—both of which I was good on—the city felt too big for me to wander around in, looking for something to do.
 
I almost chuckled at the irony: part of my job was to help ponies navigate the city, but when I wanted to do something there, I probably needed a guard myself.
 
There’s an idea, I thought, looking at the captain. He’d gone out of his way to hire me, or at least, to give me a chance. Then, he had bought me lunch all of last week; by those meals, I could tell he knew more about Farrington. The city was like a hobby to him.
 
And he wasn’t half bad to talk to, either.
 
I pointed a finger at him. “Do you want to get dinner tonight?”
 
By his plate-sized eyes, I figured he wasn’t expecting that question. “Er... I don’t think that’d be... appropriate...” he stammered.
 
“You know this city,” I countered. “And I owe you for all the lunches last week.”
 
“Oh, right,” Captain Bulwark replied, nodding. “Honestly, I had forgotten about it... and that wasn’t me paying.” After a moment’s pause, he continued, “Still, I won’t decline a free meal, or a new friend.” He smiled as he said it, but the gesture seemed to stretch out the word “friend.”
 
“When do you get off?” I asked.
 
“Tonight, I am busy,” he clarified, closing his eyes and raising a hoof. “But tomorrow night, I’m free. Would tomorrow, at seven o’ clock work for you?”
 
I nodded and parroted, “Tomorrow at seven.” After that, we said our goodbyes, and I took off for home. Dinner plans or no, tonight, I was hungry.

The farther away from the city I flew, the more I thought about Saturday night. The food would be lame, like it always was in the city, but the captain was a near-endless source of interesting conversation.
 
With a shrug, I realized I was looking forward to our meal together.
 



 
Maxie got home from her delivery at ten fifty-six. She had finally forgiven my incompetence and hiring decisions as Captain of the Guard; at least, she had come by my gate earlier to rant about how someone wanted a package sent to Hoofington the day after the caravan left. Still, she could have taken the east gate to get on the road easier, so I appreciated her letting me know her schedule.

I made it a habit to go to bed at ten, so that I could have quiet, alone time in the mornings before I worked. Maxie was always courteous about coming home late; if I hadn’t been awake, I was certain I could’ve slept through her return. That was, if I could sleep in the first place. My room was the right level of dimness—dark, save for a small light on the floor in one corner. It usually helped me sleep, but tonight, I had too much on my mind.
 
I tracked Maxie’s progress through the house: quiet hooffalls down the hallway, a door closing, and running water... the bathroom. Then, she headed farther away, I heard crinkling, and then, food poured into a bowl.
 
With her snack in tow—or dinner, I supposed—Maxie walked down the hallway, around the bend, then stopped outside my bedroom. My doorknob turned, which made me glad I was both facing away from the doorway and not involved in anything terribly personal.
 
I heard a soft chuckle followed by, “Good night, sleepy-head.” She was wrong on both accounts, but I smiled as my door clicked shut. It wasn’t the first time in the past few weeks that I had caught her saying “good night” to me after a delivery, but she didn’t need to know that I was having trouble sleeping.
 
As Maxie walked down the hall to her own bedroom, my thoughts returned to the griffin who had kept me awake for most of the last hour.
 
I couldn’t even bring myself to call her by her name. I was too ashamed. I regretted how easily she had defeated my initial rejection when asking me out to dinner. Even worse, I didn’t think that she did it on purpose. Odds were good that she was just looking for a friend in the city.
 
That made me feel all the worse for how—and why—I was conflicted over her.
 
For a moment, I felt myself agreeing with Starfall, if not for his reasons, but for his stance: it had been a mistake to recruit her. I shook the thought from my head, though: I had given her a chance before I had started to look at her on a more personal level. Besides, it wouldn’t do me any good to start doubting my own convictions two weeks after the fact; the best thing to do in any case was to learn from past mistakes, not dwell on them.
 
Plus, I reasoned, she’s not half-bad as a guard. There had been moments, in our first week together—as guards—that I had doubted her ability to control her crass and sarcastic demeanor. But she had proven herself willing and able to work on it, and by the end of the first week, her disrespectful comments had tapered off well below levels that I would hold a pony guard to.
 
I can’t just fire her because of my failures, I reminded myself. I’d be lying to myself if I said my reasons for hiring her hadn’t been personal, but they had started out as doing a favor for someone down on their luck.
 
After her crash-landing three years ago, I had hoped that we would be able to talk about her culture and where she had come from. I still kicked myself over not getting around to it, but the past was the past. Once her wounds had healed enough, she flew south and remained an enigma.
 
Over the following years, she had been a curiosity; every so often, I would see her flying over the horizon. I still didn’t know how to help her, so I was forced to watch silently as she lost weight and became more and more disheveled with every visit. During Comet’s mishap, I remembered when I had seen a few griffins from the east: they were regal and elegant. It had made me sad to see one who was gaunt and withered.
 
I also noticed how sad she was. She hid her face’s emotions well, but even three years ago, I could see through her bully-like interactions with Maxie: she was lonely, and afraid of friendship.
 
Even back then, I had worried about her. I hated how her visits became less and less frequent, and she came looking thinner and rougher. When she showed up three weeks ago, she had a look of determination. Then, she visited every day for the rest of that week, except for Saturday; even though I only caught a glimpse of her as she flew around to Horatio’s gate, she looked... almost happy. Having seen that behavior before, I had feared for the worst. However, if she had made up her mind to end her life, there would have been precious little that I could have done to stop her.
 
The following week, when her visits abruptly stopped, had been torture. I reasoned that she rarely visited Farrington so often, and that she was probably off tending to her own griffin matters elsewhere, but I couldn’t get the fear out of my mind that she might have finally died.
 
Because I wasn’t there for her.
 
When she showed up on Wednesday evening, covered in dried blood and looking sadder than ever, it had raised more questions than it had answered: What had happened in the past four days? Whose blood was that? Why was she distraught?
 
Still, and despite her resolute paranoia, I made an effort to help her. I remembered how Captain Reiner had done the same for me, ten years ago, despite how I was legally homeless at the time and “a prime candidate for recruitment by organized crime.”
 
I shook my head. She would do well as a guard. And as much as I wished she hadn’t insisted on eating dinner with me, I had to admit I was curious to meet her in a more equal setting.
 
But was that all I wanted?
 
With a frustrated sigh, I threw off my bedsheets and walked over to the door. The clock read eleven-twenty, but sleep wasn’t coming to me that night. I had forty minutes until curfew, and a walk would clear my head. Quietly, in case Maxie were already asleep, I headed down my hallway and out the front door.
 
Out in the Farrington streets, I passed the houses of a few of my neighbors. There was Pepper Mint, who invited Maxie and I over for dinner from time to time; a few houses down was Axel, who still had my hedge clippers from two months back. As I got further from my home, I began to pass some of the local businesses—quick, convenient shops. Green Grocer’s produce store was always a tad more expensive than the Market District, but back when I was an officer, he had always given me a deal on “not exactly fresh” vegetables that, after boiling in a stew, were as good as anything.

Once I got out of my local neighborhood, I headed deeper into the city—which meant north—taking intersections at random. I did my best to avoid the Artisan District. That necessity bothered me, but that was a problem for another night.
 
I returned to my original train of thought: I knew that giving her a job was a risk, but I couldn’t keep watching her grow worse and worse. However, I couldn’t have sold that to the press or my superiors. Therefore, I had to spin the intercultural relations angle, and that had been my official motivation. It had been a lie to preserve both my dignity and hers.
 
It felt like such a ridiculous thing to lie about—caring for the well-being of an individual.
 
As much as I pitied her, I remembered how many times I had to keep from smiling at her deadpan humor during her first week. It had been hard, but it was in the public’s best interest for the guards to take themselves seriously, so I had had to put a damper on her sarcasm. Still, she found humor in a lot of situations; it was probably a coping mechanism of some sort.
 
I hadn’t foreseen the possibility that she and I would have so much in common.
 
I remembered when I first knew that I cared about her more deeply than simple pity. We had finished sharing some of our childhoods with each other at a café, and I saw her looking skyward with the same bewildered expression that I made—as Star and Sherry always told me—when I was confused in a curious manner. From then on, I knew I at least wanted to get to know her, at least as a friend.
 
At least. The back of my mind laughed at the notion. It was all impossible. The odds of a griffin leaving the northern kingdoms were low, and the odds of them doing so peacefully were even lower. Yet, here I was, finding myself wanting to get to know one better, and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head.
 
The clock tower struck the half hour; now, there were only nineteen and a half hours until my dinner with Gilda. I looked around me; by the stores, I had wandered into the Market District. The northern gate wasn’t too far away, which made me think about heading there. Even though Starfall wouldn’t be pleased to hear about my problems, he was my friend. His counsel, while blunt, usually held the wisdom of experience.
 
Also, it was unbearable to keep the problem to myself. I had many friends throughout Farrington, but I would trust very few with such controversial knowledge. At this hour, only Starfall or Sherry would be awake, and I didn’t want to go to her for dating advice. Things had gotten odd between us after Lieutenant Spade’s murder, especially considering how I was the youngest captain in Farrington history and how she was old enough to have worked with my father—thirty years ago, when he was Manehattan Police and she had been Stalliongrad Politsiya.
 
I put the past behind me and grounded myself in the present, speeding up on my route to Starfall.

When I got to his station, rather than announcing my presence, I decided to try my hooves at his usual method of leaning on the side wall. It wasn’t difficult to leap up, but I didn’t have wings to stop myself, so I ended up hitting the side of his station fairly hard.
 
Inside, Starfall swore. “You have about a ten-second head start while I get outside, and that’s the only mercy you’ll—” His head poked around the lip of the window. He looked at me, confused, then he looked down to my flank. “Iron. Probably the last stallion I would expect to see this late.”
 
I forgot my problems for a moment as I joked, “Do you see what I mean about how uncomfortable it is to stand like that?”
 
His head slid back around the corner. “Why do the desktops jut out so far?” he asked in agreement. I grunted to show that I didn’t know. After a moment’s silence, Starfall continued, “So, what’s on your mind, kid?”
 
I smiled at my nickname. I had hated it at first, but over the years, I grew to like it. My smile left as I thought about the best way to bring up my problems and not offend Starfall’s sensibilities. He had cooled off in the past few weeks, especially after her oath ceremony, but I also understood what griffins had done to his wife.
 
“Remember Sherry and Lieutenant Spade?” I asked. I figured there’d be an easier path from that topic to my own, at the very least.
 
“Sherry and Malt!” Starfall replied nostalgically. “Talk about opposites attracting. They couldn’t be any more different in... everything,” he commented. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pair love each other like those two.”
 
What about you and Comet? I barely bit back the words. I knew why Starfall voluntarily chose the night lieutenant’s shift, and the reasons weren’t happy. That just led to an overly long silence, which Starfall picked up on.
 
He prompted me, “But yeah, midnight’s a bit late to think about ancient history, huh?”
 
“I suppose it is. Still, Red Hooves is out there, and I have no idea how he knew exactly where to find Officer Gilda in only the second hour of her training.” I was sidetracking myself, but at the same time, that had been a disturbing occurrence.
 
My friend laughed, darkly, from inside his guard station. “Is that why you’re awake? Worried about Red Hooves’ information network? Or are you worried about the Sharptalon, and how I’m right, and how eventually, she’s going to freak out and leave behind a body count?”
 
“No,” I answered, raising an eyebrow at his nickname for Gilda. It didn’t seem offensive, at least not how he said it. “Well, okay, yes, actually,” I admitted. “But she takes her Guard work seriously, and the fruit vandal didn’t have so much as a scratch on him.”
 
“Ooh, the fruit vandal,” Starfall mocked heavily. “No offense, Iron, but wait until she gets a perpetrator that resists arrest before you use them as proof she’s not violent.”
 
“You’re violent,” I countered, and for the first time on the subject, Starfall only made a grunt of agreement. After a moment, I continued, “Anyway, Guard business aside, tonight, I have problems of a more... personal nature.” Starfall was my friend, but my personal issues were always embarrassing to talk about.
 
My entire indirect approach wasn’t lost on him. “Well,” he began, “I’ve got five more minutes on my shift, so at the rate you’ve been going, I think we’ll have an answer for your problem by September.”
 
“Right, right,” I agreed. “But this conversation stays between us, understood?”
 
“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. “Hell, who could I tell that you don’t have some sort of dirt on me with, anyway?”
 
Even though he couldn’t see me, I nodded at the truth. Then, I took a deep breath and asked, “What’s the term when you know enough about romance to know you don’t love someone, but still, you want to start dating them to find out?”
 
“Schoolfilly’s crush?” Starfall offered, amused.
 
“Funny. Ass,” I replied, notably less amused.
 
The ass chuckled, “I’m sorry, Iron, but for all your dressing it up in seriousness and fancy words, that’s exactly who you sound like right now.”
 
I said nothing, but I let my mouth hang open. His insult was more surprising than it was offensive.
 
Sure enough, he didn’t need to see me in order to pick up on how I had taken his comment. “Sorry, kid,” he apologized. “Still, you sound just like Hailey the other day.” His voice went into a falsetto as he mimicked his daughter, “‘What’s it called when you like somepony more than just friends?’”
 
I had to crack a grin at that. Starfall was Hell itself to criminals and a stone wall to his wife, but the love he felt for his children was almost tangible. Plus, they were an adorable pair of pegasi. They called me “Uncle Iron.”
 
I looked down and shook my head as my mood soured. “Well, it’s good to know that I at least have the romantic experience of an eight-year-old.”
 
“Hey, you got dealt a raw hoof, Iron,” Starfall consoled. “No one should have to raise a daughter at age thirteen. Now Max can fend for herself, though, you’re a bit behind in the game is all,” he finished.
 
It was strange to hear him refer to my sister as a “daughter,” but when I thought about it, it made sense; I had raised her through our teenage years, and I was her legal guardian.
 
“So,” he continued, “what’s his or her name?”
 
“His?” I deadpanned.
 
“Hey, ten years and this is the first time I’m hearing of you being romantically interested in someone. I don’t know what sort of kinks you’re into,” he replied.
 
“Or even what species,” I mumbled. The hour was growing late, and Starfall’s jokes about me being indirect about my problems were growing more awkward than the confession itself.
 
Starfall was silent for a few moments as he made the connection. When he spoke, it was with a tone of disgust: “You’re... you’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”
 
“Most of me wishes I were,” I said sadly but honestly. I could control my actions, but if my mind’s rebellion had taught me anything, it was that my desires for company were not of my own making. “But part of me isn’t.”
 
About ten seconds later, the doorway set into the wall of the south gate slammed open, and Starfall stepped out with murder in his eyes. I was surprised that he had left his post, but we were both in the archway, so it wasn’t unguarded. Either way, I pushed off the wall so I could stand on all fours again.
 
“So ignore that part of you.” He pointed a hoof at me. “Are you incredibly stupid or just mildly insane?” He shouting the last word, and I actually heard it echo out into the quiet streets. He also heard, because he continued in a harsh whisper, “The only reason I didn’t go straight to city council over you hiring that... thing... is because you told me that it was a professional decision; that you thought she’d make a good guard!”
 
“I wasn’t lying about that!” I said, feeling my anger rising at his accusation.
 
Starfall threw my anger right back at me. “You weren’t? Because you know what it looks like from my point of view? Three years of, ‘Oh, that griffin came by. She’s sad today,’ like I’m supposed to care, and then the first chance you get to speak to her, you hire her onto the guards? What other motives would you have to keep her around?”
 
“My motives for wanting to help her were separate from my judgment to hire her!” I hissed back at him. “It’s just that now I’ve gotten to know her—”
 
“I mean, if you want to go screw a wild animal, by all means, your free time is your own; just save the taxpayers the expense of courtship and go find some in the wild! Or hell, there are dogs in the mines, why not find one of them to f—”
 
My punch took both of us by surprise, but it only whipped Starfall’s head to the side. After a hard blink, he turned his head back to me. His glare was ice, but I stood my ground; any sign of weakness would only start a fight. So we just stood there, breathing at each other.
 
Finally, his gaze softened. “Too far. Sorry...” He shook his head. “But what the hell made you think it was a good idea to come to me for advice over this?”
 
“There isn’t anyone else awake at this hour.” I raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “At least, not anyone I trust with this.”
 
Starfall let out a mirthless chuckle. “I was going to say, I saw your sister coming back when I was on break earlier.”
 
I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, I don’t feel like having Maxie running around telling everyone in the city about ‘my brother the sex fiend.’”
 
Starfall hid a laugh in a fake sneeze, which I appreciated. But after he brought his gaze back up, he sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, kid. But I can’t offer much help here. You start dating the Sharptalon, it’s only going to end in trouble. Either from her, the rest of the guards, the press... hell, even Maxie.”
 
“What about from friends?” I asked sadly.
 
Starfall gave me a comforting look. “I... I hate it. So much,” he added through clenched teeth. “But I won’t take it personally, I guess.” He shrugged.
 
I was slightly disappointed, but at the same time, I realized how personally Star might have taken it. Before I could say anything else, the bell tower struck midnight, and the north gate’s gears started turning as it closed for the evening. Both Starfall and I looked up to watch the doors close, then we looked back at one another. “So, does that help you, at least?” he asked, returning to the matter before us.
 
“Slightly,” I sighed. Then I turned to head south.
 
Starfall huffed a sigh before he caught up with me. “I’ll be blunt with you, then. It will end disastrously. And even blunter: I don’t think you even care specifically about her.”
 
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, more curious than offended.
 
He took a deep breath and continued, “Your sister’s been self-sufficient for the past three years, and if we’re being honest, she hasn’t needed your full attention since before you made sergeant. So, eight years, and you’ve had time to find romance in Farrington, is all I’m saying. And you have: you love this city, and your job. The problem with that is that you see every filly in this city as some sort of daughter, or at least, extended family.”
 
He stopped walking for a moment, and so did I, but I couldn’t think of a rebuttal before he continued speaking. “So basically, the first new female who shows up, you’re interested in her. Even better, she’s from a different culture, so she’s mysterious,” he said, flaring his wings and stretching out the word as he gestured off into the distance. “I know how you are with restaurants, businesses... everything new in this city. Hell, even your ‘cooking.’ You enjoy satisfying your curiosities. And that’s all this is.”
 
I ignored the jibe at my hobby and asked, “How can I tell if it is just that? What if it’s something deeper?”
 
A puzzled look came over Starfall’s face. He chuckled and shook his head, admitting, “I... I guess you’ll have to date her and find out.”
 
There was the advice I was looking for. However, Starfall continued, “Just... goddesses save me, Iron, don’t come to me for any... physical advice.”
 
I coughed, slightly shocked that his train of thought had escalated so quickly, but then I realized he was setting limits for his sake. “Don’t worry,” I offered. “I’m sure Maxie had a good enough look to inform both of us.”
 
Starfall’s burst of laughter made me feel slightly guilty; I didn’t like making jokes at my sister’s expense. But humor was one way to get Starfall to better accept the possibility of me dating Gilda, so it was for the best.
 
When it came time for us to part ways, he finally offered a smile, and I rapped his pauldron with a hoof.
 
As I walked back to my house, my mind still raced with possibilities and worries about Gilda. However, and despite the mildly violent outcome, my conversation with Starfall had put part of my mind at ease. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about what I was feeling, but knowing there was only one way to find out filled me with a sense of calm.
 
By the time I got home, I was exhausted from the night. As soon as I was back in bed, I fell asleep within minutes.
 



 
I spent most of Saturday feeling like my cave wasn’t my cave anymore. The more I thought about it, the more that Equestrian society was taking over: first the clock, then the armor, and now, a virtually endless supply of brass bits. It made me feel less like a griffin, and I didn’t like that one bit.
 
Though, maybe that had to do with the dream I had the night before; it was the one where my family just sat around, eating, and joking in the ponies’ language. That dream bugged me, because it was so close to a fond memory of home that I could hang on to. But the language killed it, and it just made me think that my subconscious was becoming less griffin-like.
 
A little before six o’ clock, my alarm clock broke my train of thought. It was time to go to Farrington, and the captain. I thought about blowing him off, but that felt too much like breaking a promise. With a sigh, I picked up my coin sack, noting the irony of how my griffin-oriented sense of honor was driving me to visit a city that, more than anything, was causing me to lose my cultural identity.
 
As I turned to leave, I contemplated destroying that stupid, cutesy clock. I could easily afford a new one. I decided against it, though; it did work well as a clock. It didn’t feel right breaking something just because I didn’t like how it looked.
 
During my flight, I relished the freedom of flying without my armor; I almost wished Dash were there to see some of my loops and spins. Even with all of my rolling around, I arrived at Farrington almost twenty minutes early. That impressed me; when I came for my shift, the trip usually took close to an hour. I knew it would be faster to fly without the armor, but I didn’t know I’d cut off that much flight time.
 
Regardless of my efficiency, I landed and sat down beneath the south gate to wait for the captain. Ten minutes later, a gray stallion showed up. Guard training kicked in, and I started taking down finer details: golden shield cutie mark, pale blue eyes. His mane and tail were cut extremely close to his fur line; he wasn’t bald, but he definitely looked different than a lot of other ponies. I tried to remember who his mane reminded me of, but after a few minutes of trying to guess, I gave up.
 
The short-cut stallion sat down on the opposite side of the archway from me, but he didn’t say anything, so I left him alone at first. After a few minutes, I figured I’d make conversation to pass the time. “You waiting for someone too?”
 
“Just for them to recognize me,” Captain Bulwark answered with a grin.
 
My eyes widened when I realized who he was; every time over the past three years, he had always been wearing his ornate, golden armor.
 
I looked again at what was left of his mane and tail. They were brown, not the dark black of the fake hair that adorned his armor’s head and flank. Captain Bulwark noticed my gaze, so he defended himself, “It’s not the most stylish way to wear a mane, but it’s easier to fit in a helmet.”
 
It clicked: Lieutenant Starfall’s mane-cut was almost the exact same, except that he had a raised stripe in the middle; the captain’s mane was the same length all over his head. “I didn’t mean to stare, sir. I’ve just never seen you without your armor.”
 
He nodded and grinned. “Fair enough.” His eyes darted off to the side before he added “And, uh, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ We’re off-duty now.”
 
I stared at him, blankly. I knew his name, but I didn’t want to start calling him by it without his say-so.
 
He picked up on my dilemma. “Call me Iron, Gilda. Just not while we’re on-duty.”
 
I nodded, guessing, “That’s just your elders who get to do that?”
 
He tapped his nose with his hoof. I didn’t know what that meant. “How do you know that Sherry was in the Guard before me?”
 
“Are you kidding?” I raised an eyebrow. “She’s like twenty years older than you.”
 
Iron laughed at that. “A bit older than that, actually, but don’t tell her I told you that.”
 
I made the zipping motion across my beak that Sherry made when she didn’t want to say something. Then, I broke the gesture by asking, “So, where do you want to eat?”
 
“How much of your wages do you have left, if you don’t mind me asking?”
 
“You know me, always spending money as soon as I get it,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
 
He chuckled. “So, the whole of it?” I nodded. “I know a place that’s a little pricey, but it’s perhaps one of the best values in the city.”
 
“Lead the way,” I accepted. A few feet into our trek, I defended my spending habits, “I spend some money. Letters are expensive.”
 
“Right. Last Saturday. I remember hearing something about that,” Iron said with... sarcasm. I heard sarcasm, and I grinned.
 
“Really?” I asked. “Does your sister come to you every time I send out a letter now?”
 
“Now? No. She complained the first time you sent a letter. ‘Rah, rah, rah, she’s using all the special addressing ink,’ that sort of thing,” he said. Despite being half a foot taller than her and being a different gender, he had almost perfectly mimicked his sister’s voice. I started cracking up, but quickly lost the fight to keep from laughing. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued, “I love my sister, but when it comes to you writing letters at the post office... I could only have less concern if I made a conscious effort to.”
 
“Ah, siblings,” I mused, still chuckling.
 
“Do you have any sisters or brothers?” he asked.
 
“Sixteen and an egg, last I heard,” I answered.
 
Iron looked at me slyly for a few seconds before his expression widened. “Seven... wait, eighteen children? Is that... normal, for griffins?” he added sheepishly.
 
“No,” I answered flatly.
 
He didn’t say anything in reply. Our walk took us past a few more buildings to one with a fancy-looking sign over the door. Iron stopped. “I don’t need to remind you, Gilda, but please be polite to the waiters here. This is a favorite restaurant of mine, and I’d like to be able to come here again after tonight,” he warned softly.
 
“So wait until after dinner to break out my juggling act. Got it,” I joked.
 
“You juggle?”
 
“No.”
 
Iron chuckled and went up to the door. Opening it, he bid me to enter with a bow.
 
Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit. There was soft carpeting on the floor, which was a nice change from the stone streets. I heard a fountain gurgling to my left but also... soft music.
 
In pony culture, music was a lot more common, to the point of being vulgar. It had first been forced upon me during my summer at Junior Speedsters’, and it had just been noise. Some of the counselors had tried to get everyone to sing, and despite all the punishments—and even Dash’s encouragement—I refused to join in.

I couldn’t.
 
For griffins, singing was a deep, wordless baring of one’s soul to another. When one griffin sang to another, it was usually something like saying a last goodbye at a funeral, or pledging an oath of undying love to a partner.
 
However, the pony music I heard now was pleasant, almost soothing. It really reminded me of the few times I had heard a griffin song, and that sent chills down my spine.
 
I wanted to keep listening to the music, but Iron walked up beside me, and I didn’t want to make a thing about it. We walked up to a very well-groomed stallion who greeted us, “Captain Bulwark...” He turned to me and added, “And guest.”
 
“Good evening, Pierre,” Iron answered, “Do you have a table for two?”
 
“Right this way.” Pierre the pony led us deeper into the restaurant. As we walked, I ignored the wayward glances that came from the tables; I looked around trying to lock in on the source of the music. I found it on a small stage in the back, where a quartet of musicians was playing.
 
Iron and I sat down at our table, but I kept watching and listening to the musicians. I picked out the part of the song that I liked best and tried to match it with the performer. I found her when part of the song sped up: she was a gray mare, wearing a little bow tie, and drawing a sharp-looking stick across a sort of tall, stringed instrument. The sound it made was deep and sad, but still, it was beautiful.
 
I turned back to Iron, who was staring at the floor near my butt. I looked: my tail was unconsciously curling and hitting the ground in unison with the gray mare’s rhythm. As soon as Iron saw me looking, he gave me an embarrassed, “Sorry.”
 
“It’s a tail,” I said, slightly annoyed. I curled it under my leg and sat on it.
 
“I meant no offense,” he replied, “I was just... intrigued.”
 
“About...?”
 
“My tail doesn’t curl like that,” he offered with a shrug.
 
I remembered how short he cut the hair on his. “You don’t have a tail.”
 
He laughed at that, and I figured he hadn’t meant anything by staring at me other than dumb curiosity, so I dropped the issue. The waiter came by and took our orders for drinks; I got water, Iron requested some foreign-sounding thing with a number attached to the end.
 
When we were alone again, Iron picked up the conversation. “So, you’re fond of the music?”
 
“It’s not bad,” I replied. “It remind me of the two times I heard someone singing, growing up.”
 
“And what do griffins sing about?” he prompted.
 
I looked back at the gray mare. “Ourselves,” I answered, then I turned back to face Iron. “Like, not about what we do, but who we are. But it’s not really common. Like I said, I’ve only ever heard two griffins do it.”
 
Iron nodded thoughtfully. “Who were they?”
 
“One of them was an old, old widow. Her husband of almost eighty years died. They were sort of a pillar of the community, or at least, everyone knew who they were. I mean everyone. Members from all three tribes showed up to that funeral.” I left out the part where the nine visiting Sterkergeist had counted for that entire tribe.
 
“Anyway,” I continued, “she sang a eulogy. She loved him for eighty years, but in something that probably only lasted for half a minute, everyone there knew the exact depth and extent of her feelings toward him and the emptiness she felt over losing him.”
 
After my story, our drinks came. Then, it was time for food orders. Iron already knew what he wanted, so I scanned the menu for the cheapest salad. Bit surplus or no, I wasn’t going to to pay for something that I didn’t enjoy.
 
When the waiter left, Iron asked, “Who was the second?”
 
“Huh?” I asked. I had only seen the one waiter.
 
“You mentioned hearing two songs. One was from a widow, who sang the other?” he clarified.
 
I shook my head, “I swore I would never tell anyone. Sorry, that means you too.”
 
Iron’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “I understand.” Then, we sat in awkward silence until our waiter finally came with our orders. After he gave us our food, Iron changed the subject, “So, how was your first week alone on the job?”
 
“Not the worst week I’ve ever had,” I replied quickly, glad to be on a less personal subject. “Some ponies are nice, some are rude. The streets suck, and the armor’s hot.” I shrugged.
 
“You seemed to have persevered,” he pointed out.
 
I nodded back. “There’s a lot more to learn, like routes and stuff, but it’s not as bad as I first thought.”
 
Iron raised an eyebrow. “If there’s still something about the job you’d like to know, feel free to ask.”
 
Instead of answering right away, I ate some of my salad. It was as flavorful as it was filling. Finally, I repeated a question that been bothering me since two weeks ago, the first time it had gone unanswered: “Why does Starfall hate me?”
 
Iron had been mid-gulp, and the drink caught in his throat. After a wet, choking sound, he looked warily at me and rasped, “I’m not sure if I should be the one to tell you.”
 
I raised an eyebrow in response, “Do you think I’d get a straight answer from him if I asked?”
 
I listened to the music and Iron chewed for almost a full minute while he thought it over. Finally, he cleared his throat again. “No. He’s my best friend, but his passion overcomes his reason sometimes, this being one such occasion.” After a much shorter pause, he added, “A while ago, his wife was attacked by griffins. He still hasn’t gotten over it.”
 
I hissed quietly in amazement: that was a brutal way to die. But still, my gut reaction was that it was her own fault: she must have entered into our territory. After the Schnelfluge were exterminated for it, we stopped attacking ponies outside of our own borders. That didn’t seem to be the right thing to say at the moment, though, so I used some salad to stop my beak from talking.
 
As I chewed, I felt annoyed by Starfall: tragedy or no, it wasn’t right for him to hold every griffin responsible. And with how much I hated my tribe’s brutal xenophobia, I found it ironic that I was the outlet for his prejudices.
 
Speaking of prejudices, I remembered something about Iron. “So, what about you?”
 
Iron raised an eyebrow, confused. “Er, what do you mean?”
 
“I thought about it,” I answered. “You helped me a lot this month. Or at least, with hiring me, you went out on a limb for me without really knowing me. Three weeks ago, you said it was ‘a test,’ and that you wouldn’t tell me exactly why you hired me. Then you said it was for intercultural relations, but I don’t buy that, not after I told you that it wouldn’t work.”
 
He smiled, but only responded, “That wasn’t really a question.”
 
I glared back, slightly. “Okay then. I’m asking again, ‘why’d you hire me?’ If it’s a test, don’t you think I’ve passed by now?”
 
Iron looked at me sadly for a moment, then slowly nodded. “You have, I suppose.” After a moment, he continued, “I can’t imagine what living in exile was like for you, but if I can be blunt, the years were not kind to you.”
 
“Thanks,” I scoffed, looking away.
 
“I meant no offense,” he apologized, and I focused one eye on him. “It’s just... even back then, I didn’t hold any delusions about our races. Yes, I’d like everyone to get along, but at the same time, it’d be stupid to go around trusting someone who may or may not have a history of violence.”
 
“A history of violence?” I remembered the phrase, but I still wasn’t sure whether or not I should be offended.
 
“Three years ago, when you arrived in Farrington, you were nearly dead from injuries. I had no idea who or what they were from; I guessed that you lost some sort of a fight. That sort of violence... has its time and place, in the Guard. But it should only be a last resort.” Iron shrugged and finished, “But finally, I looked past that, and decided to give you a chance. For your sake.”
 
I thought it over; then it dawned on me. “So you only hired me out of pity?” I accused.
 
He smiled at me, but he seemed disappointed as he retorted, “Come on, Gilda. You’re smarter than that. ‘Pity,’ if you’re going with a word with such negative associations, was what made me look for ways to help you. If you want to know why I decided to give you a chance...” He paused. “It’s because, ten years ago, someone gave me that same exact chance.”
 
I nodded that over to myself for a moment, and before I could reply, the waiter came by to take our plates. He asked if we’d like dessert, so Iron looked at me like he wanted my opinion. “I’m good, but go for it if you want.” He ordered a slice of carrot cake.
 
When the waiter left, I finally had a response for Iron, “I don’t mean to question your motives. It’s just... I’ve been on my own for most of my life, even when I lived with my family. I’m not used to anyone doing favors for me, let alone risking anything on me.”
 
“Well...” He smiled. “That’s their loss. I took a chance on you, and you came through with flying colors.”
 
My face grew hot at the compliment. “Thank you,” I said, trying to put the full weight of my gratitude into the words.
 
After Iron ate his cake, the waiter brought us a small black envelope: the bill. Iron made a motion for it, but I picked it up before he could. I had offered to pay, I held myself to that word. The bill was sixty-two bits. I can’t do that every night, I told myself.
 
I asked Iron where to pay, and he showed me how there was a small pouch inside the envelope. I pulled out my coin sack and counted the bits as quickly and quietly as I could. When I finished, Iron cleared his throat, “Uh, Gilda... it’s customary to leave a tip for the service.”
 
“Tip?” I asked. I knew two meanings for that word, but none of them related to the situation at hand.
 
“A little extra money, like fifteen bits or so. For the waiter,” he clarified.
 
I raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t get paid by the restaurant?”
 
Iron chuckled, shaking his head, “It’s considered polite. Like saying thank you.”
 
I could just thank him, I thought, but I realized I was defending the stance of not getting rid of my bits. I shrugged, and added fifteen more coins to the bill’s pouch.
 
After we paid, Iron and I walked outside. There was barely any daylight left; far away, down the street, I saw a unicorn slowly making his way towards us, lighting streetlamps along the way. “Well, that was dinner,” I said inanely, hoping that Iron would pick up the last bit of conversation for the night.
 
“Indeed it was,” he mused. After a short pause, he added, “I had a good time.”
 
“Me too,” I admitted, “even though we only talked about sad stuff.”
 
Iron laughed at that. “I was talking more about the company, not the subject matter. You listen when others talk; that’s a rare quality to find in someone.”
 
I stared blankly at him. “How else do conversations work?”
 
“How indeed?” he mused. After a moment, he asked, “Would you be against doing something like this again?”
 
“Dinner again?” I asked.
 
Iron nodded. “Farrington is a large city. There are many different venues to enjoy, but I could show you around if you’d like.”
 
I thought it over for a while; it had been entertaining to talk with him for... over an hour, I realized. “I guess, but I can’t keep paying for both of us,” I finished.
 
He shook his head and smiled back at me, “You won’t have to.”
 
“Okay, then,” I agreed.
 
“Does next Tuesday work for you?”
 
“Tuesday’s fine,” I agreed. Looking up at the sky, I realized it was getting late. “I need to get going, though. I don’t want to get the wrong cave and end up fighting a manticore again.”
 
Iron laughed again, but when he saw I was serious, a shocked look came over his face. Still, he recognized that time was of the essence, so he bid me, “Good night, Gilda. And... be safe, I guess.”
 
“Good night,” I returned before heading down the street and towards the south gate of Farrington.
 
From behind me, Iron whispered, “Manticores?”
 
My trip back home was quiet, and I found my cave’s mountain’s peak easily enough. Before I made the final ascent, I scanned the forest for movement, hoping to see a good meal. I didn’t find any, so I decided to go to sleep before the now-growing emptiness from not eating would be enough to keep me awake.
 
Hunger or no, that night, for the first time in a while, I didn’t have any bad dreams.


> 4 - Personal Belonging
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday morning, Sherry greeted me with with a change of plans.
 
“Hey, you,” she said, not looking up from her paperwork. She pointed a hoof over her shoulder at the wall-mounted patrol map of Farrington. “Go look over patrol route twelve; that’s where you are this week.”
 
One of the benefits of being a griffin was my eyesight; I could read tiny details of the map without moving. “Uh... the Artisan District?” I asked as I reviewed the intersections I’d have to turn on. I had heard stories, and it didn’t exactly sound like the nicest part of Farrington.
 
“The Artisan District,” Sherry repeated. “Five different shops have asked for more guards up there ‘cause of some ‘high-profile work’ they’ve got. One of my units can split up to handle all the evils in the Residential District, so that leaves you.” She looked up from her paperwork and met my eyes. “You’re a big girl, and nothing ever happens in the mornings, so you’ll be fine. If not...” She picked up one of her thick pencils and repeatedly whacked it on the side of her desk. “You know the drill.”
 
“And hammer,” I added.
 
She grinned. “Just don’t take any candy or job offers from strangers.”
 
I responded by snapping a salute and heading out to my new patrol.
 
The Artisan District was mostly made up of many different flavors of blacksmithing. That wasn’t to say that there wasn’t an alchemy shop here or carpenter there, but it seemed like every other building had a chimney and rang with the sound of falling hammers.
 
The patrol itself was easy to remember: only nine turns. That meant I spent the first half hour of my patrol looking around at the shops; it was actually pretty cool to see some of the various metal things getting pounded into their shapes. However, the pedestrians were as hard and tempered as the steel products that were being produced. After the third stallion shoved his way past me, I called out, “Excuse you!”
 
He turned around just long enough to yell, “Get bent, half-breed!” before continuing on his path.
 
After the shock wore off, I realized that it wasn’t the slur that bothered me; it was his offhanded, lazy attempt at an insult. It doesn’t even make sense, I seethed. Does he think an eagle and lion just made it and, bam, griffins?
 
That interaction was a little preview of the rest of my day. By lunch, I was ready to be done with that cramped and burnt-smelling district. By five o’ clock, I was ready to be done with Farrington.
 
I headed to the north gate; from where I was, it was the quickest way out of the city. I didn’t need Sherry to dismiss me; I just needed a sergeant or higher. So I walked up to the north booth and, as I rounded the lip I asked, “Permission to leave for—”
 
Lieutenant Starfall was in there, glaring back at me. The words caught in my throat as an inarticulate gurgle, which was lucky; two weeks in Farrington, and I was starting to default to the pony language for swearing.
 
Silence fell between the two of us; he continued to glare at me, and I just kind of froze in position. I found some words, finally, and figured since I was already there, nothing worse could come from asking, “Uh, sir? Permission to leave for the day?”
 
He continued to glare at me for a full ten seconds before he said anything. “What was the one thing I told you your first day here?”
 
“Stay—”
 
“Stay out of my way,” he spoke over me, nodding slowly. He opened his mouth and started to say something more, but instead, he shook his head, turned around, and disappeared through the door in the back of his booth.
 
Well... crap. I stood there, aghast at the whole situation. Not only had I pissed the lieutenant off, but he hadn’t officially ended our conversation. So now, I was stuck between what made sense—leaving the north gate—and the duty of waiting to be dismissed.
 
It hit me that Lieutenant Starfall might have done that on purpose, and he might be off taking an early dinner break just to spite me. Before I could go any further down that train of thought, a door on the inside of the arch opened, and Lieutenant Starfall walked through. He was grinning, which made my stomach shrivel, but I had to stand my ground.
 
He walked right up to me, staying completely silent until he was looming over me, well within my personal space. I gazed up at him, then I glanced down at his shoulder, where he had a black scabbard of a knife or short sword; then, I looked back up at him.
 
“I’m not going to hurt you until you force me to,” he spoke in a quiet voice. “But, since you can’t obey one order, let’s see what else you’re doing wrong.” His voice shot up ten decibels as he shouted, “Present guard!”
 
I stood up for uniform inspection, and slowly, he circled around me, making quiet sounds of disapproval. I shook, either with rage or frustration, but I kept staring forward and won my fight to ignore his presence.
 
“Your armor’s filthy...” he sneered.
 
“I’ve been in the Artisan District all day, sir.” The term of respect tasted bitter, but I tried to be as neutral as possible.
 
“And it doesn’t fit correctly.”
 
“Sir, it’s...” I blinked a few times. Because I’m a griffin, was the end of that sentence, but that was what he wanted me to say. “Being... worked on,” I finished.
 
“Oh?” he asked. “I wasn’t aware that the captain approved any custom fittings before officers’ six-month milestone.” He poked the seam between my helmet and shoulder. “Right here. This is unacceptable.”
 
I didn’t like being touched. I curled a fist in the dirt road, fighting to keep my posture. Fighting back will only make it worse.
 
Starfall must’ve seen my fist, because he put his hoof down. “Something you want to say, officer?”
 
In my mind, I imagined the start of the fight. I had a fistful of dirt—cheap, but effective. I’d only get one or two hits after that, so I’d have to make them count.
 
Then, I remembered my training, and how to look past the first few blows of the fight. If I beat him, it didn’t matter in the long term; I’d no longer be a guard. If I lost... I doubted he’d show restraint in “self-defense.” The whole thing just made me feel helpless. Finally, a dam broke in my eyes, and I yelled, “What do you want me to do about it?!”
 
He smiled. I wanted to punch it off his face. A splinter of logic kept my fist in the road, gripping dirt.
 
“I want you to go back to whatever hole you live in and think,” he almost spat the words. His face was blurry when it leaned down into mine. “Think, about what you’re really doing here, and whether it’s time to stop pretending you’re a guard.”
 
Then he stood up and exclaimed, in a sickeningly happy voice, “Dismissed.”
 
I was in the air before he finished the word, flying towards the mountains. Navigating them would be difficult, because I was crying so hard. At the same time, I didn’t want anyone in the city to see me flying home. I was too ashamed.
 

*              *              *

 
The next morning, before my shift, Captain Bulwark motioned me over to his booth. I knew what he wanted, but I couldn’t ignore him, so I walked over.
 
“Hello, Officer.” He turned his hoof around and waved.
 
“Sir.” I gave a salute.
 
He returned it, so I put my hand down. Then, he continued, “I have two things to ask you before your shift this morning.”
 
“Okay...”
 
“First... what happened last night, between you and Lieutenant Starfall?”
 
I glanced down at the ridge where the grass met the dirt road outside of Farrington. I sure as hell didn’t want to defend the lieutenant, but I also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could bother me. Then again, melting down in front of him probably wasn’t the best way to go about that.
 
Either way, I had taken his advice, and even though it had been a long, miserable night, I had come to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to let him stop me from trying to be a city guard. Snapping my eyes back to the captain, I answered as honestly as I needed to. “I tried to get dismissed from him. I forgot about his standing order. It won’t happen again.”
 
“Gilda...” Captain Bulwark started. “Er... Officer... Gilda...” He glanced curiously off to the side, and despite the situation, I took small satisfaction in seeing his “captain” act slip up. After shaking his head, he continued, “A lieutenant can’t just order you to avoid them.”
 
I shrugged. “Not outright. But what about other bylaws and stuff he can waste my time with?”
 
Captain Bulwark gestured a hoof at himself. “If he’s persistent about being unduly harsh to you, let me know, and I’ll put an end to it.”
 
“Thank you, sir.” I bowed. “But then he’d be annoyed with me personally, and I don’t really want to go near him if I don’t have to anyway.”
 
The captain didn’t say anything in reply at first, but eventually, he nodded. “I’m not fond of this outcome, but if it’s your choice, I won’t force you both together.” After a shorter pause, he added, “Anyway, I also wanted to know if you still wanted to get dinner tonight?”
 
I remembered our plans for Tuesday. “Oh yeah, that’s today...” Nodding, I looked south and started piecing together a schedule. If I got dismissed at five-fifteen, and it took about two hours to make a round trip... “Would, uh, seven-thirty work?” As soon as I asked, I realized there’d barely be any time before I had to leave for the evening—maybe a half hour.
 
Captian Bulwark picked up on it, too. “If you stowed your armor in the Guard’s locker room, would six-thirty work?”
 
“Won’t it get wet?” I raised an eyebrow, remembering the “locker room” at Junior Speedsters’ had really just been a big shower room that I avoided for that exact reason.
 
My question drew a confused, choking noise from the captain. “Er... the locker room has lockers...” He trailed off, I shrugged, and he shrugged back. “Anyway, it’s the first door in the hallway to the right of the lobby, near the armory.”
 
I nodded. “Okay, then. Six-thirty it is.”
 

*              *              *

 
My second day in the Artisan District was even worse than the first.
 
In a weird sense, I was completely aware that everyone was the same as they were yesterday. But at the same time, every shove, shout, and slur now had a little anchor of doubt in my mind. What was I doing as a guard? Maybe it’d just be better to quit...
 
I kept at it, but at the end of the day, I definitely went south to the Citadel to be dismissed by Sherry. She greeted me with some paperwork that detailed some new “Friends of the Community” crap. I flipped through it, scowling harder and harder at the inane tips about “being polite to citizens” and “avoiding unnecessary confrontations.”
 
About four pages in, Sherry cleared her throat, “So, do you hate leaflets or something?”
 
“Where’s the citizens’ version of this crap?” I asked, and Sherry chuckled.
 
“I think that’s called the law, Gilda.”
 
I didn’t have an answer for that, so I finished reading. There was a quiz when I got done, which took about fifteen minutes to fill out, so it was ten minutes before six when I was officially “dismissed.”
 
If anything, it made me glad there was a locker room; if I had started my trip home a half-hour late, I would’ve been late for dinner. Then again, the rate my week was going, I probably would’ve just cancelled my dinner with the captain.
 
The locker room was just what its name implied: a room lined with steel lockers and a long, stone bench set in the floor. The lockers themselves had grates instead of doors, so it was easy to see which ones were occupied. There weren’t any locks; I supposed that was because it was already guarded by... well, the Guard. I picked an empty locker and stashed my armor inside.
 

*              *              *

 
Half an hour later, I returned to Farrington after a quick bath in the lake. A day’s worth of sweat, smoke, and ash did not a pristine Gilda make, but now I was clean, I felt better. Iron was waiting for me under the gate; after greeting me, he asked, “Are you ready to go?”
 
“So soon? I just got here.”
 
He chuckled and stood up; then we headed into the city. Again, I let Iron choose the restaurant; today, he took us to a diner in the Business District. Its tile floor was a lot less elegant than the carpeting at Saturday’s restaurant. It was also brighter-lit, and there wasn’t any music—or if there was, I couldn’t hear it over the chatter of all the other customers.
 
When we sat down, Iron showed me that the menu had imitation ham sandwiches. To his amusement, I ordered, “Twelve of them, hold the bread.”
 
The food situation looked like it’d be better than Saturday, but all of the conversational topics put me on the defensive. Iron wasn’t trying to be a jerk on purpose, but kept asking about life at Sharfkral-Grat. I obliged him with what I could, but most of his questions I either didn’t know the answer to, or I didn’t want to give an answer to.
 
For example, halfway through my fourth slice of what apparently counted for ham, by pony standards, Iron asked, “So, what is your favorite memory from growing up?”
 
I don’t know, I mentally sneered. It was vague, and it forced me to think about my childhood. I picked a day that wasn’t as bad as the others and responded, “Probably when my older sister taught me how to fly.”
 
Iron looked at me, expectantly, so I continued, “I guess she finally had enough of our father’s ‘lessons.’ One day, she found me climbing back down to our cave, grabbed me, and took me to a sort of flat area. She spent a few hours with me going over various techniques and movements, and finally, I could sort of lose altitude at a manageable rate. Sure, it wasn’t really flying, I guess, but it helped the next time that father abandoned me on a mountain peak in order to ‘motivate’ me to fly back home.”
 
When I finished the story, I looked across the table to find a horrified expression. “That’s... insane!” Iron said in a loud whisper. “You could have died.”
 
“And?” I asked, annoyed at the obvious. Every time, Father had reminded me that he’d prefer that I fall to my death rather than trying to “climb down like an insect.”
 
Across the table, Iron kept staring back, wide-eyed. I didn’t know what his problem was; it was my childhood. I also didn’t know how to ask him that without sounding pissy, so I ate some more “ham” while I let him work it out. Finally, he asked, “Was he always like that?”
 
A weird feeling welled up in my chest: It sounded like he didn’t believe me. My past was hard enough to relive without ponies calling my honesty into question. “What if he was?” I asked.
 
Iron flinched at the heat of my words, but he quickly regained his composure with a little head-shake. “I just find it hard to believe—”
 
Suddenly, it felt like all of my frustrations from the past two days came back at once. Starfall’s inspection, prejudiced idiots in the Artisan District, “Friends of the Community,” doubts about being a guard... now, Iron was calling me a liar about my past?
 
I found myself standing up and pointing a shaking talon at Iron. “Why would I lie?” Captain or no, favors or no, Iron had no right to call me a liar. Not after what I had been through. The rest of my anger came out in a scream: “Who do you think beat me half-to-death before I flew here?”
 
By now, the restaurant was dead silent. In a low whisper, Iron warned, “Gilda...”
 
I’d had enough food and company for the night. Without another word, I grabbed my coin bag, dumped the top third of the bits onto my plate, and turned to leave. Behind me, I heard Iron swear, followed by the jingling of coins. I walked faster, almost running into a waitress on my way out of the restaurant.
 
Outside, it was still light, so I guessed there was some benefit to leaving dinner early. I headed for closest gate—the east one. I mentally cursed when Iron called out my name from behind me; he was faster on those stupid roads, and I couldn’t fly.
 
Sure enough, his hoofbeats gained on me, which only made me angrier. Before he overtook me, I turned around at him yelled, “What?”
 
He glared and cut back, “We are in public, would you kindly lower your damn voice?”
 
“Fine,” I hissed back. I turned around and kept walking; I couldn’t avoid conversation, but I could end it quicker by getting out of the city sooner.
 
Iron walked alongside me, but he remained silent for almost half a block. Finally, he let out an exasperated sigh, followed by, “Look, I’m sorry, okay?”
 
Hollow words, I seethed. I didn’t even acknowledge him as I shot back, “Last time I told someone about my past, she at least had the courtesy to not call me a liar to my face.”
 
“I didn’t call you a—” He paused to think about it. “Okay, if you cut me off mid-sentence like that, I suppose it looks that way.”
 
“How, then?” I stopped, jerking my head around to face him. “How does that sentence end without you calling me a liar?”
 
Iron stood there, trying to dig himself out of his pit. I scoffed and started following the road again. After a few seconds, he caught back up and apologized a second time. “I misspoke. I didn’t mean to call into question your honesty,” he added.
 
“But you did.” My voice cracked, and I realized why, specifically, I was mad. I thought I could trust Iron, at least that he wouldn’t judge me for my past. Even if it was accidental—I admitted—hearing him doubt me...
 
It hurt.
 
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Iron said, shaking his head in bewilderment. “If I could take it back, I would.”
 
I didn’t respond at first; instead, I walked over to the side of the road and sat down in front of a barber shop. Iron joined me on my right, and we were quiet until I realized it was my turn to speak. “Look, I know you didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just...”
 
“I should tread carefully around sensitive subjects?” he guessed.
 
“No,” I answered. “Well, yeah, but that’s not what bothers me. I’m not used to, you know, telling others about...” I looked out into the street as I tried to find the right word. “Things.”
 
Something patted me on my right shoulder, and I puffed up and jumped away before I turned to see what it was. Beside me, Iron put his hoof down and in the same movement, his ears flopped down. “Sorry.”
 
I frowned back, but all I could think was, Crap. Instinct or no, I didn’t mean to shut down his attempt at comforting me. I sat back down and replied, “It’s fine, I just...”
 
“Don’t like being touched?”
 
“Not without warning,” I admitted.
 
Iron nodded. “Right then. I’ll keep my distance... both physically, and in conversation.”
 
I didn’t like his compromise; it left a huge wall between us, and then, what was the point of enjoying each others’ company? Shaking my head, I replied, “It’s going to come up... just, watch how you ask things and I’ll... I’ll try to not fly off the handle.”
 
He grunted in agreement. After a short pause, he grinned and said, “Still, things didn’t turn out completely poorly this evening.”
 
“Oh, yeah?” I raised an eyebrow at him.
 
“Think of all those ponies who got dinner and a show.”
 
I chuckled weakly, shaking my head. I was just glad we weren’t wearing our armor; screaming in restaurants wasn’t really “preserving the peace.”
 
“But, it’s still early; do you want to head home now, or...?” Iron prompted.
 
I checked the sky; it was probably before seven o’ clock. “It is still early,” I agreed. “What do you have in mind?”
 
In Farrington, there were three main waterfalls that supplied all of the city’s water. The bigger two were used for industrial purposes and drinking, but the third one was too small to really be useful for anything. Farrington’s planners dug out the basin, and turned it into either a small lake or a large pond; a few generations later, it was a full-blown public park.
 
Iron took me there. Instead of going down to the water, we sat on a stone bridge that had been built over it. Below us, whole families of ponies were out enjoying the water on boats and inflatable rafts.
 
While we sat, watching the waterfall, I told Iron about the events surrounding Junior Speedsters’. I started with why I had been sent there, then how my friendship with Dash had made camp bearable. When my banishment came up, I only told Iron that there was a condition under which I could return to my tribe, but I didn’t specify what it was. He picked up on the omission, though, so he asked, “What was the condition?”
 
To answer, I looked down at my chest’s painted stripe. True to its label, the dye hadn’t faded yet, but I did note that some specks of new, white feathers were poking through. I’d have to redo it in a few months or so.
 
Regardless, I pointed to my chest. “I kind of like this. When you think about it, it’s my life’s story.” I pulled back the feathers and exposed the jagged, raised lines of flesh. “I got these scars when I was forced out of my tribe,” I clarified. Smoothing my chest back down, I continued, “Normally, there are little speckles of purple; those run in my family, for the girls.” Finally, I pointed at my stripe. “And this... is from when I almost fulfilled Father’s condition.”
 
“Your friend is the price of readmission?” Iron guessed. I was torn between being disturbed that he had put everything together and relieved that he knew. I turned to look out at the lake and nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Iron turn and spit the word, “Disgusting.”
 
I looked over at him. I wasn’t that good at reading pony body language, but he had a severity about him that made me think something more than my story was bothering him. “You, uh,” I started before I knew what I wanted to say. “You seem to be taking this stuff about my father pretty rough.”
 
He turned to face me, chuckling bitterly. “Sorry, that’s the armor talking,” he said pensively, looking back out at the water. After a moment’s pause, he continued, “I’ve been doing this job for close to a decade, now. It never gets easier to learn about parents who hurt their children. It’s...” Iron trailed off and shook his head.
 
“Does that happen, uh, a lot? Here?”
 
Iron shook his head harder. “No. But...” He started slowly tapping a hoof against the inside of his other forearm. “Four cases, in the last ten years, is still four too many.”
 
I didn’t have any answer to that, other than an obvious “Well, yeah,” so I kept my beak shut. Beside me, Iron continued, “Either way, I lost my father too soon; I suppose that’s why I feel that everyone deserves a good one.” He looked back at me and shrugged. “Again, I’m sorry about earlier.”
 
I shrugged back at him. “You didn’t make it any worse.” Now it was my turn to look out at the water. The last of Tuesday’s light was beginning to fade; I’d need to leave soon if I wanted to get home. “We are who we are,” I mused, “whether or not there’s someone to help us along the way.”
 
Iron turned to face me, and I met his eyes as he answered, “That we are.”
 
“Good night, Iron,” I said quietly. As I stood up, I reached a hand out to pat him on the shoulder, but I thought better of it and put it back down.
 
He looked up at the sky before responding, “Good night, Gilda. Fly safely.”
 

*              *              *

 
I made it back to the forest around my cave during twilight. I landed and took a drink of water, but it made me sick to my stomach. I worried about it for a moment before I remembered the stupid, fake ham. It didn’t even taste all that great, I grumbled as I looked around for a stick. Puking was messy and unpleasant, but if something were making me sick, it beat the alternative.
 
After I was done, a female wolf came over to investigate my commotion. Meeting her gaze, I told her, “Go on. It made me sick; it’s not going to do any better for you.” I didn’t know if she understood me or not, but she turned around and headed away from the clearing to start her night’s hunt.
 
On the way up to my cave, I came across an unlucky squirrel in the treetops. After the quick meal, I flew up to my cave for the night, glad that, even though dinner with Iron started out rough, something had gone right this week.
 



 
Friday morning, I went to meet with Red to get the intel for my job.
 
His underground “office,” as he called it, was cold and dim, even in June. The bare, cracked stone walls and rugged utility of the room fit him perfectly; all it needed were some meat hooks and surgeon’s tools.
 
Red didn’t even look up from the maps on his desk. “You’re late,” he greeted me in his thick, fake accent. I didn’t know why he liked it, but I wasn’t about to question him on it, either.
 
I looked at the clock; he had it set eight minutes fast, and I was still there at one minute past the hour. “Up in the world, it’s seven-’til-seven.” That was his own condescending term for the streets of Farrington, “up in the world.” It made him chuckle, and distracted him from his maps enough to look up at me. I finished with, “I wouldn’t waste your time,” and it was true.
 
Red looked at the clock. “You know I set that fast to remind me of you.”
 
We were twin siblings, but he still bragged about his eight-minute head start on life. I forced a grin at his joke: A fast clock for Fast Hooves. I supposed that was one of the few “normal” things about us, but that was probably where the sibling bonding ended; thirty six years later, I still hadn’t officially joined his organization.
 
And now, I’m going to Manehattan. Forever. That was the point of my job today: a sort of “exit strategy,” to quote something I heard in a war drama once. It was a high-stakes job, but I didn’t focus on the odds of failure. I’d been stealing since before I got my cutie mark; the secret was to keep your wits about you and focus on the task at hand.
 
However, I also looked at the payoff: enough money to settle some old debts and atone for some sins. Without anyone looking for me, I could get away and start over in a new town. I’d have a new life, a new name, and in February, a new foal.
 
I walked over to Red’s desk, and he asked, “So, you’re sure about all this? I could give you everything you’d need. No risk, no frills, just you’d have to stay in the city—”
 
“Farrington’s no place to raise a kid,” I cut in. I was tired of our ongoing argument, especially because I wasn’t going to budge.
 
I got a sneer from the other side of the table. “Don’t get stroppy with me, love, just because you can’t be arsed to remember what month it is when you’re abroad.”
 
“I’m not getting ‘stroppy,’” I countered, “I just want to get on with this plan.” I patted the maps on his desk. They detailed the streets of the Artisan District, including Guard patrols. “The planning meeting’s one thing, but I don’t want to be late for the main event, either.”
 
Red looked at me crooked, which scared me. He could be about to burst out laughing just as much as he could be about to drag me up to the fourth story of the building we were currently in and throw me off the roof.
 
Luckily, he chuckled. “All right, then. Have it your way. Did the doctor say you’re good for this?”
 
I nodded. “That was the first thing I checked.”
 
“Right, then. You know the shop’s location...” He put a hoof on his map. “What you might not’ve counted on, is our friends in steel, they’ve almost doubled the guard around ‘ere.” He swept his hoof around in a circle, which included the shop I was going to hit. “If you were staying ‘ere, I’d’ve put more pressure in the Market District...”
 
“How big a window do I have?” I cut him off. There were several lines that converged within a two-block radius of the shop, but that didn’t mean anything. Guards were supposed to be regular, but they got off-schedule enough that there wasn’t any certain way to predict their locations.
 
Red had a gift for reading patrols—one of his many “talents”—which was why I needed his help in the first place. That was the only real capacity in which we worked together; I found all my buyers and merchandise myself.
 
He sat back and crossed his hooves across his chest. “That’s where things get fun for you, sis. The biggest window I can muddle out on all these double-patrols is a four-minute window where...” He traced a path between the shop and one of his safehouses. It crossed three patrols. “This route is unguarded, twenty-two minutes past the hour. And that’s your best bet. Still sure you want to do this?”
 
Four minutes... might as well be fifteen seconds. I shook my head. “My guy wants that sword hilt, he’s paying one-point-one for it.” I shrugged. “No one said it’s going to be easy money. Besides, the guards probably think they’re home clear by now...” A thought crossed my mind. “Where’s the griffin?”
 
Red pointed to a brown-colored path. “She’ll be here at twenty-two after.” It was, thankfully, on a far point of her path, compared to the shop. “Honestly, she won’t be all-that if you run into ‘er, especially if you wait until later in the day. My source says she’s ‘prone to mental fatigue,’ and she can’t run for shit with those claws.”
 
“I thought they were talons,” I mused, checking the map one more time.
 
“Who cares?” Red asked, and I agreed. Of everything that could go wrong with the job today, getting mauled by a griffin was a disturbingly real possibility. If that happened, it wouldn’t matter if they were called talons, claws, hands, or blades.
 
Or hooves.
 
I looked across the table, up at my brother. One last job, I told myself. Then I’m done with monsters.
 



 
Friday morning, Sherry assured me it was my last day in the Artisan District for “a while,” for which I was grateful. Even though the week got off to a rough start that sort of stabilized around Wednesday, if one more stallion shoved me out of the way, I swore I’d use him for “baton practice.”
 
About an hour into my patrol, an old stallion came up to me and asked for directions to the hat store in the Market District. After four attempts to tell him that it was just off the main road, and that it was “the giant hat,” I gave up, and decided to take him there myself.
 
It was only five minutes out of my way, and even if he were a little slow, the stallion wasn’t that bad of company. When we finally got to the street, I pointed at the one building that stood out like a sore thumb: a giant, wooden hat. “Hat store,” I stated.
 
“Oh... hat store,” he clarified. “I thought you said cat store.”
 
Slowly, I turned to him. “No...” I tilted my head. “I didn’t even know there was a cat store.”
 
“Well, where’s a guy supposed to go to get some pussy?” He screamed out, then doubled over laughing.
 
I watched, eyebrow raised, as he rolled on the ground, I seriously considered arresting him for “disturbing the peace.” Before I made up my mind, he stood back up, then patted my armor’s shoulder. “You’re a good kid... thanks for showing an old coot around.”
 
“No problem; it’s part of the job,” I said with a slight shrug. As soon as he turned around, I let my mouth fall open as I shook my hand in a huge, one-palmed shrug. Stupid asshole!
 
Anyway, with my crazy stallion adventure behind me, I headed back to my patrol. It’d probably take the rest of the morning to get caught back up on my laps, which only annoyed me slightly more than the fact that I had to do it walking bent-handed on crappy cobblestones.
 
The rest of the morning was a busy one, at least for me: two more ponies asked for directions, and around eleven, I had to break up a sales dispute that tumbled out into the street. They were just yelling at each other, so I didn’t have to waste any more time by arresting them, but still, I couldn’t gain time, either.
 
By the time it was nearly half-past noon, I was still about fifteen minutes short on my patrol. My mental grumbles about how it’d probably have to come out of my lunch break were interrupted when I heard a clamor, one street over. As soon as I heard someone yell, “Stop! Thief!” I bolted over to see what I could do.
 
The street was packed, but I saw a dark green stallion who was wearing a farrier’s apron and running in one direction. Shop owner... I noted. Further up the road, I caught a glimpse of a pony rounding the corner. Thief, I guessed. From what I saw, he—or she, I hadn’t seen enough to make that call—was a sapphire-blue pony with a red tail. I tried to remember where I had seen that coloring before, but I dashed over to the next street to try and cut them off.
 
On the next street, I saw her again—definitely female—and started to rush after her. Quickly, she gained about a block’s distance between us, mostly because of the crowd between us, but she was also fast. Captain Bulwark stressed that I wasn’t allowed to fly within the city, even at a low altitude, but she was a prime suspect in a crime, so I’d have to get creative in order to catch up.
 
The crowd was in my way. I needed to clear a path.
 
I flared my wings for balance and stood up on my hind legs. From my position, I could better see the red-maned mare, but that wasn’t all I wanted. Standing up would make it easier to run on cobblestones, and it loosened the armor around my chest a little...
 
With a deep breath, I unleashed a roar from Hell. Every pony in the street stopped what he or she was doing in order to stare at me. “Officer coming through! Move it or lose it, assholes!” I yelled in a voice that was still a few octaves deeper than my usual speaking voice.

The effect was near-instantaneous. After everyone had moved to a side of the street, I started running, two-legged, after the thief. Running like that wasn’t exactly comfortable, especially over long distances, but given the cobblestones, it was my only real option.
 
The thief had stopped to look at me, which was her downfall; by the time she turned her wide-eyed head back to the direction she was running, I was only two blocks behind her.
 
She turned down a street to lose me, so I turned down one that was parallel with it. A few shopkeepers glanced out their doorways as I ran past, but I ignored them; only one pony mattered, now.
 
After a few more blocks, I got lucky: there was a small, grassy park that took up an entire city block. I leaped over a fence and dropped down to all fours for more speed as I cut diagonally through it. When I jumped back to the cobblestones, I landed on two legs and kept running, dragon-style, alongside the thief. There was only one block between us now.
 
As I caught glimpses of her through various intersections, I started to wonder why she hadn’t turned down a street in order to throw me off. That answer came quickly, when I ended up on a narrow bridge over a drainage canal. The water looked relatively clean, but it was a twenty-foot drop down to it.
 
A quick glance behind me showed that there were four other bridges over the canal, like mine. In front of me, however, the thief was smiling at me from an intersection: she had somewhere to go from her position. I scowled as I realized that, as soon as I took off running to get one block over, the thief would also make a break for it. I’d never find her again if she had ten seconds to make herself scarce.
 
“Bet you wish you could fly, huh?” she taunted. My eyes narrowed; she was right. The way things worked was that I couldn’t break any “hard” laws while going for an arrest without good reason. Screaming in a street was one thing, breaking the no-fly law was another, and I didn’t even know what she had stolen—if anything.
 
Basically, it was a lose-win situation, and the thief knew it. She turned around, chuckled, and slowly sauntered away, swaying her hips at me.
 
I wasn’t going to give up so easily, though. As I glared at her stupid, sultry walk, I thought about ways to incapacitate her from a distance. I drummed my talons on my midriff, then felt the belt there. That works, I realized.
 
I grabbed my baton and drew back my arm, getting ready to throw it. I didn’t want to hit a moving target, though, so after taking aim, I yelled out, “Yo! Fotze!”
 
She turned around to face me, still smiling, if slightly confused.
 
My baton hit her right in the side of the head.
 
As soon as she slumped to the ground, I ran over to her street. By the time I got to where she was, she was stirring, so I opened up one of her saddlebags. Inside was a diamond about the size of a walnut. Good enough for me, I thought. I picked my baton back up, and in the same motion I used to put it back on my belt, I pulled out my trusty officer’s rope. After I tied her hooves together as best I could, I took her saddlebags off and put them around my neck, where I could balance them easier.
 
The thief came around, and struggled against my knots before she had a little panic attack of quick, short breaths. “Please... don’t do this...” she muttered in a much humbler tone than she had spoken to me in earlier.
 
My hind legs were killing me, but I could already tell this mare wasn’t going to be compliant, so I threw her over my shoulder and started heading south on three legs. “That’s not how the guard-criminal relationship works,” I said. “But it’s easy to figure out: you commit crimes, I catch you in the act, you go to jail. See? Easy.”
 
Despite my lecture, she kept struggling and trying to hit me. It was already awkward to carry a load that was roughly my size, but her struggling made it all the more difficult. After she bit my wing, I told her, “You’d be easier to carry if I ripped off a few legs, you know.”
 
She went limp, save for the shivers of her trembling. I rolled my eyes at how easy it was to frighten her; she ran fast, but she was just a coward.
 
I got back to the main road in short enough time, and it was still right around one o’ clock when I got back to the Citadel. I took my prisoner to Sherry’s desk, so that I could unload her and get back to my patrol. “Hi, Sherry,” I announced my presence.
 
She didn’t look up from the form she was filling out. “Is there a reason you’re twenty minutes late on your patrol?”
 
“Yeah, but I’m catching up,” I admitted. “I also brought you someone.”
 
Sherry looked up, and for the first time, I saw her with a wide-eyed, fearful expression. It passed, and she walked around to my side of the desk. “Is that...” Sherry pulled my prisoner’s flank away from my head to check the mark. It hit me in the ear hole when she let go, but from the other side of my head, I heard Sherry congratulate me, “Not a bad catch for your first real criminal. Let’s get her processed.”
 
She led me into the processing room, which was about the size of a large closet. A low-hanging shelf wrapped around three walls; on the fourth was the door and a lined backdrop used to measure height for the photographs.
 
I set the mare down on her right side, more or less in the center of the room. She tried to stand up, but she failed, and after lugging her around Farrington for the better part of half an hour, I wasn’t exactly feeling sympathetic enough to prop her back up. Instead, I satisfied some curiosity by asking Sherry, “So, uh... you know who this is?”
 
“Know her?” Sherry asked, incredulous.
 
“I’m Fast Hooves, and you’re going to regret this!” the thief snapped up at me.
 
Sherry’s voice came like the first thunderclap of a storm. “I don’t remember giving you permission to talk, you little piece of shit!”
 
I stood there, stunned. Sherry had a rough kind of voice, but she always spoke in a kind, quiet manner. Hearing her shout was jarring, to say the least.
 
Then, before I knew what had happened, Sherry grabbed my baton and swung down, hard, extending it and striking Fast Hooves in the chest, between her forelegs. Fast Hooves wheezed, then curled into a defensive ball.
 
Sherry raised my baton for another swing, but I snatched it back before she could bring it down. She reeled on me, snarling, and for a moment, I braced myself for a fight. Then, she got her senses back and shook her head. In a quiet tone, she stated, “Don’t feel sorry for her. That whole family’s scum.”
 
“I don’t know much about that,” I admitted, “but where I come from, fights end when one side loses.” I left out the part where that was usually because fights between adults in my tribe usually ended in death, but I felt that my point still stood.
 
Sherry didn’t respond right away. Instead, she looked at our prisoner with a look of hateful disgust that made me shudder. “Ask Iron what happened to our lieutenant,” she finally said.
 
I grunted in agreement, and I put my baton back on my belt. Sherry cleared her throat and I flinched as she pulled the saddlebags off my neck. “Anyway, let’s see what she almost got away with.” She put the bags on the floor, and then pulled out a golden sword hilt with several large recessions running down the shaft.
 
“Wow,” I said, impressed. I didn’t know how much it was worth in pony money, but it definitely looked expensive—and old. Sherry nudged the other bag open, and hoofed out the gem I had seen earlier, as well as four others just like it.
 
“Someone’s going to be very happy you caught her,” Sherry told me, equally impressed.
 
“I remember who it was, too,” I added.
 
Without another word, my sergeant loaded up the saddlebag and placed it around my neck. “Well, you better get it back to them; something like this is bound to be missed.”
 
I blinked a few times in surprise. Is it normal to trust rookies with such expensive stuff? I asked myself. Sherry saw my expression and added, “We’ve got records of her being brought in, your report, and the owner’s report... that’s enough to put her in prison for the crime. No use hanging on to someone’s personal belongings; they didn’t steal anything.”
 
I hadn’t really been looking for a reason not to get away from that room, so I filled out the first part of the arrest form and—after a moment’s hesitation of leaving Sherry alone with the thief—I headed back to the Artisan District. It struck me that, while I remembered seeing someone running after the thief, I really didn’t know who he was. However, I had a general location and I remembered his cutie mark, so it wouldn’t be too hard to find him.
 
The trip into the Artisan District was the easiest one I made that week; a few ponies in the street even stepped aside to make way for me. I grinned at that, and I regretted how it took me most of five days before I had a chance to scare everyone. As soon as I thought it, I remembered my training, and the oath, and why that was a bad idea.
 
Still, it was hard to argue with results.
 
As soon as I got to the street where the theft had taken place, I saw the dark green farrier. He was sitting on a shop’s front steps, holding his forehead in his hooves. Now that I actually had the time to look at him, I could see the creases of old age that crossed his face, but he was a dark enough color where it was hard to make out at a distance.
 
Sitting next to him was a white stallion who wore his mane in a weird, doorknob-like knot; his cutie mark was an odd type of sword that I had also never seen before. When I reached the pair, the farrier looked up at me blankly, but I could tell he didn’t really acknowledge my presence. I smiled as best I could as I took off the saddlebags and handed them to him. “These look familiar?”
 
He looked inside one bag and his face lit up. He clutched the bag to his chest with a trembling hoof, and he clenched his eyes shut. “By the fires... thank you.” The white stallion patted him on the back; then, he made a little grunt as he got pulled into what looked like a crushing, quietly sobbing hug.
 
I felt as if I were intruding on a private moment, so I turned around to carry on with the rest of my day. Before I could take the first step, though, the farrier cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
 
I shook my head, remembering the strict policy against taking gifts from citizens. “No need; it’s part of the job.”
 
The farrier wouldn’t take no for an answer, though. He walked over to me and looked down at my hands. “I’m no expert on griffin anatomy,” he said, “but that can’t be comfortable.”
 
“Er—”
 
“And your shoulders... Hell, the whole damn suit doesn’t fit!” As he kept talking, he got more and more energetic. “No, no, no, this won’t do. Not for the guard who saved my business!”
 
“But... I can’t accept... anything,” I half-mumbled. I didn’t want to seem unreceptive of his gratitude, but at the same time, there were rules I had to abide by.
 
Comprehension dawned on the farrier’s face. ““Right, right, I’ll get it squared away with the captain first. But mark my words, you will have a fitting suit of armor come Monday!” Turning to the white stallion, who I guessed was his employee, he commanded, “You hear that? Monday. Make a list of everything we’re going to need to fix this.”
 
The white stallion simply nodded at his boss.
 
I was torn between interest in getting new armor and my sense of duty. Either way... “I need to get back to my patrol,” I said. “But thanks.”
 
“No need; it’s part of my job.” The farrier winked at me.
 
I turned and left, heading back to my patrol route. I was an entire hour down, which I probably wasn’t going to make back, but I had caught a criminal, so I had an excuse. As I got back into my rut, my fingers started to throb from walking. I didn’t know what was in store for me from the farrier, but I really hoped he’d clear something with the captain.
 

*              *              *

 
At the end of the day, at Captain Bulwark’s booth, he greeted me, “Rough day? I heard you ended up three circuits late and declined a bribe.”
 
His tone had just enough humor in it that I added, “You’re forgetting the cat store, sir.”
 
He let out a chuckle. “Cat store? That sounds like an interesting story.”
 
“Not really, it ended in a pun.”
 
“Oh.” Captain Bulwark nodded. “In all seriousness, I wanted to commend you on a job well done today, but also to give you a warning. Do you remember the stallion you met on your first day of training?”
 
Suddenly, it clicked: they were the same colors, just different genders. She was Fast Hooves, I remembered from her quickly silenced outburst, so her brother was... “Red Hooves.”
 
Captain Bulwark tapped a hoof on his nose. “While I want to stress that Farrington is a safe city, there is a criminal element. We’ll certainly work harder on getting you a partner, but until then, Sherry’s been instructed to keep you out of the Artisan District and to move your patrols around randomly.”
 
I frowned. “Well... that blows.” The captain matched my frown, so I continued, “...Like the winds... of good fortune... sir?” I shrugged.
 
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Anyway, since you brought up good fortune...” His eyebrows returned to normal. “Earlier, I met with a farrier who demanded I allow him to rework your armor. Given your performance today, I see no reason to deny him that.”
 
A lump swelled in my throat. I’m getting new armor? I had entertained the possibility earlier, but hearing the captain say it gave it a new level of certainty. “When... how do I do that?”
 
His eyes darted to the upper wall in his booth. “In ten minutes, I can escort you to the shop.” He looked back at me and added, “Given the hour, I don’t think it’s the best idea for you to go to the Artisan District alone.”
 
I nodded. “Uh, then after that, dinner?”
 
Captain Bulwark shook his head. “Unfortunately, this weekend’s going to be a busy one, and there certainly won’t be much time for meals with company,” he apologized. “Fast Hooves isn’t exactly going to be an easy criminal to process.”
 
Remembering my upcoming random patrols, I nodded. “Well, let me know when things get less busy, or if there’s anything I can do.”
 
A contemplative look crossed his face, and finally, he answered, “I should be free Monday night, after all’s said and done. But no...” He shook his head again. “There’s not much that regulation requires of you other than your arrest report.”
 
“Cool.” I nodded.
 
I stayed at the captain’s booth until his shift ended; then we walked to the Artisan District. On one level, I guessed it was now a dangerous place for me. However, that didn’t bother me. Not only was I getting permanent armor, signifying how I was a permanent fixture of the Farrington Guard, I was getting it as a reward for a job well-done.
 
The whole trip to the farrier’s shop, I glowed. For once in my life, I felt like I actually fit in.
 

*              *              *

 
Monday morning, when I got back to Farrington, the streets were quiet. A few ponies were out getting ready for the day, and when I walked past one, she stopped what she was doing to wave at me. I nodded and waved back to her, and I didn’t have to fake a smile, but I didn’t have enough time to stop and chat.
 
When I got to his shop, the tired-looking farrier let me inside. The heat was sweltering, almost like an invisible wall. In the back, the the farrier’s apprentice was sitting at his bench and hitting something with a small hammer.
 
My eyes drifted over to the window on the left side of the room, where I instantly saw what could only be my new armor. Instantly, I thought all the weird, violating measurements from Friday were worth it; my armor looked like a griffin, all the way down to two large, metal wings.
 
The farrier led me over to the stand, explaining, “You’d be surprised how little steel this actually took to fix.” He pointed at his apprentice. “He knows some Canternese secret or other, so he ended up reducing the total weight of the frame.” The farrier yawned. “He broke even on the wing-guards, though.”
 
I looked behind me, at the apprentice. He gave me an apologetic shrug, so I raised a hand and shook my head.
 
When we got to my armor, the farrier handed me the top half of my armor and prompted, “Try it on.” The top half was the part with the wing-guards, so I tested one out. It swung up on a hinge, and when it was all the way open, it stuck firmly into place. I had to work it a little to get it to swing back down, but I noticed there was a lip on the front, where my wing bone rested against the metal.
 
It clicked: I could open and close these flaps with my wings, which would let me fly, almost like a beetle. However, unlike bugs’ shells, these wing-guards were honed like a knife; apparently, these guys knew a thing or two about aerodynamics.
 
The main part of the armor was easy to put on; I could hold the top part on with my wings. To top things off, the farrier handed me my helmet; its new shape contoured to my head a lot better.
 
Once I was fully-armed—including my belt—I heard a cough from the other side of the room. The farrier’s apprentice raised a hoof, then beckoned me over to his table. At that point, I was floating, but I walked over to him anyway.
 
He gave me a pair of gauntlets.
 
As soon as I saw them, I got excited. I tried them on, and they were slightly tight, but they had cushioning and support in my palm and at the base of my talons. The only downside I noted was that they weren’t as sharp as my natural talons, but I didn’t need those in a Guard-approved fight anyway.
 
I walked around a little; it was like walking on a cloud. Literally. There was no discomfort, no added pressure from walking. In a moment of giddiness, I swiped the edge of an anvil with my talon covers; all I felt was brief discomfort. If I had tried that with my bare talons, my whole hand would be throbbing for hours.
 
When I made a fist, the gauntlet folded neatly, leaving a perfectly round opening in the center. I smiled, then grabbed my baton; its handle was the same diameter as my gauntlet’s hole.
 
I turned to the apprentice, then to the farrier. “I... don’t know what to say,” I said, trying to choke back tears. For the first time since taking my oath, I felt pride in being a guard of Farrington. It was overwhelming, but I managed to gasp out the words, “Thank you.”
 
“The armor’s duty,” he replied, reaching into the front of his apron and fumbling for a disturbing second. “But this is a gift.” Luckily for everyone, he pulled a round medallion out of his pocket. I took it and examined it; it was about four inches across, and it had the insignia for Farrington engraved into... black metal.
 
“Wrought iron,” the farrier said loudly, tapping the medallion. “Pretty much useless as armor, but then again, so is gold.” I looked at him, confused; he made a loop in the air with his hoof. Turning back to the medallion, I flipped it over, and the breath caught in my lungs.
 
The other side was bright, shiny, and bore a historical griffin insignia—the Dreikral. The emblem itself was simple: three crescent shapes, stacked to form a symbolic griffin’s claw. This version had mainly been used back before we broke into four separate tribes; however, all three tribes used a variation of it.
 
The Dreikral was antiquated, but so was my appreciation for my race’s culture.
 
It all fit me perfectly.
 
Looking down at my chestplate, there was a round indentation in the middle; with a light sigh, I put the medallion into my armor, Farrington-side out. In my head, I imagined my conversation with Iron, or rather, with Captain Bulwark. He’d be sorry, but he’d uphold me to the standards of the Guard.
 
“Don’t think we’re scrimping on armor, either,” the farrier added. “There’s three layers to that medalion. My lady-friend’s an alchemist, so it’s got a solid-diamond core.”
 
That hit me with a jolt, but instead of complaining about his generosity, I turned and bowed. “We’re even, now,” I said, “no matter how much that hilt was worth.”
 
He smiled and pointed behind me. “If you want to thank someone, thank him. He did most of the work on your armor, and it was his idea for the two sides.”
 
I turned to the apprentice, but he was already over at the furnace, melting something. “Tell him I said ‘thanks,’” I replied to the farrier.
 
He nodded at me, and I looked over at the clock; it was definitely time to head for the Citadel. After one final wave goodbye, I left the shop.
 
Outside, I looked to the right and left: north and south, respectively. I had twenty-five minutes to get to the Citadel, which was cutting it close, even if I ran. It’d probably be faster to head north, then fly around the wall to the south gate. However, with my gauntlets, I could probably make decent time if I stayed within the city limits, on the grounds.
 
Flying or running, I asked myself. North or south. I glanced down at my gauntlets, then looked at the emblem on my chest.
 
Then, I made up my mind and turned south.

> 5 - Romantic Confusion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

My first patrol with the new armor was so exciting, it gave me chills. Maybe it was because I could move easier, breathe easier, or walk easier, but around the third hour, I realized I needed to make a conscious effort to keep from smiling at everything.
 
Personal feelings or no, I was a guard, and I did have protocols to follow.
 
That evening, after both our shifts, Iron took me to Spud’s Duds, a potato bar in the Business District. That restaurant’s big deal was that you could buy a baked potato and top it with anything you liked from a long row of choices on the back wall.

When we sat down, Iron questioned my plate. “Two potatoes... but no toppings at all?”
 
“Nope.” I shook my head and started counting off fingers. “I don’t do dairy...” I paused, remembering that week when I tried milk. “Vegetables are boring, and... what else is up there?”
 
“Bacon bits?” Iron offered.
 
I shook my head a second time. “Not after that ham last week.” Iron nodded, but his face got a little longer as he looked down at his own carefully constructed potato. I pointed to his plate. “I mean, that... That looks good, and it might even taste good, but I probably couldn’t keep it down.”
 
“There’s dozens of restaurants in this town; we’ll find something you enjoy,” Iron promised.
 
I raked two talons through my potato, then drummed all three fingers across my plate, spearing a chunk on each talon. “Potatoes are fine.” I shrugged and ate part of it. “Besides, I come here for the company, not the food.”
 
Iron grinned and nodded back at me. “I can imagine. So, how was your first day with the new armor?”
 
“Pretty awesome,” I replied. “It fits like a glove, I actually have gloves... and it's got ventilation.”
 
“Ventilation?” Iron repeated.
 
“Yeah. Like, I didn’t notice them at first, but there’s tiny holes running up and down the whole thing. It breathes,” I gushed, flaring myself up to annunciate things.
 
Across the table, Iron burst out laughing.
 
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
 
He shook his head. “I’m happy for you, I truly am.”
 
I grinned back, then ate another chunk of potato. When my mouth was clear, I asked, “So, how was your weekend?”
 
Iron’s right ear fell down, and he gazed off to the right. “Between you and I,” he whispered, “like interrogating a brick wall.” I sat there and waited for him to continue, but he shook his head. “Sorry. I really can’t tell you any specifics. Someone might overhear.”
 
I looked around; there were a fair number of customers there, all enjoying meals. Everyone had some toppings, I mused as I ate the last bit of my first potato.
 
Either way, Iron gave me an apologetic glance. “But, the events of last Friday notwithstanding, is there anything else you’d like to talk about this evening?”
 
I racked my brain for a good conversation topic. Then, I remembered a question from Friday, but I didn’t know if it counted as an event. I asked, “Actually, there’s one thing from Friday I want to know about.”
 
He shrugged. “There’s no harm in asking, I suppose.”
 
“What happened to your old lieutenant?”
 
My question almost killed Iron. Or at least, he gagged on his potato a little before he washed it down with a hard swallow of water. “Who...” He cleared his throat. “Who told you about Lieutenant Spade?”
 
“After the arrest on Friday, Sherry told me to ask you about him.” I left out the part where she had batoned a defenseless prisoner; that didn’t really seem relevant to the point at hand.
 
Iron grunted acknowledgement. “Well, then... okay, you at least earned that story.”
 
Hearing it put that way piqued my interest, and, after a long drink, Iron began, “My advancement within the Guard was quicker than usual.” He shrugged. “However, I also had the help of ‘fortune...’” He made little air quotes with his hooves. “If you want to call it that. I joined the guard at age fifteen, then was promoted to sergeant at age eighteen, then lieutenant at twenty-one, and finally, captain at twenty-two.”
 
I raised an eyebrow. “One year as lieutenant?”
 
He closed his eyes and nodded. “Don’t remind me.” It sounded harsh, so I hunched down a little. Iron looked at me and apologized, “Sorry, but I heard that line quite often, back in the day.”
 
I nodded back at him, and he continued, “Anyway, the story of Lieutenant Spade... my involvement in it begins with my promotion to sergeant. That was when I started to get to know Sherry more. She was always friendly to me as an officer, but it was never anything personal, you see.”
 
As I listened, I started on my second potato and thought back over my—three weeks, had it already been?—with Sherry. I knew exactly what Iron was talking about. She joked around and was pleasant, but I didn’t know anything about her personal life.
 
“What really struck me as obvious, in hindsight, was her romantic involvement with our lieutenant.” Iron put his hooves out in a wide shrug. “I mean, I thought they hated each other at first. But by the third or so time she mentioned she was getting dinner with him after work, I figured something must have been going on. I asked, and she ‘admitted’ it, but then again, she hadn’t really been making an effort to hide it.”
 
Iron sighed, then paused for a moment with downtrodden eyes. “They dated the entire time I was sergeant—three and a half years, almost to the day—but they had been together for six years before that. They finally got engaged, about six months before... well, they got engaged. They were happier than I had ever seen them, even though they always seemed to be bickering. But they weren’t serious fights, they were more... comfortable fights, you know? Like between siblings?”
 
The only fights I ever had were with Gerard, and they always ended with both of us bleeding profusely. However, I didn’t want to change topics, so I nodded a lie.
 
“I still remember the day that the tip came in,” Iron continued. “One of the Hooves siblings was going to be at the caravan yard, personally overseeing a shipment of stolen weapons. Lieutenant Spade went with a small task force of guards; anything larger would’ve given themselves away.”
 
He paused before continuing on, “I’ll spare you the details, but they were ambushed. We’re not sure if someone was helping them, or if the Hooves sibling won a three-on-one fight with the element of surprise...” Iron shrugged, shaking his head. “All three guards died that evening. We still don’t know which of the Hooves it was.”
 
“It was Red,” I responded flatly.
 
Iron raised an eyebrow. “That’s a tad presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?”
 
“His sister, the one I caught on Friday... she was too... soft.” I shook my head. “As soon as I caught her, it was over.”
 
“Fast Hooves has been known to get desperate in dire situations,” Iron corrected me. “Once, she was surrounded by guards during a robbery in the Residential District. She ended up burning two homes to the ground, rightfully assuming that the officers on the scene would help the families inside, rather than pursuing her.”
 
“Huh.” I nodded. I hadn’t expected that from the wimp I caught earlier. I finished my potato in silence, and Iron dug into his masterpiece. Sherry’s actions made a lot more sense to me now, at least. And if Fast Hooves had killed three guards because she was afraid of being caught?
 
That sort of weaponized cowardice made me wish I hadn’t taken my baton back so early.
 
I shoved the thought back down, though; beating a defenseless prisoner wouldn’t fix the past. But speaking of the past, something else from Iron’s story made me wonder, so I pointed at him. “Let me guess. You were one of the officers there?”
 
He swallowed and shook his head. “Starfall, Scabbard, and Scales. That was the night shift, after all, which I never did because of... personal preferences.”
 
For the rest of the meal, it was my turn to learn about Iron’s past. He spent nearly a half-hour telling me about some of his arrests as an officer—and a sergeant. Apparently, some sergeants opted to do half a patrol on top of their paperwork-related duties.
 
Most of his stories came with a nostalgic tone, so I asked, “Do you miss it?”
 
“Yes and no,” he answered. “I miss helping citizens directly, but I’m in a position where I can do more good from behind the scenes.”
 
Soon after that, we were both done eating, so we left the potato bar. As we walked down the road, Iron asked, “Well... it’s still light outside... do you want to see something interesting?”
 
I agreed with a shrug.
 
He led me to a clothing store near the east wall. When we were inside, all the stupid, frilly saddles that wouldn’t fit a griffin made me question his decision and definition of the word “interesting.”
 
However, Iron ignored the clothing and waved at the shopkeeper. “Can I borrow your roof?”
 
The shopkeeper gave him a strange, raised eyebrow, but he nodded and bowed, sweeping a hoof to the back of the store. There was a door back there, which led to some stairs. Once we were on the roof, Iron hoisted himself up onto the outer roof of the stairwell. I climbed up, too, and I finally saw what Iron meant by “something interesting.”
 
We could see the whole city from there.
 
True, the wall or guard towers would provide a better vantage point, but those were off-limits to civilians. My next thought was an aerial view—flying from high above, out of the range of the netters—but then I realized that wasn’t really an option for Iron. So really, our current spot was probably one of the best places he had to look out over the city. That made it mean more, somehow.
 
“I’m not so naïve as to say everything here is perfect,” Iron said, turning to me, “but all things considered, it’s still very beautiful.”
 
I looked out over the city, where all the buildings formed neat, winding rows. The sun was low enough in the sky to give everything a soft, orange glow. Some of the streetlamps were already twinkling, and as I looked out, one street’s lamps were being lit, one after another. I couldn’t see the pony who was doing it, which gave it a strange, whimsical appearance.
 
“Yeah,” I agreed with Iron. “I think I see what you see in this place.”
 
We stayed on the roof for a little while longer, watching the city get ready for the night. It reminded me that I needed to get going, too. I gave the eastern wall a cursory glance; it was close enough where I could probably make the flight before getting netted down.
 
I shook my head; the high altitude was mixing up my thoughts and instincts. Instead, I joined Iron in climbing back down to the store’s main floor. Then, we walked to the eastern gate.
 
After we said our goodbyes and made dinner plans for Wednesday—a little soon, I guessed, but it didn’t bother me—Iron started to say something more. I waited for it, but he reconsidered with a quick shake of his head. With one last, small hand wave, I took off flying for home.
 
The flight home felt much longer than usual, even though it was only probably an extra half mile or so to leave from the east gate rather than the south. My eyelids started drooping, and I chalked it up to how long of a day it had been.
 
As soon as I got home, I nestled on my blanket. I was pretty grimy, but bathing could wait until the morning. With my head bowed down on my chest, I went over the day’s events in my head: new armor—I’d have to leave early to get suited up before my patrol, I reminded myself—easier walking, dinner with Iron, at a potato bar, of all the silly pony things.
 
I wonder where we’ll go for our next date, I thought sleepily. Maybe somewhere with fish. I smiled; that wasn’t very likely. My mind grew blank for a moment, then I shot awake.
 
“Our next what?”
 
When I was drowsy, the word came so simply and naturally, despite its huge meaning. Now I was awake, I realized just how shockingly true that word was.
 
“Date.”
 
While I had always sort of hoped I would get to experience dating and romance and stuff, the numbers had always been against me. In my tribe, there had only been three suitable males—which was a generous term I used to describe any non-family members who weren’t fifteen years older than me. At any rate, I never really met Daniel, despite our tribe’s size; then, there was that one jerk whose name I forgot.
 
But the third, he was already accounted for...
 
A shudder ran down my spine as I heard Gerard’s song. Even from a distance, it had been captivating—a sad song, filled with anger and bitter hate like a winter’s gale. At the same time, it was joyful, hopeful, and it declared a damned love that burned with the fury of a dead forest’s blaze.
 
By the time I worked out who he was singing to, I had wandered dangerously close to the two of them. A twig snapped underfoot as I turned to leave, and like a flash, my brother was on top of me, fearful, panting, and with two talons pressed into my neck...
 
Stephen saved my life when he told Gerard to let me go.
 
I walked out to my landing, tired, but the memory of that afternoon, five years ago, had done a good job of waking me up. I’d been returning home from one of Father’s lessons when I found out about them. Between our laws and our race’s extinction, they were forced into the worst kind secrecy. It was the sort of thing that someone could die over.
 
From what I heard in Gerard’s song, it was the sort of romance worth killing over.
 
With a sigh, I turned my head up to watch the stars. It gave me an immense feeling of solitude. Back in my tribe, when it was warm outside, a lot of adults didn’t go to sleep until long past midnight. I wondered how many of the Sharfkral were out tonight, and that included curiosity as to what my brother and Stephen were up to.
 
Instead of invading their privacy with my thoughts, I imagined the massive plateau next to the ridge that housed hundreds of empty caves compared to the seven that were lived in. We used the plateauit as a communal plaza for feasts and celebrations; on nights without a fire, on a night like tonight, griffins would be spread out along the edge, sitting and gazing at the sky. Some would be in pairs, most would be alone, but everyone would be thinking about the same thing: our future, or more specifically, our lack of one.
 
Once, I asked the Records-Keeper why she did what she did. After all, within a few centuries, there wouldn’t be any griffins left to read our records. She had answered me in her usual bluntness, “I know the Beute have no interest in our affairs, but even their existence will come to an end. As will it be for the race that follows them. But when I think about it, I would rather not be judged by history as a member of a tribe that forsook its own culture in order to, what, buy a century’s worth of time? Two centuries’? No thank you, miss; I would rather we face oblivion than to have our cowardice resound throughout the ages.”
 
Her words echoed back to me now, as ominous as ever. They brought me back to a very important question: Who was I? The first answer that came to mind was that I was a seventeen-year-old—almost eighteen—female griffin living in exile. Even that definition had problems. I knew my age, gender, and species, but was I living in exile? I had been exiled at one point, but how about now?
 
Who was I: Gilda von der Sharfkral, or Officer Gilda of the Farrington Guard? I still felt it was the former, but I wasn’t certain anymore. I wasn’t a citizen of Farrington, but Captain... Iron... He had helped me through the application for a work visa, which was apparently a step or two below full-fledged citizenship.
 
All of that just brought me back to the source of my cultural uncertainty: Dating Iron Bulwark.
 
The words sounded foreign to me, so I said them out loud in his language: “Dating Iron Bulwark.” After a moment without any profound realizations, I scoffed to myself, Well, now they’re double-foreign.
 
With a hard shake of my head, I refocused and thought harder about what it’d mean if I started looking for a romantic partner within pony society. Finally, I realized the harsh truth: There’d be no going back once I made my decision. It wouldn’t be instantaneous, but once I started to look at ponies as romantic partners, I’d end up living with them.
 
As for a family... I made a treaty with my mind that I’d worry about that whole deal later. For now, I focused on the mental half of things, and how dating Iron would open up an entirely new realm to me. I wasn’t sure where it’d take me.
 
I started from a simple starting standpoint: Would I feel okay with myself if I dated a pony? It was weird to think about; Dash proved that I was able to be friends with ponies, and that it was an equal friendship type deal. Did that apply to romance, though?
 
My usual approach to morality was useless—none of my tribe’s myths centered around any sort of unconventional romances. Most of them started with a male trying to win the heart of a female that he liked, but then something like a mythical beast or a dragon war would get in the way.
 
Since our myths were a no-go, I thought of my older sister, Gretchen. I doubted that she’d have a specific answer for my situation, but she would have at least had some advice for me.
 
That just made me remember how she wasn’t there, and how far away she was. My throat tightened, futilely, as I realized that I’d never see her again, or talk to her, or laugh with her.
 
Tears stung as I forced my head down. The only thought that resounded in my mind was an empty, burning desire: I wish you were here!
 
Three years. Three years’ worth of solitude and yearning for home rushed over me, and all I could do was sit there and cry like a child. My family was dead to me. Worse, I was dead to my family. How had they dealt with that? The thought of my siblings having to cope with Father’s arbitrary rulings just made me sob all the harder.
 
I lost track of time, but eventually, I stopped crying. As soon as I did, I came to a stark realization: there weren’t any answers to my current dilemma that would come from my griffin heritage. Gerard and Stephen operated outside of our tribe’s traditions, at any rate, which made me realize I had to do the same thing.
 
It all made sense. I had turned my back on my culture by taking the job in the first place; now, I was suffering the repercussions. As much as it disturbed me to acknowledge it, I had to look at the part of me that wasn’t completely griffin anymore in order to find an answer: my Equestrian side.
 
Pony society would look down on such a pairing. Heck, we already got weird looks from other ponies in the city. They didn’t like me, and I wasn’t dumb enough to think that dating Captain Iron Bulwark would elevate me to a level of “acceptable.” Us dating could only bring him down in the eyes of the citizens of Farrington.
 
Would it be worth it to him?
 
His best friend hated me, and so did his sister. Those were two very important ponies in his life, so I’d only make friction for him. And speaking of things that were important to him, there’d probably be some Guard-related ramifications if he openly dated an officer. Then again, I remembered his story about Sherry dating her lieutenant, so I guessed there was a protocol for that.
 
Still, I kept pondering about Iron’s reaction to us dating until it finally struck me that I had no idea whether he was even interested in me romantically or not.
 
I laughed out loud when I realized that; here I had been brooding on my ledge for over an hour, but I had forgotten to even think about how he felt about romance! He was friendly, true, that was probably just polite curiosity mixed with more pity than he admitted to. When I thought about our interactions in that light, I was certain that he was just being friendly and that I had blown everything out of proportion.
 
I smiled, turned around, and headed back to bed. It wasn’t the fastest I’d ever resolved a problem, but it was good enough for me: Iron just wanted to be friends, so there was no need to worry about romance. I chuckled at the simplicity as I lay back down on my blanket.
 
But what about you? What do you want? my treacherous brain asked. Apparently, a “simple solution” wasn’t worth a full night’s rest yet.
 
I answered out loud. “I want...” As I thought about it more, I slowly came to the conclusion that I might not mind, entirely, returning those feelings that Iron might not have. That meant that maybe I wanted to be more than friends with Iron. “Damn it,” I whispered.
 
Romance was completely out of my area of expertise. However, I was exhausted, and didn’t want to spend another hour trying to pin down what I wanted out of a relationship. I resigned to the fact that I needed to ask someone for advice, even if my older sister was unavailable.
 
I started going through the list of ponies I knew, starting with Iron. That would be an awkward and dangerous conversation. If the end result was that I shouldn’t date him, then I didn’t want to have the embarrassing tension of rejection hanging over us during every future interaction.
 
My next thought was of Sherry, but given how her relationship with her superior had ended, it didn’t feel right to ask. I also didn’t really know her that well; from the two-and-a-half dinners I had eaten with Iron, I learned that all of my superiors seemed to have different personalities than their “authoritative personas.”
 
Lieutenant Starfall, on the other hand... He seemed to be fairly consistent between how he acted on- and off-duty. He also had the benefit of being Iron’s best friend; asking him would probably get me the best possible approximation of how Iron would feel about me. And heck, it wasn’t too late; if I left now, I might be able to catch him before...
 
I shook my head furiously. That was a terrible idea.
 
On the subject of best friends, though... As soon as I realized who I had overlooked, I punched myself in the forehead. I needed advice, and even though letter wouldn’t be as good as asking her in-person, Dash would probably have something to say about my situation.
 
With a smile, I planned out the letter that I would send her. I could do it tomorrow, if I got to the city early enough. I closed my eyes and scoffed at that idea; it was late now, so I was going to be tired when I woke up.
 
Still, I could send a letter on my lunch break. With that solution in mind, I finally put my worries aside, then fell asleep.
 



 
Ponyville was over a twenty hour walk from Farrington, just to deliver one stupid letter. I was three hours into it. That meant I had seventeen more hours of travel before me. Sure, there were a few cities along the way; I’d probably sleep in Trottingham, which was still four hours away. It’d still be after dark when I got there. On a Tuesday. That bitch...
 
On one hoof, I knew it wasn’t worth it to get mad. I mean, at least it wasn’t Stalliongrad, I shuddered. Either way, I couldn’t do anything, and Iron... he wouldn’t. That was the worst part. Some “protector of the citizens” he was; all he ever did was let that griffin walk all over the city.
 
I remembered his shouting match with me before I left the city:
 
“Max, for the last time, I’m not going to ban her from sending letters at the post office!”
 
While I walked along the empty, boring dirt road, I replayed that whole argument over in my head. I had time. I had twenty hours of it. He didn’t want to see how much of a threat to Farrington his new friend was. That was the worst part; once he was convinced of something, he never changed his mind:
 
“Stop leaving your books out in the living room I refuse to let you pay for so I can order you around like it’s mine.”
 
“You need to finish school so you can end up in a crappy job delivering letters for stupid rich ponies.”
 
“We need to stay in this city because I don’t want to go to Canterlot with our uncle.”
 
He was so... stupid sometimes. Like... I screamed. I couldn’t even think about it.
 
And he’s showing her around the city, I reminded myself. He had blown off our dinner plans on Monday to do it, too. I wasn’t even offended anymore; but for his part, it was creepy, and borderline sick. Of course, he insisted it wasn’t. “It’s not romantic or anything, Maxie.”
 
“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” I had replied in the quietest manner his idiocy allowed. When his implication sunk in, I added, “And that’s disgusting to even joke about!”
 
I shook the argument out of my head. At the very least, if he was convinced that they were “just friends,” he’d stay that way. I grinned, and hoped she found that out the hard way. With how she acted towards me in the post office, she needed a little hardship in her life.
 
With a glare, I levitated her scroll—she didn’t send letters like a pony should—in front of me, spinning it slowly. Like every time, I considered throwing it away and just going back to the city, quitting my crappy job, and speaking my mind to everyone.
 
Like every time, I fumed, but put it back in my saddlebag. Seventeen hours, I mused. Seventeen hours, then I can hand this off to the moron who works there, then head home.
 



 
Wednesday morning, Captain Bulwark waved me over to his booth with a grave expression.
 
My stomach fell out, and instantly, I knew what had happened: his sister had read my letter, and told him, and now we were going to have that conversation. That annoyed me, but I was more worried about the now-awkward conversation that we were going to have.
 
His face showed his answer, too, which made every step towards him heavy with the anticipation of rejection. When I got into conversational distance, I managed to croak out, “Good morning, sir.”
 
He waited a moment before he could say anything. “Not really,” he finally spoke, shaking his head. “But I suppose you have a guess as to what I’m going to talk to you about?”
 
I nodded, and braced myself for it.
 
Captain Bulwark returned the nod, saying, “I just want you to know this isn’t a decision I made lightly.”
 
My annoyance at his sister sharpened, and I used it to try to save some of my dignity. “Look, I’m sorry...”
 
He held up a hoof, shook his head, and I shut up. “It’s not your fault, Gilda. I don’t care how or where you send your mail. It’s Maxie’s...” He let out a heavy sigh. “Problems.”
 
Wait, what? Suddenly, it felt like we weren’t on the same page together.
 
“Anyway,” he continued, “from here on out, I’m going to have to ask that you send all your mail through the Guard’s private mailing system.”
 
“Oh!” I felt a small rush of... relief, was it? “You... I... Oh!”
 
Iron raised an eyebrow. “Vowel practice?”
 
I didn’t laugh; I just jittered. “Heh, uh, yeah.”
 
He didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged it off and asked, “So, are we still on for this evening?”
 
I blinked, but then I remembered our da—dinner that evening. Or is it a date? Either way, it would give me a chance to find out what angle he was playing. “Yeah. Six-thirty...” I pointed at the south gate. “Meet here?”
 
He nodded, I nodded, and then it was time to get started with my Guard duties for the day. I still didn’t know what Iron wanted, or what I wanted, or what I should do about that whole thing. I almost gave his sister an ounce of respect, but then I realized that it shouldn’t really be out of the ordinary to expect her not to stick her nose in the business I paid her for.
 
Either way, I put it out of my mind; the only other thing I thought about my letter was how I hoped Dash would write back sooner rather than later.
 



 
I woke up, late Wednesday morning, or early Wednesday afternoon... Anyway, somepony was knocking on my door. Without opening my eyes, I groaned: did anypony in Ponyville know my training schedule? Tuesday nights were the only time I could do late-night training. How was I the only pegasus who remembered?
 
Brushing orange and red hair away from my face, I opened my eyes. “I guess everypony wants a piece of Equestria’s number-one flier,” I yawned the words as I crawled out of bed. I had built my own house, but it would’ve been too big if I gave myself room to fly everywhere. While I was walking over to the door, whoever was outside knocked a second time. I called out, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”
 
When I opened the door, Ponyville’s mail carrier, Ditsy, was standing outside. Her squeaky voice bubbled when she announced, “You’ve got mail, Rainbow Dash!”
 
I chuckled at how happy she always was to deliver my mail. “I didn’t order any mail, Ditsy.” She giggled, then handed me a scroll. I felt a twinge of guilt when I realized who it was from, but I didn’t want to kill the her usual bubbly mood, so I told her, “Thanks!”
 
“Bye-bye,” she sang as she took off. When she was out of sight, I closed my door and looked at the scroll in my hoof. It was held together by a sticker that had the emblem of Farrington printed on it, but I already knew it was G mail. She was my only friend who sent scrolls; everypony else just found me during naps.
 
Before I opened it, I looked over at the hallway table where her other letter sat, the one that had come two weeks ago. I had meant to get around to writing a reply, it was just... I had been really busy lately.
 
One of the better things that happened when G visited Ponyville was that it reminded me of something that I had almost forgotten I could do: the Sonic Rainboom. I pulled it off when I was a filly, but even right after I did it, I had never been able to do it again whenever ponies were watching. But when G had tried to... well, when she needed me to catch her, I didn’t even have think about doing it: it just happened.
 
None of my other friends had heard it or seen it that time, either: we were almost fifty miles away from Ponyville when it had happened. Still, if I could pull it off at the upcoming Best Young Flier competition, I’d win for sure! After three straight weeks of trying, though, I still had no idea how to overcome the huge pocket of air that built up in front of me at those speeds. The competition was coming up, too: not this Sunday, but the next. I needed to figure it out quick.
 
I shook my problems out of my head, and walked over to the couch to read what G had written. I’d figure out the Sonic Rainboom soon; I was too awesome not to. So right now, I promised to read and respond to G’s letters. She was my friend, and I had really let her down over the past few years by blowing her letters off. Sure, she had a lot of other problems going on, but I hadn’t helped by ignoring her letters.
 
It had been scary to see G snap like that.
 
I knew she was aggressive and had a bit of a temper, but I never thought I would be on the receiving end of it. Serves you right, I told myself, treating her like that the first time you see her in three years. I had known right away that she was feeling sad about something, but I had let Pinkie Pie talk me into trying to cheer her up at her party, and I had definitely gone overboard on the pranks.
 
I plopped down on my back, set the scroll down on my chest, and rubbed the right side of my neck with a hoof. There were still three bumps there, just like there was one bump on the left side. Definitely overboard, I thought.
 
I tore the sticker off, unrolled the scroll, and braced myself for reading one of G’s letters. She never liked to say exactly what was on her mind when she wrote to me. It made my head hurt to try and figure out everything that she really wanted to say, which was most of why I put off reading and responding to her letters in the first place.
 
I read what she had written this time:
 


Hey Dash,
 
I haven’t gotten a reply yet from earlier, but I know you’re busy with work and stuff. If you did send a reply, it hasn’t gotten here, at any rate.
 
I’m in a bit of a weird situation, though. I think my captain... you know... likes me, but I have no idea if I’m just misinterpreting things. I guess I wouldn’t mind if he did, but I don’t know how to make sure. I mean, it’d be way weird if I just sort of came on to him and he didn’t feel the same way, right?
 
This whole thing makes my head spin: do I risk it and ask him, or do I play it safe and enjoy what I have?
 
Hope to hear back soon.
 
~G.


 
I sat up, still holding the letter. I wrinkled my nose at the paper and admitted, “Huh. Didn’t see that one coming.”
 
Even three weeks ago, she still seemed mostly like her old self from Junior Speedsters’: indifferent, but kind of sad. She had mentioned that she still hadn’t found any boys, but thinking back to everything that happened to her and griffins in general, that had probably been a dumb question for me to ask in the first place.
 
It was weird, after how she acted during summer camp, to see her having this problem. It wasn’t that she didn’t like ponies to begin with; it was more that she just didn’t really fit in.
 
I knew how she felt.
 
Then again, the way that most of the other pegasi at Junior Speedsters’ treated her, I was surprised she didn’t have a full-on hatred for ponies. Back then, she didn’t really have any interest in the colts there, but I had just chalked that up to, well, the griffin thing.
 
Anyway, she was about the last friend I had who I thought would ever have “stallion troubles,” and between Twilight’s eggheadedness and Fluttershy’s... Fluttershy-ness, that was saying something.
 
I thought about her question for a minute, then I realized I didn’t have an answer, either. She may have developed an interest in stallions over the past few weeks, but I was still too busy being Equestria’s number one athlete; between the Wonderbolts and the Best Young Flier competition, I didn’t have time for a relationship to tie me down.
 
Still, G had written to me for advice, so I had to try to help. I didn’t want to mess things up for her any worse, though, so I needed to ask around. I got off my couch and walked to the door. In terms of my oldest friends, the choice was between Rarity, Fluttershy, and Applejack.
 
Rarity would probably hook me into modeling some new fashion for her, though, and I could already imagine her advice, “Oh, but if it’s true love, then nothing can stand in the way! Gilda should ask him, no, she simply must ask him!”
 
Fluttershy didn’t have any dating experience either, and she’d probably be too scared to commit to one side or the other for a guess. Plus, she was still mad at Gilda for scaring away all of her duck friends, and it took a lot to get Fluttershy mad.
 
That left Applejack. She was probably my best friend, if I had to label it like that. Also, I couldn’t just guess what her reaction would be. That included how she felt about G, which made me hesitate. They’d gotten along okay at the party, before all my pranks ruined everything, but G had left in the worst, most insulting way possible.
 
With a shrug, I figured I probably shouldn’t mention G by name anyway—it was kind of a private problem, really. I left my house and darted down to Sweet Apple Acres. I didn’t know where Applejack was that early in the afternoon, but I figured that she’d still be out working.
 
Sure enough, I eyed her pulling weeds in the carrot patch. She was facing away from me, so she didn’t see me fly up and hover behind her. I heard her muttering, “And you nasty little suckers best be gettin’ outta my carrots. That rainwater’s for them, not you. You’re weeds.”
 
“Hi, Applejack!” I cried out, right when I landed behind her.
 
She let out a startled yelp as she jumped almost a foot in the air. Turning around, she pointed a hoof at me and frowned, “And consarn it, Rainbow Dash, what have I told you about sneaking up on ponies?”
 
“Not to do it when they’re holding a bushel of apples?” I rubbed my chin as I tried to remember what her exact words had been. It had been a while ago when she yelled at me the first time.
 
“You know what I meant!” Applejack shouted back at me, but there was a smile on the edges of her mouth.
 
I chuckled before I said, “Sorry, Applejack. But I got you good.”
 
She laughed quietly, “That, you did.” After a short pause, she added, “So, what’s up? I reckon it’s pretty early on a Wednesday for you to be up and about.”
 
I rubbed the back of my head with a hoof, “Yeah, Ditsy woke me up with a letter.”
 
“A letter?” Her smile faded. “Is everything all right?”
 
“Yeah, everything’s okay,” I said quickly. “The letter was nothing. But it made me think...” I added a bit of seriousness to my tone. “Listen, Applejack, I’ve gotta ask you something, but it’s gonna sound a little...” My eyes wandered around before I decided on the last word: “Weird.”
 
Applejack raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything other than, “Okay... shoot.”
 
I sighed. It was going to be tricky to get the question across without mentioning G by name. “I’ve got this... uh, friend. And she’s kinda confused right now, because she’s got this, uh...” I didn’t really want to mention it was G’s boss, either. I settled on: “this other friend. And she likes how they’re friends, but at the same time, she kinda thinks they might be more than just friends.”
 
I finished by adding the main problem that G had written about, “But she’s not sure if asking about that would mess things up between them, so she’s kind of confused as to what to do.” I felt myself rambling, so I decided to end by asking Applejack, “So, uh, what do you think she should do about it?”
 
As soon as I got done asking, Applejack’s ears and mouth both sagged a bit. “Oh, I, uh... I see,” she said quietly as she turned her head to the side and rubbing one foreleg. After thinking about something for a moment, she looked back at me and spoke gently. “That took... guts, to say that, I reckon.”
 
“Guts?” I asked. It felt as if I had been left a few laps behind in our conversation.
 
“Guts,” she repeated. “And as much as it hurts me to say, Rainbow, I just don’t feel the same way about you.”
 
Never mind a few laps; we were in completely different events. “What?” was all that I could manage to shout out.
 
She looked at me with a knowing grin, “Come on now, sugarcube, d’you really think you’d fool ol’ Applejack with that ‘my friend’ business?”
 
“What... no! That’s not what I... UGH!” I shouted in frustration. Applejack could be so dumb sometimes.
 
“It’s okay to be upset, Rainbow. Just know we can still be friends.”
 
I shut my eyes and wiped my hoof down my face. As I did, I opened my eyes back into a glare at my friend. “It’s Gilda, Applejack. I was talking about Gilda,” I said joylessly. I felt like I had betrayed G somehow, but this conversation wouldn’t go anywhere unless I cleared this mess up.
 
“You’re in love with Gilda?”
 
“N... no!” My face burned as memories from camp came back. “She wrote me, saying she’s got problems with somepony I’ve never even met!”
 
Applejack nodded, then looked down at her stack of pulled weeds. “So, I take it she did find a ‘cool new friend to hang out with?’” she asked in an accusing tone.
 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I countered, pointing a hoof at her. I knew her well enough to know when I was being quoted.
 
“Well...” She looked back at me. “It ain’t none of my business, but y’all said some things back then that were downright hurtful. I know Gilda made a horse’s rear end out of herself, but that doesn’t give you the right to say the things you said to her.”
 
As frustrating as it was to have her point out the obvious, she was right. “I know, Applejack,” I said, looking away. “I already told her I’m sorry.” I left out the part where I had effectively kicked G out of the town in doing so. I had to, but it still felt... bad.
 
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” she said back, patting my still-outstretched hoof. I put it down, and Applejack asked, “As for her problem, uh... you mind runnin’ that by me again?”
 
I repeated myself; this time, it was easier to keep track of everything using G’s name. When I finished, Applejack nodded slowly. “Well, ain’t that an age-old question? Appreciate what you’ve got, or go for somethin’ better? Still, it sounds to me like she’s afraid of losing her friend, so I’ll say this: anypony who ends a friendship over something so small as misplaced feelings wasn’t really friends in the first place.” After a pause, she grinned slyly at me, “I mean, we’re still friends after you confessed your feelin’s to me, right?”
 
I felt my glare return before I asked, “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
 
“Maybe after these here carrots are ripe,” she said with a chuckle.
 
I shook my head. She was ridiculous. Still, all I could do was smile. “Thanks for the help Applejack. I’m gonna go write back to G now,” I said, glad to have a reason to leave. She was my friend, but if I stayed for much longer, I’d probably get roped into helping her weed her carrot patch or something.
 
She smiled and nodded. “Good luck, Rainbow Dash. And let me know if you want to come over for dinner sometime; our doors are always open to friends.”
 
Nodding, I waved goodbye and flew back to my house. I thought about how to translate Applejack’s advice into something that G would appreciate. Inside my home, I got the paper and pen ready to write. “Shtoohid hen,” I muttered. Unicorns had it so much better when it came time to writing stuff down.
 
I thought about putting a date on the letter, but for some reason, G wasn’t in the habit of doing that, so I didn’t, either. Still, when I looked at the calendar with G in mind, something clicked, and I racked my brain trying to remember what date, three years ago, we had cut camp activities to hang out with each other for a day.
 



 
Just as expected, Wednesday’s dinner... date... thing... sucked.
 
Maybe I was imagining it, but Iron seemed distant. My first thought was that he still felt bad about our conversation, earlier that morning. And true, the more I thought about it, the less I liked how his sister finally managed to get me kicked out of the post office, but I’d survive.
 
What really bothered me was sitting there, staring across the table at someone, when I didn’t know why they were there. I kept listening to what he was saying, trying to pick up on if he was talking about Farrington with me in a friendly manner or a dating manner. Then, I’d realize that I hadn’t heard anything he just said, which made me feel too guilty to ask him to repeat himself, so I’d just sit there, nodding.
 
Finally, he asked, “Gilda, what’s wrong?”
 
“Huh?”
 
Iron pointed a hoof at me. “Er... that. You’ve been distracted all evening... and even this morning. Is everything okay?”
 
I blinked a few times. “It’s, um...” Ask him, my mind urged. “Just some stuff going on...” I waved off at the south. “Home stuff. Well, not home home stuff, that’d be...” I looked down at my plate and widened my eyes. “That’d be worse.” I waved to the northwest. “And that way.”
 
“Mm hmm,” came Iron’s reply. He nodded his head slowly, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.
 
Luckily, it didn’t take him long to finish eating; after that, we left the restaurant. By then, I was so embarrassed and confused that I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into my cave and never come back out. Iron also seemed put-off by the whole fiasco, too, but he still asked, “Well, er... do you think you’ll be in good shape by Saturday, for dinner?”
 
“Yeah,” I answered before I realized what I said. I thought about changing my answer, but then I noticed how relieved Iron looked. I didn’t want to ruin that for him, so I stuck to my rushed decision.
 

*              *              *

 
I spent Wednesday night berating myself for my inability to come out and ask Iron about our position. It almost felt like I was lying by not asking him, but still, I didn’t know what asking him would bring. I was stuck.
 
Thursday morning after failing at catching breakfast for the first time in what felt like forever, I used the east gate when I entered Farrington. That just made me feel miserable; I was avoiding him because of how awkward I thought it would be to try and have a conversation with him.
 
My crappy mood started to trickle down to the rest of my life, too. Patrolling sucked, despite my new armor, and flying got harder, which made hunting almost impossible. When I got back home on Thursday evening, I couldn’t even catch a sleeping tortoise. It must have woken up or something when I overshot it by a few yards, because when I turned around to find it, it had vanished.
 
On Friday I missed breakfast again, and by the time I got to the Citadel, my lack of food was starting to catch up with me. When I got to the citadel, everything felt distant and hazy; it took a lot more effort to stay focused on everything while I received my orders for the day. When she finished, Sherry gave me a quizzical expression. “Are you going to make it through today?”
 
I nodded. “Yeah, just a rough night.”
 
She grunted, knowingly, then pulled an envelope out of a bin on her desk. “You got mail.”
 
That got my attention. Excitement made everything snap clearer, and I took the envelope from Sherry. Using one of the metal talons at the end of my gauntlet, I tore open my mail. It wasn’t as clean a cut as my bare talons would have made, but it did the job.
 
I pulled Dash’s letter out and read:
 


Hi G!
 
Sorry I didn’t get around to your first letter; there’s a lot going on with the weather job right now, especially with summer coming up. I KNOW thunderstorms are dangerous, WHY do I have to sit through an hour-long lecture on them?
 
Anyway, for the thing with your boss... I say go for it! You’re already friends, so I figure he’s cool he’ll probably let it go if he’s not into you like that. And if he makes a big deal over it, tell him to get stuffed and move on! Farrington’s a big place, I’m sure there’s somepony there for you.
 
Good luck!
 
~Dash
 
P.S. Happy Almost Birthday!


 
After I read her letter a second time, my first reaction was relief; I was glad she was still the same pony I met at Junior Speedsters’. Dash hated the safety lectures; she preferred to make her own mistakes.
 
At the same time, I knew exactly why she had crossed out the words “he’s cool” on the letter. Things were different between us, and she was still torn up over what she had said to me that day. It was a waste of her energy, though: I was the one who had screwed everything up that day by lying about everything.
 
What’s done is done, I told myself bluntly. I mean, if you really felt bad, you’d go back and apologize to everyone. However, I still felt that wasn’t an option—I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not even for you, Dash, I thought, hating myself for it.
 
“Anyone die?” Sherry cut into my self-loathing.
 
“No.” I shook my head.
 
“Anyone get beaten into the hospital with their own baton because they’re still standing over my desk when their shift started ten minutes ago?”
 
I almost shook my head a second time, then I realized what she was saying. “Right. Sorry, I’m leaving.” I threw the letter away, then turned around to start my patrol.
 
Out in the Business District—one benefit to those “random patrols” meant I was getting a lot of practice at learning them all—I contemplated the main part of Dash’s letter. She was right, I realized. I was making a huge deal over Iron’s reaction, when really, he was one of the most level-headed and down-to-earth individuals I had ever met.
 
At any rate, I’d have to tell him goodbye tonight, to make sure we were still on for Saturday, and then... then I’d ask him about us.
 

*              *              *

 
Halfway through dinner on Saturday, I was frustrated with how difficult it was to ask Iron what was, admittedly, the most important question between us. Every time I thought I got the courage together to come out and ask him, I got cold feet at the last second, then asked something completely different.
 
Iron was slightly less annoyed at my newer tactic of “asking a bunch of random questions” than he was of Wednesday’s “ignore everything he was saying,” but I could tell by his weary expression that he wasn’t having a good time.
 
I hated the irony: I was so worried about my question ruining our friendship that it was ruining our friendship.
 
As soon as I saw it like that, I realized I didn’t have anything to lose anymore. I was still worried, but since not asking was now a guaranteed failure, I had to ask. One last time, I steeled my nerves; this time, I actually voiced the all-important question:
 
“What is this?”
 
At first, Iron frowned; I had just interrupted one of his stories about the founding miners of Farrington. However, his expression softened when we met eyes, and he responded, “What do you mean?”
 
It was now or never. I took a deep breath and continued, “I mean, we keep eating dinner together and stuff. Is this just ‘meals between friends,’ or is this something more?”
 
Iron’s eyes grew wider as his mouth curled down, and my fears over the matter were confirmed. We had just been friends, I had just misinterpreted everything, and now, I had made an awkward situation for everyone. I felt ashamed for being so dumb; I should’ve known he was just being platonic.
 
Silence grew across the table. Iron finally broke it with, “Did you want this to be something more?”
 
I wanted to lie. I remembered Ponyville. “Maybe. I mean, I like you. But at the same time, I don’t know if there’s something more going on here.” I looked him straight in the eyes. “I want to know if this is friendship, or if it’s romance.”
 
“What is the difference to you?” he asked. It wasn’t combative, it was... curious, almost.
 
“If we’re just friends, I can live with that,” I began, fighting to keep my voice from trembling. “We don’t hate each other, and it’s fun to have someone to hang out with outside of work. But if I’m dating you... or anyone in this city, no offense... well...” I shrugged. “It’s kind of like admitting I’m never going to go back home.”
 
Iron tapped his forehooves together and rested his chin on them. “Are you willing to do that?” His tone was still open and curious; it gave me a small glimmer of hope.
 
“Like I said, I don’t know. Maybe. Are you willing to be ‘that stallion who’s dating a griffin?’” I countered.
 
He let out a quick chuckle before responding, “Yes. Yes I am. In my mind, I’ve been that stallion for the past two weeks now, and I’ve found it’s not too bad of a thing to be.”
 
At his words, I felt an outpouring of relief and... joy. With a little chuckle of my own, I felt myself smile. I didn’t know where romance would lead us, or even what difference it made, but at the same time, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
 
Then, I noticed the timing involved in what Iron had just said. “Two weeks? You’ve been playing that angle from the start?” I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.
 
“‘Playing that angle’ is a gross oversimplification,” he answered in a slightly offended tone. “I simply made my mind up that I wouldn’t mind too greatly if this turned romantic.”
 
“Right,” I tried to vocalize my understanding. “I didn’t mean to ask it like that. I’m just saying...” I shrugged and waved my hand. “This week sucked. I mean, if you would’ve said something earlier...”
 
Iron defended himself, “I did that for your benefit. You’re new to the city, and I’m your superior in the Guard. If I put everything on the table like that, I was worried it might have been too much, too soon.”
 
He knows me, I agreed with a nod. “Okay, yeah... that would’ve been...”
 
“Predatory,” Iron finished. When he realized what he said, his eyes shot open and he continued in a rushed voice, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a predator; it’s just—”
 
“It’s wrong to hunt things of a certain level of intelligence,” I interjected. Amusing as it was to see him flop around, I didn’t want him to dig himself any deeper.
 
“Is that how it works?” Iron asked.
 
“Depends who you ask...”
 
As I delved into my explanation about hunting ethics, I noted how much easier it was to talk with Iron again, now that I had the air cleared between us. And now that I was talking easier, he was listening easier, and that cycle made everything so much more enjoyable.
 
After dinner, we went to the bridge over the reservoir lake. As Iron explained, Farrington was getting ready for the Summer Sun Celebration—the main event was being hosted in Fillydelphia that year, but it was a national holiday, so every town had its own decorations and stuff.
 
In Farrington, they decked out the entire reservoir park with hundreds of candles: in the trees, near benches... Iron even told me they’d even have little boats with candles. They weren’t lit that night, because the decoration committee or whatever was still getting things ready, but I could use my imagination.
 
Iron was pretty adamant about the need for us to be there on that night. “I mean... it’s Wednesday of next week. I’ll pay for your hotel room, or you can find someone to cover Thursday...”
 
“I’ll think about it,” I answered with a palm of surrender. It sounded pretty cool, and I figured that I’d probably end up going no matter what, but still. Living out in the Jägerwald didn’t make it easy to enjoy things that happened after sunset.
 
When the time finally came for me to head home for the evening, Iron and I walked to the south gate. “I wish you safe travels home,” he said. “And I’m not trying to force you to go to the celebration next week...”
 
I shook my head and chuckled. “All right, all right, I’ll go. I mean, now that we’re dating and everything...”
 
At that, he lit up with a smile. “It really is one of the best nights of the year. You won’t be disappointed.”
 
I nodded, and then he brought his hoof up, waved it at eye-level. I was slightly confused, but then he reached over and patted my shoulder a little. I didn’t shy away from it this time; he had warned me, for which I gave a grateful nod. Then, in reply, I rubbed his foreleg a little.

It wasn’t the grandest of gestures, but I definitely felt it was a start. And all in all, I was in a much better mood for the flight home than I had been for the days leading up to our date.
> 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.


> 7 - Kämpf und Stirb
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It all ended Tuesday morning when I woke up to a tremendous explosion that shook my entire cave.
 
I felt a brief moment of panic before lightning illuminated the jagged outlines of my rock walls, right when a second boom erupted. That calmed me down; it was just a thunderstorm, even if it was huge and right outside my cave.
 
Another bolt of lightning showed my clock: six-fourteen. I closed my eyes to go back to sleep, but I saw the next lightning flash through my eyelids as thunder shook my cave a third time.
 
With a sigh, I stood up and stretched. I hated to break my sleeping routine, but an extra hour of low-quality sleep wouldn’t do me any favors, either. With a deep breath, I walked over to my cave’s opening.
 
As inconvenient as they were to us, griffins revered thunderstorms. They were more than part of nature: they were a raw, elemental force. My tribe’s legends said that, every summer, Donar reforged his hunting spear to get ready for the autumn’s Sternsjag. In order to cool the head of it, he saved most of the rain throughout spring in an enormous trough. When he finally had enough, he began forging: the thunder was the sound of his hammer falling, and the lightning was actually sparks of hot metal flying off.
 
I couldn’t recall if there was an explanation for why the water was spilling during the forging process, but as I felt the sound of the thunder wash over me, I didn’t find it too hard to imagine that there was a sky god up there, hammering away.
 
With another deep breath, the smell of rainwater on mountain stone reminded me of home. Then, I reminded myself that I was home right now, but I didn’t dwell too much on that fact. Instead, I just watched the storm unfold before me.
 
An hour later, it didn’t look like the storm was going to clear up anytime soon. That gave me a practical problem: flying in a thunderstorm was dangerous, but flying in a thunderstorm while wearing a metal suit would be suicide. I supposed that there was a cloth lining on the inside of my armor, but that wouldn’t make any difference to my corpse. I needed to avoid the storm.
 
That was simple enough, though: I donned my armor, then, between thunderbolts, I took off flying straight up. It was a cold, wet race against death, but I made it through the stormclouds.
 
Up there, I was amazed at how bright and sunny it was compared to the storm. The air was thinner and colder there, but I would rather be cold than electrocuted. Within minutes, I got winded, but I held my course by trying not to think of how many ways I would die if I fell.
 
The storm was a massive one, and it was heading northwest, so we followed one another to Farrington. When I was close enough to the city’s mountain, I waited for a moment, until lightning flashed below me.
 
Then, I fell.
 
I smiled, thinking back to all the times I imagined that a killing dive was like lightning; this time, I was trying to beat the next flash of lightning. As the ground rushed at me, I reminded myself that I was a good deal heavier; that information was crucial for pulling out of the dive.
 
As fast as I was, I didn’t beat the next flash of lightning; lucky for me, it must’ve hit somewhere in the Jägerwald. I landed in a crouched position, then looked up to Captain Bulwark’s booth. He was in there, staring at me, wide-eyed and fearful. He finally found his voice and, over the storm, yelled, “Where did you come from?”
 
I pointed upwards. “Above the storm, sir,” I yelled back. Lightning flashed again, and I realized that from his point of view, I had probably materialized in that lightning flash.
 
“Cool!” he responded in a slow, impressed tone. I smiled at him before I walked through the gate to report for duty.
 
That morning, my random patrol was in the Market District. I spent most of it with gnawing hunger, reminding myself that breakfast was an important meal, but luckily, absolutely no one was out in the rain.
 
The storm finally broke a little after noon, which was decent timing; I used my lunch break at my diner to dry off in the bathroom. It helped, slightly; I was only damp when I went back out for the second half of my shift.
 
After lunch, the Market district was a completely different place. Instead of dark, empty streets, a huge crowd of ponies had grown and given the place a feeling like it was alive. They seemed to be moving around quickly and with dedication, like they were trying to make up for lost time.
 
Not every pony was concerned with errands, though; my second pass through one of the busier streets, I came across a pair of pegasus foals who were splashing around in a puddle and having the time of their lives.
 
“Hailey! Moonshine! Get out of that puddle this instant!” That voice was familiar, somehow, so I turned just in time to see their mother rushing across the street to end their fun. I was surprised to see that she was a lime green earth pony; there weren’t a lot of pegasi in Farrington, so she must’ve hit some sort of genetic jackpot to have two as kids. Then, my guard’s training kicked in; I couldn’t even be sure that she was their biological mother: she could have just as easily been a babysitter or a stepmother. Her cutie mark even fit that bill; a pair of white wings wrapped around a pink heart, like a protector.
 
Regardless of her relation to them, the green mare succeeded in getting the two foals out of the puddle. Unfortunately for me, they took off running straight at me. Since I was watching, I stopped in time to avoid stepping on them, but that didn’t please their caretaker at all: “And get out of the nice guard’s way! Don’t make me get your father!”
 
The three of us reeled at the threat. The two foals rejoined their caretaker, and I chided myself for my stupidity. The green mare led them back over to me, saying, “I’m sorry about that, officer. They’ve been cooped up all day from the rain.”
 
Before I could accept her apology, she rounded on the foals, “And what do you say for almost tripping someone?”
 
“We’re sorry.”
 
“Yeah, sorry.”
 
In spite of how ludicrous the whole situation was quickly becoming, I smiled at them. Their voices were adorable. I figured the apology was some sort of lesson, so I responded in as authoritative a voice as I could manage, “That’s okay. Just keep an eye on where you’re headed in the future.”
 
I caught a strange look from their caretaker, so I winked at her. She smiled, then extended a hoof. “I’m Comet Tail, by the way, I don’t think we’ve met, Officer...”
 
“Gilda,” I replied, shaking her hoof. I hadn’t met any earth ponies with sky-themed names before, but I guessed that there was a first time for everything.
 
She smiled, but it seemed almost sad and weary. “After hearing about you for a month, it’s good to finally hear your name.”
 
I cocked an eyebrow at that, but she continued, “Anyway, this is Hailey...” She gestured to the older, lavender filly. “And Moonshine.” He was a navy blue colt with amber eyes and a shaggy black mane.
 
Then, it clicked.
 
Suddenly, I recognized the names of everyone in front of me. I fought to keep that realization down as I waved a weak little “Hello” to the kids, but even then, I knew it was just a matter of time until...
 
“Is there a problem here?” Lieutenant Starfall asked from behind me. His voice was cold, almost neutral, but I knew better than to turn around and meet his glare. He walked around to stand near his wife and asked her, “Is she giving you a problem?”
 
“Who, the officer?” his wife responded.
 
Hearing them talking reminded me of the few times I had heard my mother and father speaking to one another: their speech was cold and distant, but not emotionally invested enough to be hateful.
 
That made me remember how she was his second wife. I remembered what Iron told me about what had happened to his first wife, and suddenly, I felt awkward to be caught up in the middle of the lieutenant’s personal problems.
 
Starfall seemed happy enough to separate us, though, by telling his wife to “Go on ahead with the kids, I have some guard business to sort out with the officer.”
 
She shot him a distrustful gaze that bordered on a sneer, but she turned to her stepchildren and told them in a much warmer voice, “Come on, let’s go get the groceries.”
 
Watching them walk away filled me with a twinge of sadness for some reason, but I realized that, now I was alone with the lieutenant, I had bigger problems on my plate.
 
Then, I was shoved into an alleyway.
 
I turned to face my assailant, and Lieutenant Starfall’s armored hoof collided with my helmet with a metallic thunk. Armor or no, my vision swam after the blow. Before I could even raise an arm to defend myself, I was thrown up against a wall. My head snapped back and hit the bricks, but when I tried to bring it back forward, there was a foreleg pressed against my windpipe.
 
Panicking, I couldn’t breathe. Something sharp pressed into my side, between the seams of my armor, and I knew that Starfall had me dead to rights.
 
“If you ever go near my family again, I will kill you,” he almost spat the words at me.
 
I worried about his knife, but after he gave the threat, he threw me to the ground by my neck. My head hurt in about a million different places now, but I could breathe again in raspy, sore gasps. I got my feet under me, and rounded on him in a defensive stance. “Du und...” I panted. “Was genau ist dein Problem?”
 
His eyes narrowed as he sheathed his knife. “Apparently, some half-breed bitch who can’t understand a civilized language. What part of ‘stay away’ is so difficult?”
 
I snarled, then snapped, “Nothing. So what was your wife’s problem?”
 
Starfall gnashed his teeth, and I braced myself for a fight. Cheap shots were one thing, but if I saw him coming, I could hold my own. Luckily for him, he reconsidered, or at least, he snorted. “No more. This ends tonight, just me and you. The market square, two o’ clock.”
 
Without thinking, I cut back a slow nod.
 
After that, he turned around and walked towards the exit of the alleyway. Before he stepped out into the street, he turned and added, “Make peace with whatever primitive beast you worship,” in a dismissive tone.
 
“And you with your Mörder,” I shot back. If he was the one bringing religion into the mix, I figured Celestia could stand for some blasphemy.
 
Starfall said nothing in reply; then he was gone.
 
I figured it’d look suspicious if I exited the same way he did, and I was already behind on my patrol, so I cut a large stretch off the path by heading to the other end of the alley. As I walked, my anger and adrenaline left me, and I slowly realized what exactly had just happened.
 
My gut reaction was fear. I could lose everything from my agreement. Everything. However, I had agreed to it, so now, there wasn’t really any way to back out of it.
 
Worse, came the doubt: Father had taught me many things about fighting, but none of it had mattered; it took Starfall all of three seconds to subdue me, and when he had me pinned, there had been nothing I could do about it.
 
I only had six laps left on my patrol for the day, and I spent the whole thing planning, worrying, and afraid. I thought of telling Iron about the whole thing, but the more I thought about it, the less viable it seemed.
 
For starters, Starfall and Iron had been friends for years, if my dates had been any indicator. And on top of that, Iron—while he never came right out and said it—was having troubles with his friendship with Starfall because of me. I didn’t want to cause any more problems for Iron, especially because it was obvious, by now, that Starfall didn’t respect his authority as captain.
 
Basically, if Iron could’ve helped any, he would have, by now.
 
Being alone, in that regard, made things clearer, if not easier. Regardless of the monstrous headache that I had for the rest of the afternoon, I planned out everything that I would need to do to go about rising to his challenge. Specifically, he had challenged me to a fight, and knowing him, it wasn’t going to be a tutorial with rocks and blunted sticks.
 
This was the real thing.
 
My self-preservation screamed at me that it was stupid to die in a fight over a difference in race, but my romantic side was gleeful that I had a chance to die in honorable combat.
 
It beat falling to my death, at any rate.
 
After I finished my patrol, I headed to the post office to do the bulk of my preparations. There had been a moment, in the citadel, where I considered asking Sherry for help on the whole Starfall thing, but she would’ve just got Iron involved, and I’d be back at square one, with the lieutenant being self-righteously angry at me for his own stupid reasons.
 
I knew I had some sort of a blanket ban on the post office, but it was the only way I could take care of things in case I lost the duel. Luckily, when I entered the building, Iron’s sister wasn’t there; instead, it was the faded gray old guy. At least something about this whole process wasn’t completely ridiculous.
 
“‘Evenin’, officer,” he greeted me. “What can I do you for?”
 
“Can I set up mail on a delayed delivery?” I asked. He seemed a bit thrown off by what I was asking, so I clarified, “Like, say I’m getting some news tomorrow afternoon, and if it’s one thing, I won’t have time to come write everyone I want to before I need to leave town. Could I write the letters now, then have them put in Thursday’s outgoing mail if I don’t come in tomorrow to stop them from going out?”
 
After I finished, the mail clerk stood there blankly for a few moments until he shook his head and chuckled. “I’ve worked here for fifty-two years this fall, and I’ve never had someone come around asking for something like that.” A bit of suspicion rose in his face. “What’s this for, anyway?”
 
Sorry, Dash, I thought to myself as I lied, “My friend in Ponyville might be pregnant.”
 
“Might be?”
 
“She’ll know by tomorrow, and then another friend is going to come get me if she is. I’ll have to miss work on Thursday to go congratulate her, and then I want some of my other  friends to know, too.” I was amazed at how coherently it all fit together.
 
The clerk smiled faintly as he put a stack of papers on the counter for me. Chuckling sadly to himself, he pondered aloud, “What’s the world like when that mess’s easier than having it all handled through the post office?”
 
I stared back for a moment. Here I was, lying to a postal worker to cover up something that violated my Verbannungsprüfung so that I could cover the possibility that I might die in a duel to the death with someone whose wife had been killed by barbaric members of a tribe of my own race.
 
I shook my head as I replied, “Complicated. Very, very, complicated.”
 
I took the papers over to the table that rested against the wall to start writing my letters. I figured that it would be difficult and emotional to write what might be my last farewells, but instead, it just filled me with a strong sense of impending destiny.
 
I probably had the most to say to them, but the letters to my older sister and my uncle were the easiest ones to write. It was cathartic to tell them how much I loved them, and how sorry I was that I couldn’t be with them anymore. Three years’ worth of emotions flowed out onto the paper as naturally as flying felt when I wasn’t wearing my armor. Also, even after three years, it was still easier for me to write in my original language than that of the ponies. Part of me wanted to find solace in that, but I was too preoccupied with the contents of my death letters to care.
 
As I finished writing the letters to my family—I had too many siblings to write individual letters to, so I told Gretchen to pass along my feelings—I again noted the risk of my failsafe. If either of those letters were delivered, I’d have a three-griffin death squad coming to enforce my banishment. It’d be headed by Father, but I didn’t know whether he’d bring two other adult males from the tribe or his eldest children, Gretchen and Gerard.
 
Either way, I knew that I wouldn’t be flying away from that confrontation.
 
Regardless of how dangerous it was for me to have even written it, I rolled my sister’s scroll up and wrote her name on it. A practical issue then presented itself: to my knowledge, it wasn’t possible to have a letter delivered directly to Sharfkral-Grat. I chuckled at the irony; this whole thing started because someone trespassed in griffin territory.
 
With a shrug, I rolled Uncle Wally’s letter around Gretchen’s. It’d be a hassle for him, but it wasn’t like the Grossfeder and Sharfkral had entirely severed contact with one another. It’d be safe to trust my uncle with delivering Gretchen’s letter.
 
After the two griffin letters were covered, I started on the two pony letters: Dash and Iron. Dash’s would be easier, so I started on it; when I was halfway finished, the mail clerk drummed up conversation. “So, uh, which northern griffin tribe d’you come from? Sharptalon or Braveheart?”
 
I stopped writing to glare at that. I didn’t like “Sharptalon,” because it seemed weird to hear my tribe’s name referred to in the ponies’ language. Even worse was the confusing linguistic hoops that they must’ve jumped through to get “Braveheart” from “Sterkergeist.”
 
“Sharptalon,” I answered, to try and keep things simple. Then, national pride kicked in and I continued, “But I’d call them Sharfkral if you ever meet another.”
 
“Sharf... kral,” he repeated slowly.
 
I went back to Dash’s letter, but I kept getting distracted by the sound of the mail clerk starting to say something, but then stopping himself. Around the third time, I turned and asked, “You okay?”
 
“Yes, it’s just... somethin’s been bugging me for a while, now. I’m not trying to offend you or anything, but... do you Sharfkrals keep, uh, trophies? Like, from hunting?”
 
I finished Dash’s letter and folded it up before answering. “It depends on the griffin and what they’re hunting. Some of us are completely against it, others do it for exceptional kills, or ones they’re proud of.” I thought back to Father with disgust. He had kept a pair of lime green pegasus wings from one of his kills, but it couldn’t have been that honorable or—
 
The realization hit me square in the stomach, but at first, all I could do was deny, “No.” But the truth was there, in little segments:
 
The mail clerk was asking about trophies.
 
Starfall’s wife had been killed.
 
Father had killed a pegasus.
 
Terrible pieces of the puzzle all fell into place, and after I shuddered a hollow breath, I tried to keep calm as I asked, “Did... did Lieutenant Starfall’s first wife work here at one point?”
 
“First wife?” the mail clerk asked, “Wow, I’m out of the loop. I didn’t even know that he and Comet finally got divorced.”
 
He continued talking, but I didn’t hear what words he was saying. With horror, I thought back to the mare I had met earlier: Comet Tail. Of course it was a weird name for an earth pony; she hadn’t been one when she got the name. She had been made one.
 
I almost threw up at the thought. Even when I had been eight, I had known that the pegasus whose wings my father nailed to our cave’s wall must have been dead. Now that I thought about it, they had been the same color as she was, before they faded. It all fit, and all I felt was numb.
 
I finished Iron’s letter, probably sounding more curt than I should have, but I could barely think straight. I rolled my letters into scrolls to send out and, shaking, I wrote the three addresses on each of them.
 
When I walked over to the mail clerk, he asked, “Are... y’okay, miss?” His voice sounded small and far away.
 
“Y-yeah,” I lied. “Remember, only send these if I don’t come back for them,” I said as neutrally as I could manage. I couldn’t stop shaking as I poured out some coins onto the counter to pay for postage.
 
“Will do,” he replied. “I’ll be here tomorrow, too; my usual desk help is out on a delivery.” Picking up the scrolls, he started to read the addresses on them before stopping at my family’s bundle. “I don’t know where ‘Erntving’ is,” he told me in a confused tone.
 
“It’s... it’s the griffin city out in the east!” I tried not to snap, but tears welled in my eyes. Stupid ponies, with their stupid names for things!
 
“Well, I’ll get it out there,” he replied in a tone that let me know I could trust him. A small bit of relief struck me, then I thanked him and left the post office.
 
Outside, I marched south, trying to keep it together. On the way there, I imagined what it would be like to lose my wings, and have to live life walking around for everything. In the air, there was a sense of freedom and openness. Losing that was a disgrace, and a fate worse than death.
 
Damn you, I cursed Father. That was exactly his train of thought when he did that to her. I grit the edges of my beak together in frustration, but I felt creaking, so I let up the pressure. Breaking my beak wouldn’t solve anything.
 
Finally, I got to Iron’s booth, and his smile evaporated before I shouted, “You knew?”
 
“Calm down,” he ordered, frowning. I snarled back, and he raised a hoof. “Or don’t. But tell me, at least, what—”
 
“Starfall’s wife is alive!” I pointed a metal finger at him. “You said she died.”
 
“I said nothing of the sort.”
 
“You said ‘attacked by griffins,’ and were all hush-hush...” I shook my head and let out an exasperated grunt. “But she’s alive. That changes things, Iron!”
 
He took a deep breath with closed eyes. “How?” He opened them to frown at me. “How does that change anything?”
 
“Because now he’s not just some grieving asshole, he’s some... guy... who’s... right,” I struggled to get the word out.
 
Iron blinked a few times, changing where he was focusing each time. “How... Gilda, what the hell happened today, that this is coming up?”
 
I took a few steps backward and flared my wings.
 
“No. No... don’t you...”
 
His words sounded on empty ground; I was in the air before he finished his command.
 
On the flight home, I put Iron out of my mind and instead considering the available options for my two o’ clock duel. I could just go in there ready for the kill, or come early and lie in wait for an ambush. It would be quick and dirty, but it would be a cheap shot for a cheap shot, and probably my best chance for winning.
 
I shoved that line of reasoning out of my head, too. He was an asshole, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. Plus, he was friends with most of my superiors in the guards, so I would have to hide what I had done from all of them. I didn’t want to think about keeping up that charade for any length of time; one day of extensive lying to Dash had caused me to have a mental breakdown.
 
Instead, I thought the rest of his family. I had heard that he loved his children, even if I had to take Iron’s and Sherry’s word for it. Iron’s especially—given his earlier freakout about my father, I couldn’t imagine he’d lie about that sort of thing. Then again...
 
I forced myself to focus on Starfall’s wife, the one who this whole thing was about. I figured that he saw her as damaged goods, and he blamed the entire griffin race for it. Since it was my father who permanently crippled her instead of giving her a clean death, I wasn’t entirely angry at Starfall—instead, I pitied him. That was a lot of emotional baggage to be carrying for ten years, and it was completely misdirected.
 
I thought of telling him about my father, and where to find him. But then again, he was a lone pegasus, so trespassing into Sharfkral-Grat to issue a challenge...
 
However much he didn’t deserve to die, he deserved what they would do to him even less.
 
Moving on, my next idea was an interesting one: I could tell Iron about everything. Fighting in the streets was illegal, so I’d be well within my rights to report a crime before it happened. It stank of cowardice, though, and it would just leave Starfall with an even bigger sense of injustice so that, what, he could come at me again?
 
One way or another, he was right: This ends tonight.
 
Razor-sharp resolve sharpened my mind, and for the rest of my flight home, I prepared myself for what I had to do that night.
 
When I neared my cave, I saw a stag running through the forest below me. After not eating for... almost an entire day, now, I realized, I was hungry enough to eat a good portion of it. I’d still have a huge amount of leftovers that I’d have to prepare, which meant I’d have to go around the Jägerwald looking for the right herbs.
 
Still, it’d be a good last meal, I reasoned.
 
My mind made up, I swooped in for the kill. The stag heard me coming and took off running, so I landed right behind it instead of on top of it. It ran. I ran after it. It was fast, but I was faster.
 
I swiped at its joint tendons in its leg but missed. In a last-ditch effort, the stag turned around and reared up on its hind legs to stomp me to death. I ducked low, it missed, and I pounced at its midsection.
 
Now we were on the ground, I undid the strap on my right hand’s gauntlet. The stag thrashed, fighting for its life, but I held its head down and covered its eye with my left hand. Deer were big enough a kill to apologize to, so I whispered, “I hope you lived well today, and forever.”
 
Then I sliced its jugular open with my free hand.
 
As the stag’s movements slowed and weakend, I remembered how fragile life was. Doubt crept into my mind about my plans for the night. Killing for food was one thing, but for honor? I had never done it before. With a twinge of fear, I wondered which role I would play tonight: the victor, standing over Starfall as he died; or the defeated, lying there and fading away to whatever awaited me after death.
 
Reluctantly, I went back to my first thought: going in for a fast kill. He started the fight, he was making it impossible for me to avoid, so he was to blame for the outcome of the fight. He had gotten the jump on me in the Market District when I hadn’t expected anything, which was more from surprise and cowardice than anything. In a fair fight, I’d stand a much better chance—and even better if I got the drop on him.
 
I remembered his foals from that morning, and his wife, and Iron... I pulled my hand up from the stag’s throat to rub my temple. The helmet got in my way, so I just shook my head. I didn’t want to kill him.
 
My residual cowardice flared up: I could just never go back. However, I instantly squashed it; I was in too deep with Farrington, now, to just sever ties. I had Iron, or at least, I had him until we actually had a conversation about Starfall’s wife.
 
But I also had my guard’s oath. I had sworn on my honor to protect the citizens of Farrington, and that meant something to me. It wasn’t even a griffin thing anymore; it was a me thing. I didn’t want to be the sort of individual that just flaked out on my own given word.
 
I needed to find a solution that left us both alive and resolved the issues between us. But given the terms of his duel that I had to go to and his friendship with Iron, that solution wasn’t exactly presenting itself.
 
The bushes to my left rustled, and I turned, hoping that it would be a simple matter to defend my dinner.
 
Luckily for me, it was a wolf. Her body language meant she wasn’t looking for a fight, and instantly, I knew it was the she-wolf from several weeks ago, when I had puked up fake ham.
 
She said nothing, but wolves couldn’t speak, so that wasn’t really surprising. Instead, she sat down on her haunches, looking at me with a somewhat starry, vacant look. I grinned back at her, thoroughly impressed with her timing. It was customary for griffins to share large kills, and wolves had been friends with griffins since before we bothered to write down our histories. They were loyal hunting partners, and even now, this one was polite enough to wait for me to offer something before she came over to try and help herself.
 
I tore a leg off and tossed it to her, saying, “Have that and anything I don’t finish.” She started eating, and so did I. When I was finished, the wolf came over to me instead of the stag.

Our eyes met, and I felt a cosmic sense of inner peace, as if I suddenly knew my tiny place in the universe. In that void of calm, a voice spoke in my head. Somehow, I knew it was an ancient dialect of griffins, before we called ourselves griffins. In the same way I knew how old the language was, I knew the meaning behind the words:

Fight and die. Live through peace.
 
My eyes opened, and the she-wolf and the stag’s corpse were gone. A dream? I asked myself, but I could still taste the stag in my mouth. I looked down at my and mentally swore; I had been careful, but my armor was absolutely coated in blood. The more I inspected, the more unnatural it felt; there was even blood under my wings and other places that it couldn’t have possibly been. Even the forest floor around me was clean, except for my right gauntlet, which was stained a dark red.
 
As a test, I pulled out the medallion in my chest and looked at the golden Dreikral side. Sure enough, it was the only part of my armor that was clean.
 
I tried to think back to what that she-wolf looked like, even though I doubted she was a normal wolf. I had read all of my tribe’s legends, and none of them hinted at wolves being able to... whatever she had done to me. Plus, wolves’ lifespans were measured in decades, not millennia, so she had spoken in a language...
 
I knew some of the older language that my tribe used to write in from the times I encountered it on scrolls that were around one thousand years old. The Records-Keeper had begrudgingly helped me translate some of the words, but I was by no means fluent.
 
The language that wolf spoke to me in was even older than that.
 
As insane as it was, the thought crossed my mind to return to my tribe and tell them what I had seen. I pushed it out of my head, though; they wouldn’t believe me, and for some reason, that wolf had wanted me to live. It would be stupid to throw away my life in such a wanton manner as violating my Verbannungsprüfung.
 
Then it hit: Verbannungsprüfung. Jäger. It was so clear; I cursed my stupidity. Of course I had just seen a Sternwolf, or, I guessed, the Sternwolf; I didn’t know how the gods’ realm worked.
 
Anyway, it fit perfectly, and then I realized, with a glare, that I had been cheated by fate. Jäger got his own damn constellation, and all I got was cryptic advice on how to deal with a duel?
 
Bullshit.
 
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I laughed at my pride. If I had been visited by the gods, who was I to be unappreciative? My laughter turned nervous as I looked around, making sure I was still alone; out of every being in the Jägerwald, the hunting companion of Jäger was quite possibly the most dangerous one to piss off.
 
I looked down at my bloody armor, then headed to my pond to clean it off. On the way there, I went back to the Sternwolf’s advice. That, coupled with the sign she gave me, made me realize that I definitely shouldn’t go to Farrington, that night, while wearing my armor.
 
At my pond, I took off my armor and started washing it as best I could. The water was cold, which helped, but there was a lot of blood. I mused that I’d probably have to show up early, Wednesday morning, to clean it off properly; then again, I’d have to stop by the post office for my letters, too.
 
If I were alive on Wednesday morning.
 
However, the cleaner my armor got, the more I realized that showing up, unarmed and peaceably, was the best option. It let me keep my honor while letting Starfall keep his ego, and then, I’d find a way to talk to him about everything. Apologize for my father. Tell him that, out of everyone in the world, I understood what his wife had gone through more than anyone else.
 
When my armor was as clean as it was going to get, I put it back on and flew up to my cave. Behind me, the sun was hanging low in the sky, and my clock read that it was nearly eight o’ clock. I picked it up and set it for one o’ clock, grumbling about gods and their stupid, evening-robbing sleeping spells. When everything was ready, I fluffed up my blanket and lay down on it.
 
I wanted to be well-rested for my date with destiny.
 

*              *              *

 
I woke up in darkness, and for a panicked moment, I thought that I had slept through my alarm. On cue, a shrill ringing filled my cave, so I got up and turned it off.
 
Out on my landing, I looked around. The moon was a bright hunters’ moon, and it illuminated the treetops of the Jägerwald with a light, silvery glow.
 
My earlier resolve wavered, and I considered putting on my armor for the duel. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, a sad, mournful howl rose from the forest below. “Yeah, yeah, you win,” I muttered submissively.
 
With nothing else to do around my cave, I took off for Farrington. The whole flight there, I watched the treetops, but I loved the freedom that came every time I flew without my Guard armor. Aerodynamic or no, it still weighed close to a hundred pounds.
 
At Farrington, the south gate was closed. Mentally, I cursed and worried about how I was going to enter the city. Then, I rapped my forehead and thought, Yeah, how am I ever going to get over that obstacle?
 
I flew around to the northwest section of the wall and landed on the raised edge of it, much to the protest of a nearby guard. “You! Identify yourself!” he shouted over the top of his crossbow. I saw that two bolts were sticking out, pointed at me; I didn’t know how much damage they would do, but I did know it certainly wouldn’t be healthy to get shot at point-blank range.
 
Instead, I tried calming him down. “Relax, dude. I’m here for personal business, not starting something.”
 
“It’s almost two in the morning.” He didn’t lower the crossbow.
 
“It’s late-night business,” I replied with a glare.
 
“Which is?” he pressed.
 
“I’m meeting someone late at night, and we’re going to do something that’s my business,” I shot back defensively.
 
He finally lowered his weapon, muttering, “Next time you’re slutting around with the captain, stay in the city.”
 
I stared at him after his insult, making sure I remembered his face for later. For now, I was in a hurry, so I settled on a warning: “Next time you say something like that to me, guard or no, I’ll rip your damned throat out.”
 
Before he could reply and make things worse, I jumped off the wall and glided into the Market District. The Market Square wasn’t too far from where I landed, but I still hurried; I didn’t want to be late to the duel and miss my chance to parley.
 
I got to the square almost ten minutes early, so I sat in the middle, where I could watch the four streets leading into the square without craning my neck too much. The moon was bright in Farrington, too, so it was easy to see the main roads that were bathed in silver.
 
Even as bright as it was, the moonlight didn’t fully illuminate the Market Square. All of the shadows gave me a sense of unease, like I was being watched. The silence was oppressive, too, so as I sat around, waiting for Starfall, every feather bristled in the still night air.
 
The clock tower struck two, and I looked around harder. I didn’t like that Starfall was late to his own duel; it made me think that it was all some sort of—
 
Movement in the shadows. A small object flew at my head. I ducked, barely dodging it, and a fully-armored Lieutenant Starfall burst into view. He had thrown his knife, but now he was galloping at me wielding his lieutenant’s sword. He had halfway closed the distance between us, but I scorned his cowardice, striking from the shadows like that.
 
Anger fueled preparation, and I remembered Father’s lessons. Firm stance for defense; showing weakness would lead to my death. Let’s hope you were a competent asshole, I prayed.
 
Before he reached me, Starfall spun on his front hoof and kicked at me with his back hooves. I dipped backwards to dodge, and noticed the small blades strapped to his boots. Ponies’ hind legs were a serious threat in combat, but Starfall had taken that to a whole new level.
 
He turned his spin into a grunting sword slash. I swiped with my right hand, upwards, and caught the blade in a parry. When his slash ended, I held onto his blade with my talons; it felt like he was going to pry them off, but for a moment we stuck like that.
 
Before I could twist my wrist to get his sword loose, Starfall dropped it and ducked into a low, sweeping kick. I leaped over his back and turned around just in time to see that he somehow had his knife again. He was deadly quick with it, too; since I didn’t want to fight back, I lost ground at a steady rate as I dodged his flurry of stabs.
 
As I learned his attacks, I found a pattern. I grinned; he had power and training, but not practice. I counted his stabs, then predicted a lunge and ducked around it. Grabbing his hoof, I held it out to his right. He still pushed forward with a left-hoofed punch, but I grabbed that, too, and our faces met.
 
“I came here to talk, not fight,” I hissed at him.
 
“Good job at that,” he spat back.
 
I raised an eyebrow, “You want me to fight back? You’ll be dead in three hits.”
 
Instead of words, he flared his wings and flipped backwards, bringing his bladed back hooves up for a slash. I let go of his front hooves and flattened against the wall to dodge; then I shoved off with my wings to vault over his blades’ arc. He spun around with his knife, and I wasn’t fast enough to avoid having it leave a shallow gash along my right side.
 
Searing pain meant that I had had enough. I wanted diplomacy, but if he was going to be belligerent, then I was going to have to beat him into submission first.
 
He stabbed with his knife, but I threw out a talon slash as I dodged. He avoided it, and we danced as neither of us landed blows. I had skill, he had armor; that meant I could only aim at his face and arms. He knew that, too, and he purposefully caught a few of my swipes with his armor.
 
The longer we fought, the more I knew better than to fall into a pattern. With that in mind, I feigned a high swipe with my right, and he dodged right into my left uppercut.
 
He let out a scream of rage as my talons raked up his nose. My blow hit his helmet, causing it to fly off and land with a clatter. Before he could react, I stuck out two fingers and lunged at his eyes, stopping right before my stab landed.
 
Starfall blinked with a quick inhale, and I scoffed back, “Is that how you want this to end? You, blind; her, wingless? Just listen to me!”
 
He stared at the points of my talons, but he stayed still, so I continued. “I know why you hate us, but why did I have to learn about it from two others?”
 
“I have nothing to say to you,” Starfall replied through clenched teeth, then he ducked back. I swiped at empty air, then he flapped his wings in a massive backwards leap. I ran to him to keep up the fight.
 
His foreleg twitched, a glint of steel, and I snapped my hand up. The blade of his knife was inches from my face, and pain shot up my arm when I noticed it was sticking through my palm.
 
Behind my hand, Starfall was rushing at me. I spun around and threw a backhand with my injured hand. After a flash of impact, I realized the knife had lodged in his forearm, just below the lip of his shoulder’s armor. I looked at the knife, then met Starfall’s eyes.
 
He snarled, then used his other hoof to rip it out of us in a meaty, wet, ripping pain.
 
I screamed. It was a raw, hateful screech. His eyes showed weakness. I lost all sense of who I was, and instead was filled instead with bloodlust and hatred. I pounced.
 
Pain evaporated as I tackled him to the ground. I remembered his pathetic attempts at arming his back hooves, dodged a kick, and pinned them with my own back feet. Trapped, he twisted and flailed to try to escape, but he only succeeded in exposing his right wing to me.
 
Fitting, I smiled with hatred as I grabbed it with both hands and snapped the hollow bone like a twig. He screamed, so I slid the jagged, upper portion of his wing down along the lower half, finishing by stabbing it into his wing socket.
 
I twisted it. He went limp, and with a shudder, he gasped and spat up something thick. Leisurely, I drummed my talons on his jugular vein as I realized that I was tonight’s victor.
 
I was about to take my victory, but as I looked down, something black in the lower part of my vision caught my attention. Focusing on it, I saw what it was: blood, my blood, staining my chest. On top of the stripe. My stripe.
 
“G-go ah-head then... f-finish it,” he stammered.
 
A deep breath made things slow down, and suddenly, the pain in my hand was as unbearable as the cold, shuddering sting in my left shoulder. I focused on Starfall, below me, but I couldn’t block the pain out entirely.
 
It was a stalemate, I realized, and even then, I remembered why killing him would be a bad idea. I pulled my hand back and, with some difficulty, I hobbled down off of him. “N-no,” he winced, “I d-don’t want your p-pity.”
 
“Tough,” I replied mirthlessly. “If you didn’t have a family to go home to, this would have ended differently. Thank your kids, I guess.”
 
He struggled up to his feet, wavering as he turned to face me. “Don’t you dare...”
 
“Or what?” I shot back. “Or you’ll kill me?” I gestured down at myself. “You had your shot, now—”
 
“Gilda! Starfall! What... what the hell is going on here?”
 
At Iron’s burning yell, we turned; his cold, merciless glare made something in my chest crumple.
 
From my right, Starfall piped up with a weak chuckle. “I-Iron Bulwark. You c-couldn’t have shown up before she b-broke me, eh?”
 
Iron twitched a glare to him, then snapped, “As of right now, consider yourself on ‘indefinite medical leave.’” Starfall croaked in protest, so he continued, “And count yourself lucky. Go home, or to the hospital; I don’t care. Just get out of my sight!”
 
I flinched at his shout, and Starfall turned to leave. As he did, I remembered my hand was in pretty raw shape, so I welled up some saliva in my beak and lobbed it into my palm. It burned, but only for a second before the wound went numb. I repeated the process on the back, and was glad that it would hold until I could get some proper medical attention.
 
On that note, I felt myself filling up with a sense of dread; now that Starfall had gone, I was alone with one severely pissed-off Iron. He turned on me, and I fought to keep eye contact with him. Things were slightly faded and spinny, but I hadn’t been raised to let that get the better of me.
 
“And you! Do you know how many laws you broke tonight? I’ll overlook the fact that you lied to me about this... whatever you were hoping to prove. You entered into the city past curfew and then threatened to kill a guard? That’s not to mention the disturbance you’ve caused this evening! What do you have to say for yourself?”
 
I narrowed my eyes and began, “Y—”
 
He cut me off in a white-hot tone. “Actually, you’ve said enough, this evening. Do you need to go to the hospital?”
 
“No,” I snarled. It might’ve been a lie.
 
His frown turned to jagged stone. “Then leave my city...”
 



 
“...And don’t come back.” Gilda flinched at my words, but having said them, they felt like they were a long time coming. Bringing her into the city had been a risk, dating her had been tumultuous, and now, she had mangled Starfall in what I could only assume was some sort of sick sense of justice.
 
To her credit, she didn’t say anything before she turned and began limping out of the Market Square. Her injuries would have been bad for a pony, but given her history with wounds, it seemed that griffins were made of a more resilient stuff than we were.
 
That was assuming, of course, that she was telling the truth about not needing a hospital.
 
As soon as the bitter realization crossed my mind, I had to swallow a lump in my throat. That was the worst part of it. Disregarding the assault and every way in which it affected me as Captain of the Guard, earlier this afternoon, she had lied to me. Or at least, she went out of her way to avoid telling me the truth.
 
Her whole two months in Farrington, I had trusted her. But in one day, she had thrown that away. She wasn’t stupid, and I even doubted if I were as quick-witted as she was when I was her age, so she had known what a duel with Starfall would cost. What she’d lose.
 
What we’d lose.
 
When she was gone, I found myself alone in the moonlight. It wasn’t even a quarter past two, which was when the next patrol was due to come through the Market Square. The timing of it all was too perfect for Gilda to be blameless in everything, which just reminded me that I had two individuals to deal with. Or three, if Officer Weatherly’s pride counted... then Sherry would have to be made aware that she was back down to four officers.
 
There were also the third parties to consider: Comet would be worried about Starfall, the press would be incessant with their attack on my mistaken judgement, and speaking of attack, Red Hooves would probably seize some sort of opportunity from this fiasco to try and turn the scales in favor of his sister.
 
And then, there was the fact that Gilda was gone. I recognized that, given her history, it had probably been a mistake to throw her out of the city like that. Given what she had done, I wasn’t certain. Even if I wanted to find her and apologize, I knew she wouldn’t accept it; plus, given how she’d probably have to fly over the wall to exit Farrington, depending on which route and direction she took, by now, she could be anywhere.
 
I was torn on what I needed to take care of first: preparing the Guard for the upcoming day, making sure Starfall was okay and that Comet knew that, or even, against all logic, trying to hunt down Gilda before she left to go... south. The whole situation made my head spin, but I couldn’t allow myself to be lost to distress.
 
My best option was to visit Sherry and see if she were still awake and sober. It felt wrong to disturb her all-too-common sleeplessness, almost as if I were taking advantage of her grief; however, she had her shift tomorrow, so there was a good chance that if she were awake, she would be coherent.
 
If not, she lived nearby, so not much time would be wasted.
 
Specifically, Sherry lived in the northeastern portion of the Residential District, only three blocks away from where the two main roads of the city intersected one another. From the Market Square, it only took about ten minutes to walk there. As I turned to head there, I started planning on what I would do after I spoke with her—or if she were unable to help.
 
Comet was second on my list of priorities. Starfall was her husband; she’d want to get to the hospital as soon as possible. She would be my first priority, but I reasoned that she’d either be asleep at this hour or, if she were awake, it would be because Starfall visited his home before going to Farrington General.
 
For the rest of my short trip, I planned out the sheer logistics of effectively firing two guards at once. Losing an officer would be difficult enough, but losing Starfall meant that I’d have to promote someone to take his place, which at least meant a few weeks’ worth of training, double shifts for those sergeants...
 
I shook my head vigorously before swallowing a curse. Damn him! Illegal street duels needed two members, but given his behavior over the past few months, I held him to be more responsible. He not only had Guard authority, but he was also betraying a decade’s worth of friendship by not just setting aside his problems, at least enough to not attempt murder!
 
The full weight of that hit me, and when it did, I felt so empty and alone that the only thing I could do was force myself to keep walking, one hoof in front of the other. It was slightly better than giving in to despair, at any rate.
 
When I arrived at Sherry’s, the lights were on, so I guessed she was either awake or passed out on her sofa. I tried to collect myself as much as I could, given the circumstances, and then I knocked on her door.
 
Something rustled inside, followed by hooffalls that approached the door. Locks clicked and the door opened to reveal a very disheveled, cold-looking Sherry. We met eyes for a moment, then she grinned weakly and looked away. “I’m not sure if you’re welcome here,” she sighed. “Last time you came to my doorstep with a look like that...”
 
I rubbed my right temple while I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I apologize, Sherry. But I suppose I would leave good news until morning.” She nodded, bemused, so I continued, “But tonight, there’s been an incident.”
 
Sherry nodded again. “Did she kill him?”
 
My stomach lurched. “Wait... what?”
 
She stepped back and opened her door. “Come on, before you let all the bugs in.” I followed her inside and closed the door behind me; she stalled at her hallway table to grab a rubber band to draw her mane into a ponytail.
 
A quick flash around her living room didn’t give any signs of drinking; Sherry was always a neat and orderly mare unless it came time to “unwind.” Nothing seemed out of place except for a magazine on her coffee table, and the liquor cabinet was closed. She smelled sober, too, so I continued, “What do you mean ‘Did she kill him?’ How did you know?”
 
The back of her head bobbed from side to side as she joked, “That’s the fun part of dating a screamer, Iron. Everyone knows when she gets stabbed.”
 
Her jab hit far too low, but it made sense: I had heard the eagle-like shriek that pierced the night. Still, it seemed too much for her to put together, so I pressed, “How do you know it’s a he, though?”
 
She turned and glared. “Who else in this city, Iron? His wife?” Sherry scoffed. “I think she’s had enough fights with a griffin to last her a lifetime.” I tried to interject, but she talked over me, “But, of course I’m referring to ex-lieutenant Starfall. Because if he’s still in your Guard after tonight—”
 
“He’s not,” I cut in. “Neither is she.”
 
Finally, I had given her some news, so she raised an eyebrow. “Okay, then. What happened to your girlfriend?”
 
“Don’t call her that!” I warned. I shouldn’t have.
 
“And what should I call her, then, Iron? You’re the one dating her, and she likes you, so if you’re just leading her on—”
 
“She put Starfall in the hospital, so I barred her from the city! She’s gone.” I choked on the last word, so I swallowed before whispering, “She’s gone. What have I done?”
 
Sherry looked at me piteously, and I tried to be strong. I tried. But the past few months, even at their best, had been shaky for me. I had hoped things would improve with time, but things culminating in this, ending like it did...
 
I appreciated when Sherry walked over and hugged me. My armor got in the way of things, but she was there for me, and she was a shoulder to cry on.
 
When I was done, I stood back up, and she patted the side of my face a few times. I wiped my eyes, then said, “Thanks.”
 
“It’s okay.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m guessing you came here for more than emotional support?”
 
I nodded. “I wanted to let you know that you’re down an officer, now.”
 
“And?”
 
“Also, I wanted to ask for your counsel on how to handle this entire situation.”
 
“And?” She drew the word out like she was expecting something that I was trying to hide.
 
I thought about it for a moment, then I thought I knew what she was after. She had entered Captain Reigner’s Guard as a highly-decorated sergeant, as part of a reward for several joint-effort tasks between the Farrington Guard and the Stalliongrad Politsiya. Between that, her service record in Manehattan, and the fact that she had twenty good years as a sergeant in Farrington, she was one of, if not the most senior sergeants I had under me.
 
Six years ago, she had passed on the offer to be promoted, so it had gone to then-media-hero Sergeant Starfall. Four years ago, she had passed her husband’s rank to me. And three years ago, when I became captain, she had likewise rejected the permanent rank.
 
Then, I had been asking out of formality. With a grim smile, I offered it again: “Would you accept a lieutenant’s rank if I offered it?”
 
She nodded.
 
My smile widened, even if in the back of my mind there was a shadow of a question of “Why?” Whatever her motives were, I was glad that she had taken the role—it was one less thing for me to worry about, and that evening, I would take what little relief I could get.
 
“Well, then, Lieutenant Justice—”
 
She scrunched her face. “Ew. No.”
 
With a weak chuckle, I raised a defensive hoof. “Just trying it on. But anyway, Sherry, I’m expecting this whole thing won’t blow over smoothly. Gilda’s out of the equation, Starfall’s injured, so I don’t know how to deal with that, from a pension standpoint, we’re going to need to hire some more Officers, and soon...”
 
“And the press is going to love you,” she added.
 
I scoffed. “I know.”
 
“Violently.”
 
I glared at her.
 
“Against your will.”
 
I kept glaring.
 
She smiled, but then changed the subject. “I think you’re overlooking part of the ‘equation.’” She raised a hoof to make quote marks. “I mean, do you really think Gilda’s gone?”
 
I looked over at Sherry’s grandfather clock. It read two thirty-nine, almost a half hour since I kicked her out of the city. With a nod, I responded, “You know enough about her upbringing to know how she’s going to take it. She knows I gave her a chance, she’s going to see this as either a betrayal on my part or a deep sense of shame on her own...”
 
“And she’ll be dead by the end of the week,” Sherry finished.
 
I felt like I had been slapped in the face. “W... what?”
 
Sherry didn’t answer at first; instead, she walked through her living room to her kitchen table. She grabbed a bundle of papers off it, came back over to me, and gave an apologetic shrug. “From her point of view, anyway, she violated her banishment thing with the long name.” She held out a stack of what I recognized as letters, though they curled as if they had been rolled up at some point. “Did she tell you she sent ‘last farewells’ out to her families?”
 
The fact that Sherry had obtained and opened Gilda’s mail was only mildly less disturbing than what else she was talking about. I shook my head.
 
Sherry continued, “If she doesn’t come back, it means she’s accepted that she’s got to be on the run from her people, but that’s not accounting for a certain Equestrian she attacked before fleeing a city...”
 
My heart sank. It was true; banishing her from Farrington had been a punishment for her crimes, but it wouldn’t be sufficient enough to placate the Equestrian government officials if they cared to press the matter. Given this was now a matter between Equestria and Elpithasus, they’d have to, through no fault of their own, just to avoid an apparently glaring international oversight.
 
Even if they settled on as passive a sentence as extradition, she would be handed over to her own government. With her banishment being what it was, there was a very good chance she wouldn’t survive the exchange.
 
Sherry must’ve seen the fear on my face, because she leveled with me. “And that is why you pray that she’s smart enough to come back. For her letters, to hand in her armor, to yell at you for being a jerk...”
 
“Hey!” I defended myself.
 
She shrugged aggressively. “Hey yourself. I’m not the one who kicked her out of her home for a second time. If you kept her in the Guard, we could’ve handled this in-house.” Her voice raised to a crescendo. “But don’t ‘Hey’ me just because you thought it’d be easier just to send her off to die!”
 
I wanted to scream back at her for how unfair a way it was to phrase it, but I shook the desire out of my mind with a deep breath. Anger gave way to remorse, and I deeply regretted having acted so rashly. I couldn’t yet grieve for that, though. There was too much left to take care of.
 
Even then, when I realized I might have inadvertently killed her, I realized on some level that, even if Gilda came back to the city as an upstanding, atoning guard, things would never be the same between the two of us. Things were so complicated that I didn’t even know whose fault it was.
 
That train of thought led me back to Starfall, and I had a similar revelation that things, between us, were severely broken. He was my friend, or at least, I still wanted to be his friend. But if there was one thing I knew about him, it was that he wasn’t one to give up a grudge easily. Part of me again wondered if I were to blame, if I should have done more to stop him.
 
The entire situation was a mess hidden within a disaster, and it all led to one important question:
 



 
“How do I fix this?” Iron asked quietly, staring off to his right.
 
Despite myself, I laughed. He turned on me, defensively, so I limited myself to a mirthful shaking of my head. “Iron. This isn’t the sort of thing you fix. This is a force of nature that you’ve got to ride out and hope it doesn’t blow you into a cliff face.”
 
That answer just made him even droopier, so I wracked my head for a solution. One way or another, though, he had screwed himself over in a near-perfect manner. I didn’t have the heart to remind him that this was the sort of mistake that captains could be fired over, if I didn’t have some friends on Farrington’s city council. Iron was already distraught over losing his girlfriend and friend all in one night.
 
It was the sort of situation that called for a moral gray area, something that was somewhat of a specialty of mine. “If you want to give her as much of a head start as possible, I can do what I can to slow down the paperwork for reporting this incident to everyone. It’ll buy her a week, maximum, during which she’ll either show up one day, or...”
 
I let the question dangle. I also didn’t have the heart to remind him that she was the type that “gave up” when things got too disparaging in their lives. I hoped, for Iron’s sake, that it didn’t come to that, but at the same time, hope was an idle and pointless thing.
 
A long, harsh silence fell over us, so I satisfied a curiosity I had when he first showed up for the evening. “Anyway, you did let Starfall’s wife know what happened to him, right?”
 
His hesitation said everything.
 
With a baleful sigh, I shook my head. “You want to fix things, Iron? Start small, build up. Right now, Starfall’s wife is going to be awake, worried sick about him.”
 
He nodded. “I’ll go to her.” He shuffled his hooves a little, then added, “But what about Starfall?”
 
I grinned sadly at how adorable his single-mindedness was. Granted, this was probably his first time staring down the barrel on something this huge, so I chalked his current state of mind to a combination of shock, fear, and—though he hated the word—inexperience.
 
“Iron...” I didn’t know where to start, so I reverted to Stalliongrad. “Planning a war is easy. Planning both sides of a war is complicated, but methodical. Planning peace?” I shrugged. “We didn’t do things like that for a reason back in Stalliongrad.”
 
He raised a dubious eyebrow. “Didn’t do what back in Stalliongrad?”
 
I smiled. I had left those days behind me, or so I thought, so I answered, “Iron, the things you don’t know about me and Stalliongrad could fill a few books.” He blanched, so I ended on a high note, “Nothing too severe. I usually left the dark shit to the corrupt guys.”
 
It seemed to be an acceptable answer for him, so I went back to his main point. “Anyway, you and Starfall, you and Gilda, you and the Guard, you and Farrington, you and Equestria, you and Elpithasus...” I gave him the most reassuring shrug I could, but it was a shrug nonetheless. The future was murky and a lot of it hinged on the whims of an emotionally unstable teenager. The only thing I could guarantee was, “I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not a miracle worker.”
 
He nodded, so I pointed my hoofful of letters at the door behind him. “Now, I love you, but get the hell out of my house. Comet’s waiting, and I know what that’s like.”
 
A quick, relieved grin crossed his face before the truth of my words sunk in and he cringed with guilt. “Right. I’ll go now.” He turned around and I walked with him to my door. Before he left, he turned and said, “Thanks.”
 
“Don’t thank me yet,” I warned. It was cold, and it was cruel, but it was true. Nonetheless, he nodded appreciatively; then, he was gone.
 
Now that I was alone, I bit my lip and let out an exasperated sigh. When my breath was almost gone, I blew the rest of it out in a gust; I sealed the whole thing by clicking the back of my throat.
 
I had never known Iron to screw up. But when he did, he did it hard.
 
Still, I was a mare of my word. I took Gilda’s letters with me and into my study. I tried to ignore the “decor” that lined one wall, which was really just a bunch of unused furniture and supplies from a while ago, back before everything turned to dull aching.
 
For now, I couldn’t focus on those relics from a happier time. I set down Gilda’s letters, then pulled out some parchment of my own. Iron came to me tonight both to warn me of an upcoming storm and to give me the tools and authority I needed to batten down the hatches.
 
There was hope—not enough to let Iron know about—but it was a faint and distant illusion. It was a long shot, but I thought there was a way to fix this all on my terms, unless she killed herself. If that happened, even contingency plans were liable to fall through.
 
In my heart, I prayed that she wasn’t that stupid. Then I grabbed a pen and started writing a few very important letters. Then after that, there would be more planning, plotting, and justice.
 
I sighed in the face of it all, but I didn’t let that stop me. For now, I had a lot of work to do.