The Strength of Principle
That night, the Mighty Helm sat in their mead hall, drinking, quaffing, singing, and jumping up on tables to dance and laugh. At least, some did, those who had few cares and few thoughts for the morrow. Yet at the other end of the table, though all sat and sipped and did not dance, nevertheless a battle of its own was breaking out.
The legendary warrior Rockhoof watched and sighed impatiently. He honestly found this sort of behaviour tedious, yet he dare not speak his mind just yet. Besides, these things needed time, and took time, and he was resolved to see it out, come struggle or stress.
Honey Wolf, the Stallion of the Axe, banged the table for attention. It was the time of night when even mighty warriors began to wax philosophical, and the mead had been especially good.
“I say,” he declared in his deep, booming voice, “that the highest good is duty. To take a course, to follow it through mountains and thorns, to weather all storms, to never make excuses or abandon what is right.”
“Even,” said a feminine voice opposite, “if it leads to the destruction of the world?”
Honey Wolf hesitated. “Perhaps…”
“I say,” said she, Deadly Silent, the Mare of the Arrow, “that the highest good is happiness. To understand who is harmed and who is helped, to see and wait and listen, to be ruthlessly calculating, to help by any means necessary.”
“Even,” said Honey Wolf coldly, “if it violates the sacred principles of our tribe?”
Deadly Silent hesitated. “Perhaps…”
“What a monstrous idea! How many would you throw into the fire to bring happiness to others?”
“Such hypocrisy! How many would you throw into the fire to follow blind rules?”
Honey Wolf raised his axe. Deadly Silent aimed her bow.
At that end of the table, Rockhoof – the newest member of the Helm – cleared his throat. Such was he, who had refused to flee the volcano, who had struck the earth over and over, who had not let fate flow over him but who had seized it and redirected it through sheer will. Although his face had not tasted blood and mud through many skirmishes, nevertheless he commanded respect among even the Mighty Helm.
It was he who stood up and said, “I see that this is a tricky dispute to solve. For Honey Wolf is right, and we cannot abandon our principles. What warriors would we be if we did not fight our enemies honourably?”
“More efficient ones,” muttered Deadly Silent.
“Yet Deadly Silent is also right, and we cannot destroy the happiness of our friends and family blindly. What warriors would we be if we refused to make sacrifices for the greater good?”
“More respectable ones,” boomed Honey Wolf at once.
Grimly, the mighty Rockhoof sat down. “Friends, friends! This is a vexing question, yet we can resolve our differences peacefully. We simply have never thought of this before. Now is the time to solve the riddle. Duty and principles, or happiness and efficiency?”
They argued all night, passion overflowing. None resolved the tension. It was noted for days afterwards that both Honey Wolf and Deadly Silent refused to speak to each other, and neither were convinced the other would relent.
In the old days, perhaps, such differences would never be resolved, for the Mighty Helm were mostly old ponies, and old ponies hardened and became stubborn as stone. Yet Rockhoof was fresh and full of life, not like a deadening field of ash, but like a rich harvest of apples and oats. On his head was the conviction that his friends must be united once more, and that this vexing question of how to behave and what was right: this vexing question would need to be resolved.
Unfortunately for him, the villagers did not help at all. All took one side or the other, and since it was discovered that only Rockhoof reserved judgement, both sides argued fiercely to bring him to their side.
“We must not stand divided forever!” each side said to him. “Unity is strength!”
And they certainly needed it, for while all this was going in within the clan, outside waged the war.
War between the pony clan and the griffon clan.
It had started shortly after the volcano belched smoke and drooled lava. Once the volcano had stopped, its smoke and fire had been spotted from across the sea. There were always those willing to take advantage of now-fertile ground, and the griffon clan nearby had often fought the pony clan over the right to sail these waters.
Instantly, they flew over and attacked. The Mighty Helm fought back, all showing their valour and love. Honey Wolf knocked them away with his clever axe and sheer strength, whereas Deadly Silent downed and terrified griffons with her ruthless arrows and perfect stealth. Rockhoof himself had led the charge, using anything he had: his shovel, his hooves, even the trees that gave him cover and the rocks that gave him missiles. Soon the initial assault of the griffons was scattered, and they fled.
Alas, this was not the last of them. Griffons and ponies make mortal enemies. Once the griffon clan had seen the rich new land, they would stop at nothing to conquer it.
Again and again, they fought back. Again and again, the Mighty Helm drove them off, but the griffons soon claimed a slope near the top of the volcano for themselves, and within weeks the Gryph Village was established. From there, the flying, slashing, grabbing, throwing griffons launched new attacks, bolder and fiercer than before.
Those were grim times in the pony clan. Many looked up at the slope with dread and doubt in their hearts. Even the Mighty Helm grew weary and frustrated. They sought to drown their sorrows in mead and dance the misery out of themselves. Deadly Silent insisted more and more that they wipe out the griffons by any means necessary. Honey Wolf refused to win dishonourably, lest the Might Helm taint their victory and reputation.
Now this vexed question was on Rockhoof’s mind, making his training swings wild and his training kicks hesitant. What was the right thing to do? Drive out the griffons even if it meant becoming evil, or insist on their principles and give the griffons a chance to win?
Rockhoof may never have resolved that question, if he hadn’t taken a walk the one day, away from the village, away from the conflict, and into the solace of forests and birdsong.
There he thought, and he thought, and he thought. Alas, the oaks and the ferns and the moss and the puddles gave no answer.
He went back the next day, and the next.
The fourth time he went, he found a griffon.
On this morning, Rockhoof ventured into the darker part of the forest, where the canopy was a ceiling and the leaf litter a carpet. None ventured that way without good reason, but such was Rockhoof’s concentration and uncertainty that he did not notice until the cold, sunless winds chilled him. He realized he had strayed into darkness.
There he heard a voice. Unfamiliar as it was, it rose in pain and fear, and Rockhoof was running before he could stop himself.
In a clearing, he found a young griffon. Her wing was broken. Her lion paws were burnt. Her feathers smoked. When she looked up, he saw the mist in her eyes and knew she was blind.
“Who is there?” she called out. “Help, please! I can’t fly!”
Rockhoof did not understand, but he saw a chance. This griffon was alone. No one else would see. He reached for his shovel, the one that could cleave a skull with a single blow.
Yet he hesitated. Deadly Silent would have struck her down – one less griffon to worry about – but Honey Wolf would have obeyed the traditions. Any wounded soul, be they enemy or friend, deserved hospitality. Only on the battlefield was the law excused, and even then only during an actual battle. Each side was allowed to remove their wounded in peace once it was over.
Rockhoof sighed and left his shovel alone. Instead, he picked up the enemy and carried her gently back the way he had come.
“Do not panic,” he said. “I am Rockhoof of the Mighty Helm. When we return to my village, you will be cared for by the best healers of our clan.”
“You are a pony!” The griffon struggled.
“I am a warrior, first and foremost,” he said. “It would be dishonourable for me to strike an unarmed foe. You have my word that no harm shall befall you.”
“Rockhoof?” said the griffon. “Surely not the same Rockhoof who fought a volcano and won?”
“The very same.”
After that, the griffon’s tone became respectful. “Even among us griffons, your name is legend. I am humbled indeed! My gratitude is inexpressible!”
Rockhoof laughed at this. “You do a mighty fine job nonetheless. What is your name, young chick?”
“Gregaria, your lordship.”
“Well, Gregaria, we have neither lord nor lady in our clan. So long as you are my guest there, you will be treated no differently from the others. It is our custom.”
When they arrived, shock and confusion met the sight of the griffon Gregaria on his back. Rockhoof was trusted and respected, so many took his explanation with good grace. However, Deadly Silent was not happy.
“You should have killed it when you had the chance!” she snapped.
“She is a ‘she’, Deadly Silent. Not an ‘it’.”
“Now what? I’ve always said that rule was foolish and unnecessary. You’re going to give the enemy one more fighter when this is over, and she’ll need feeding from our stocks!”
“Thank you, Deadly Silent, but I remember this: while you demand her death today, three years ago you yourself were rescued by the griffon clan at sea. If the griffons had broken that rule, we would have lost you forever.”
“More fool them,” she said, but Rockhoof heard the doubt in her voice, and he was satisfied.
Over the next few days, Rockhoof personally attended to Gregaria’s healing hut, and finally to Gregaria herself. He’d initially set out to repair the roof and bring fresh water from the well – even warriors had to do their fair share of the chores – but over time he spoke more and more to Gregaria.
“I am curious,” he said. “I’ve never spoken to a griffon like this before. Usually we’re too busy shouting orders and battle cries.”
“This place is fun!” said Gregaria from the bed. “I hear you ponies talk so much and sing and dance in the mead hall. It sounds wonderful. I had no idea ponies loved to sing and dance. Even griffons never get so loud and hearty!”
“Well, I’m glad you enjoy our company,” said Rockhoof, giving her a bowl of oats.
“The food could be better, though. Don’t you eat meat?”
“We prefer to grow big and strong on what Mother Nature gives us.”
“That’s silly! Mother Nature gives you squirrels and mice and sparrows and fish too! They’re very tasty.”
Rockhoof hummed with interest. “I guess I never really thought about it. Perhaps ponies can’t, or shouldn’t, or wouldn’t, eat meat at all?”
To his surprise, he enjoyed her company too. She asked all kinds of questions and went off on all sorts of tangents like that. Eventually, he began to wonder if such an inquisitive and thoughtful mind could help him with his problem.
“My good friend Gregaria,” he said keenly. “I would value your opinion on a matter that has vexed my fellow ponies for some time.”
“Shoot, good sir! Shoot away!”
“Thank you. My friends have asked themselves: Which is the right thing to do? Should we follow our rules wherever they lead – even if they lead to our own destruction – or should we do what is necessary even if it means violating our good name?”
To his disappointment, the griffon sat in silence for a good long while. She seemed to be thinking.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “It is a question that vexes us griffons too. No one has ever made a strong case one way or the other. Can’t it be both?”
“I doubt it. If I had broken the rules of my clan, I would have killed you and brought shame upon myself.”
“But if you had killed me, then what if I had been a prized warrior and turned on you and your ponies? You’d have fed and healed the instrument of your destruction. Not a good move.”
Rockhoof was surprised that she’d been the one to make that point. Yet he had no answer, save to come back and bring her more oats.
The griffon clan started sending scouts to spy on the village. Some ponies wondered if the griffons were preparing for a final assault that would wipe them out. Some ponies wondered if they were looking for the lost Gregaria. A few even wondered if the griffons were scared and trying to work out their chances against the ponies. Yet no one felt happy, and no one would ever feel happy until the griffon village was burned down and the griffons sent flying and screaming over the horizon.
Rockhoof and Deadly Silent volunteered to spy on the griffon village in turn. The news was bleak. Blacksmiths and carpenters worked hard in the village, going into their huts with iron ore and timber, coming out with more armour and axes and bows. The Mighty Helm met to discuss their findings.
“We should wipe them out,” said Honey Wolf at once. “It’s do or die.”
“I thought we didn’t attack unarmed souls,” said Rockhoof suspiciously.
“Truth be told,” said Honey Wolf grimly, “I’m starting to see Deadly Silent’s point of view. If we continue to attack only when they attack, then soon they’ll wear us down to nothing. But if we strike before they do, and catch them by surprise, we may stand a chance.”
“I’m not sure,” said Deadly Silent.
Surprised, Honey Wolf said, “You’re feeling sorry for them? Has Gregaria influenced you so?”
Yet Deadly Silent stared him down, cold as ever. “I simply think it wouldn’t work, that’s all. They may be expecting us to ambush them.”
“You are not proposing we leave? Or worse, surrender? I would never surrender to the likes of them!”
“You have to be realistic.”
“I am! The blood of a thousand warriors runs through my veins. Runs through our veins. I will not be the one to pollute it by letting my fellow ponies down. It is in our very hearts. Whatever it takes, we have no choice but to fight or die.”
Despite his passion, however, no one was happy with a sneak attack, and no one could think of a better alternative. The meeting ended with clouds threatening over every head.
The next day, Rockhoof left the village with Deadly Silent to scout the griffon village again. Nothing else happened beyond the usual blacksmithing and carpentering.
However, they returned home to find a scuffle.
Gregaria was up and about. Honey Wolf seized her again and tried to hold her still, but she struggled and kicked and tried to claw his face. Both shouted at each other until Rockhoof forced his way in and forced them apart.
“What is this!?” he said with fury born of frustration. “How dare you both spoil the peace?”
“This vulture,” shouted Honey Wolf, “snuck into my home and stole my food! I caught her at it, just now!”
“I was not!” shouted Gregaria back. “It was your turn to feed me! When you didn’t show up, I went looking for you!”
“You ate my apples!”
“You attacked me for no reason!”
“SILENCE!” bellowed Rockhoof. Finally, the two stood still. “Honey Wolf, you are a stallion of honesty, but is it possible you were mistaken?”
“No,” said Honey Wolf at once. “I will show you.”
So he took them into his hut and showed them his food basket. Rockhoof was familiar with the layout and knew that Honey Wolf kept a bushel of apples in there every day. If it ever emptied, he always went out to pick new ones.
There were only a few apples in the basket, and several had bites taken out of them. Rockhoof held one up and gave it to Honey Wolf, who took a bite out at once. Whereas his bite had teeth marks, the other bites did not.
“Gregaria,” said Rockhoof. “Take a bite out of this apple, so that we may see if it matches these ones already.”
“How dare you accuse me of stealing!” she said at once with a petulant stamp. “I thought you were my friend!”
“And I am, and I am Honey Wolf’s friend too, and he has respected my request. So do it now!”
Grumbling, Gregaria took the apple. She took a bite. He took it off her again.
“They match,” he said, dropping it.
Anger and shame burned through him. He had stayed his shovel, he had given her a future, a home, and as much food and talk as he would have given to any of his most loyal friends. Yet here she stood, spitting on the very rules he had followed to protect her.
“How dare you lie to me,” he said, and as he spoke his voice grew louder and more threatening, beyond even the rumble of the most dreadful of storms and the most violent of seas. “How dare you steal our food. When I brought you to my village, I expected gratitude and honour. Instead, I find lowly cowardice! Begone from my village, Gregaria! Take your loathsome evil with you! Or so help me I will strike you down where you stand!”
“But he didn’t feed me.”
“IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE!”
Gregaria wept and fell on her knees. “Please! I’m blind! I cannot make it home safely without help from a friend!”
“BEGONE!”
And after the shock and the tears had fallen away, she fled.
Even Honey Wolf, known to be berserk and brutal in the throes of bloodlust, stared at his friend with astonishment. “You have banished her?”
“I see now Deadly Silent was right,” said Rockhoof coldly. “I should never have brought that creature here. Besides, the rules demand it. Those who betray our trust are to be banished, lest their infamy bring shame on us all.”
“I see,” said Honey Wolf, but Rockhoof could tell from his low voice that he was unhappy.
“You’d rather she stayed? After she ate your food? When we struggle to find any with those griffons around?”
“No, no!” said Honey Wolf urgently. “I did not mean that. I apologize. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Rockhoof left, and he stayed inside his hut, and he did not come out for three days. For there are wounds in the world that no healer could ever hope to reach.
While he was inside, however, Rockhoof did receive one visitor. It was Deadly Silent. She alone had ventured forth to spy on the griffons.
“They’ve sent messengers across the sea,” she said, “and they practise with their new weapons every day. It’s only a matter of time before they launch their final attack. The Mighty Helm must assemble in the mead hall.”
“Why? There is only one right thing to do.”
“But the rules demand we discuss our strategy before we strike.”
“Hang the rules!” said Rockhoof, rising from his bed. “They would have brought us to ruin! I see that now! You were right. The only right thing to do is to protect the ponies we love. Our friends, our fellow warriors, our kin. No one else matters, so why pretend they are entitled to anything? Wipe them out. Save ourselves.”
“Rockhoof! I’ve never heard you speak this way before! What happened to the young colt I used to know, who nursed wounded sparrows back to health and saved deer from the wolves? What happened to the warrior who said a hero needs honour as well as heroic strength? And now you’re acting like a petulant child.”
“I have said my piece. Now leave me be.”
She left the hut that day, convinced she had failed him.
Yet instead, he began to sit and think. What had hurt him so much was the way Gregaria had spoken to him before, as though she were a joyful filly instead of a nasty griffon. Had she been an honest earth pony like them, she would have been more than welcome in the mead hall, singing songs louder than anyone else and dancing more vigorously. He was sure of it.
His anger and betrayed hurt demanded her blood. Demanded the blood of every griffon who lived and breathed. The rules – the principles – of duty and honour demanded that he fight fairly, on an open battlefield, and only struck warriors, not healers or females or young. But he saw that this would see his fellow ponies defeated, unless he broke those rules.
Could the noble Rockhoof, whose name was legend among the islands, who had stood up to a volcano rather than flee, who fought with honour and who lived with compassion… Could he just wipe out an entire village, purely to save himself? Because he couldn’t win any other way? Was he that weak and cowardly?
According to the rules, he had acted rightly. He had banished the thief, the traitor, and had saved his village from such ignominy.
Yet his heart shuddered with concern. He imagined the poor griffon lost and alone in the wilds, unable to find her way home.
Perhaps the rules were wrong?
Perhaps he was wrong to want to break them for revenge?
He didn’t know. But after the third day, he finally came out of his hut. No one saw him leave the village. He didn’t want to explain, and he wasn’t sure he could have even if he’d tried.
Through the field, through the forest, through the caves he searched, even as day turned to dusk, dusk turned to night, and night began to glow again with the encroaching dawn. Rockhoof called many times, but no one answered.
As he climbed the slope of the volcano, though, he began to wonder. He was close to the dark forest where he’d found Gregaria wounded, her wing broken and her body covered in burns. Yet though he had worried about the wounds themselves, he had never asked how they came to be.
Unfortunately, fate soon gave him the answer. As soon as he stepped forth, the volcano sought its revenge, and it struck.
A geyser, hot with volcanic heat and crushed with volcanic pressures, forced its way through the rocks under his feet and blasted him with scalding water.
Rockhoof knew true pain that day, for his skin was aflame and his body was thrown tumbling down the slope. His cry could be heard over all the canopies and in every village and across the very waves of the sea all around.
Such was his pain that he thought he was going to die from it.
Worse still, his cries brought the hunting griffons through the forest. When they came towards him and saw him lying there, he was too weak to resist. They seized him – hesitantly at first, for they knew who he was and what he could do – but when he failed to fight back, they bore him aloft and flew back to their village. They had captured him. The legendary bane of the volcano. Rockhoof himself.
When Rockhoof awoke, he was surprised to find himself on a comfortable bed, in a well-lit tent, amid the smell of feathers and cooking. He was even more surprised to find the blind eyes staring down at him.
“How the tables have turned,” said Gregaria. She was not smiling, but nor did she seem angry or gloating.
“Where am I?” he said at once.
“In the griffon village. You are our prisoner now.” Her talons pressed into his chest before he could rise up in alarm. “Fear not, O brave one! So long as you are wounded and no threat to us, we are more than happy to let you live.”
“You have the same traditions as us?” said Rockhoof, astonished.
“Not exactly,” said Gregaria with a shrug. “In your village, I was a guest. In my village, you are a prisoner. That means you cannot leave, but it does mean we’ll treat you with kindness and respect… so long, of course, as you abide by our laws.”
Rockhoof hated this. The occasional sulk notwithstanding, he always went out and about, determined to prove himself as he was. This was a form of hell.
“I’m curious,” said Gregaria, adjusting her position next to his bed. “What were you doing out there, if you weren’t hunting? And what were you doing there when you found me? We’ve never seen ponies venture into the dark forest before.”
It took Rockhoof some time to answer. Part of this was because he still felt pain and burns, and speaking only made him more aware of them. Part of this was because he wasn’t sure he trusted Gregaria yet. And part of this was because, the first time he went into the forest, even he wasn’t sure what he was doing.
Besides, he remembered he was talking to a thief. He did not want to spend much time doing that.
“I came looking for you,” he admitted, trusting to honesty come what may. It was a principle he felt he could trust, however unsure he was of the others.
“Why?”
“Because I felt I had wronged you. I also want to know why you did it. Griffon as you are, you were my friend. I was happy because I could respect the rules and still enjoy your company, and I was happy because we had no tactical reason to end you, so I would not feel as though I had betrayed my tribe.”
Gregaria still did not smile. “You said you ‘wronged me’.”
“It’s the law that we banish thieves.”
“Why? Can’t you just tell them off and then give them another chance? That’s what we do.”
“It is?”
“Of course. After all, you can always go out and hunt more food if you need it. Nature provides.”
“It’s not quite the same for us, I’m afraid. I guess we had a reason once. I remember my father telling me that long ago, when ponies lived on these islands without griffons, before I was even born, food was hard to find. I remember him saying that thieves back then might bring the whole village to ruin, so it was best to banish them before anyone else could starve to death.”
“It was that harsh?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you go find a better land, like we did?”
“We can be a bit stubborn at times.”
“So now you just follow the rule because it’s a rule, even if it doesn’t make sense anymore?”
To his own surprise, Rockhoof laughed at this. Already, he imagined himself telling that to Honey Wolf and Deadly Silent, just to see what sparks would fly.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said, and despite the pain of his burns, he managed to smile.
Gregaria smiled back. “As silly as this is going to sound, I actually liked being in the pony village a lot more than I liked being in my own. It tore me apart when you banished me. I thought, what with the war and everything, we’d never see each other again.”
Still in pain, but remembering the good talks they used to have, he extended the hoof of friendship. “Gregaria, would you accept my apology and forgive a foolish knave his moment of weakness?”
She shook. Gladly.
Outside, they heard the chatter of other griffons. In a way, it reminded him of his own village. If only the griffons had sung and danced, if only he’d heard the splashes of mead and the splatter of thrown food during the occasional impish food fight: only then would it have been perfect.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she said.
Rockhoof looked at her in surprise. “I’m sure I answered it very thoroughly.”
“You told me what you were doing the second time you ventured into the dark forest. What you haven’t told me is what you were doing the first time.”
At this, Rockhoof laughed again. “I see! I am sorry, my friend. I completely forget. What I was doing that day: even I don’t know. I suppose I was deep in thought, and while I went for a quiet walk I simply lost my way.”
“Do you remember what you were thinking about?”
“No. But I think it was the question I put to you while you were in our care.”
“Oh. That question! Well, I’ve been asking around my village to see if anyone else could solve it.”
“And?” Rockhoof leaned forwards, eager to hear the delicious riddle solved satisfyingly.
With a laugh, she said, “No one could! Every answer they gave was different. It’s unsolvable.”
Moaning, Rockhoof lay back in his bed and tried to hide his disappointment. Unfortunately, the pain flared up again, and he was too tired to talk much after that. Gregaria bowed to him, respecting his wishes, and left the tent.
During his stay, many griffons came to see him and to speak to him. They were curious, firstly because this was the legendary Rockhoof of the feared Mighty Helm, and secondly because Gregaria had spread word about his saving her, his coming to find her, and his interest in knowing how to do the right thing – which they called “philosophy”, a strange word to his ears. But he answered their questions as best he could, though the chicks that flocked around him gave him some trouble with their habit of asking five questions every time he answered just one.
Thanks to the brilliance of their healers, who were stern, solemn griffons not given over to much emotion, he was healed within a matter of days. No one let him leave the tent, though, itching though he was to go forth and see the village for himself. Griffon guards barred his way whenever he tried to walk out, and since they had wisely taken his shovel away and outnumbered him, for now he respected their wishes.
Then one day, Gregaria and an elderly, greying griffon came in, The elderly griffon resembled an owl, and bowed to Rockhoof before addressing him.
“Brave warrior!” warbled the griffon. “I am Geria, chief of the griffon clan. It is an honour to speak to a living legend such as yourself.”
“It is an honour for me to be graced by your presence, Chief,” said Rockhoof, who wisely bowed back and sat down lest he tower over the elder.
“Normally, we would insist you remain here as our prisoner. Tradition decrees that our enemies, though entitled to our hospitality, must never be allowed to harm us. We would also be concerned that such a powerful warrior claim the lives of our greatest heroes in battle, though of course we have no doubt we can win the war in the long run.”
Gregaria gave him an angry nudge.
“Yes, yes, I’m getting there. However, in light of your… griffon generosity and goodwill, my brave warrior, and since Gregaria here has vouched so strongly for the nobility and trustworthiness of ponydom –”
“She has?” Rockhoof marvelled at her. Had she told them about his banishment? Had she revealed his disgraceful conduct?
“Indeed she has, my brave warrior! Since that is the case –”
“Did she explain to you why she left our village?”
Frowning at the interruption, the elder waved him aside. “What does it matter? We know you are obliged to release those whom you have nursed back to full health. Gregaria told us so.”
For the first time since his arrival here, Rockhoof froze with discomfort. It was not lying, in and of itself, but it was a form of dishonesty. Should he keep silent about it, he would break his principle. He was always honest.
Yet here he was, a hero in the eyes of the griffons. Peace may well be within his grasp. If he seized the opportunity now, he may well end this way, or at least find an honourable path to protecting his fellow ponies.
While the elder marched onwards, he squirmed where he stood. How could he tell them that he had banished the very soul he had looked after, for a stupid rule that no longer was needed? Yet how could he keep silent and break the one vow he had dedicated his life to? How could he say he was an honest pony, if he did not bring his own crimes to account? If he had joined the Mighty Helm through honest struggle and honest will and honest deeds, then what would he do to them by allowing this?
“…I believe,” continued Geria, “that we might be able to come to a compromise. It would naturally be so easy to wipe you out, with our superior weapons and numbers, but the truth is we would rather not fight, and see more wounded, and lose more loved ones.”
Thus delivered of his speech, Geria extended the talons of friendship.
Rockhoof swallowed. Fate itself held his breath. Speak the truth, or seek a painless peace? Honey Wolf’s demand for honour, or Deadly Silent’s demand for happiness?
But fate can act in strange ways. Rockhoof himself would have admitted that there was no solution to the riddle. Yet it was not entirely due to luck. Though he had acted within the rules and customs of his tribe, he had rescued Gregaria with an honest desire to see her healed, and had banished her solely through honest hurt and anger. Rules did not matter. Principles did.
So when he looked pleadingly to Gregaria, their fledgling but still strong friendship told her what he needed her to know. When he bowed his head low, he heard her whispering into the chief’s ear. But he did not hear what she said.
“Is this true?” said Geria stiffly, and Rockhoof’s heart froze, fearing the worst. “You banished Gregaria, after showing her such kindness and after earning her trust.”
Only then did Rockhoof meet his eye. “I too wish to see this war end. I confess my mistakes, and the mistakes of my clan and my culture. I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit. My only plea is that you spare my friends and family. The fault is mine. My anger and hurt used the rules to punish Gregaria. It was my decision and mine alone, not rules or happiness, which mattered.”
“I see,” said the elderly griffon. “In that case, I believe you need one more test before we can trust you to leave.”
When Rockhoof stood up again, two baskets were presented to him.
“This test is to determine what kind of stallion you really are,” said Geria, frowning at him. “One basket is large and would test your strength and determination. One basket is small and would test your humility and compassion for our needs. Which one shall you take? Choose wisely, for the fate of our clans will depend upon it.”
Rockhoof stared at the baskets. He was strong and determined: that had earned him a place in the Mighty Helm. He was humble and compassionate: that had made him a friend to the griffons too.
He licked his lips. He looked at Gregaria, who shrugged helplessly. He breathed in, felt his own hunger, felt his skin itch, smelled the scents of cooking.
No one knows what passed through his mind that day. Perhaps he had a moment of revelation, or perhaps all his hard work over the last few days had finally brought his mind to this moment. But as his body fought for air and fought for hunger and fought for comfort and fought for peace, he had his answer.
“Firstly,” he said, loud and clear, “I am happy to announce that I have solved the riddle that has plagued us.”
“Oh yes,” said Geria, still not smiling. “Such I have heard. So what is your solution, Rockhoof? Speak honestly, now.”
“Of course, good Chief.” Rockhoof lowered his head respectfully towards him. “We have always assumed that one or the other must prevail. Either the principles matter, or happiness by any means is what matters. They cannot both be right.”
“But…?” said Geria, eyebrow raised.
“But I say this: Which is most important, eating or breathing? For the stomach needs the food to give us strength, the chest needs the air to give us life, and though we hold our breaths to eat, and though we sometimes choke on our food, the truth is both work together to make a whole body. So it is with principles and happiness, with following our rules or doing whatever it takes. Neither is a body on its own, and both want different things, but both can coexist. This is my honest answer.”
After a long time while this rumbling answer’s echoes faded away like the announcement of the gods, Gregaria raised her talons and clapped, grinning heartily. Beside her, Geria stroked the beard of grey feathers on his face.
“An interesting answer, certainly. I will have to think about its wisdom. Now, about these baskets?”
“I shall take neither,” said Rockhoof, suddenly certain. “But with your permission, I will take back a message.”
“A message, you say?”
“And my answer. Both can coexist.” And Rockhoof raised his hoof, the hoof of friendship.
Geria did not raise his talons. However, he did allow himself a small smile.
“We shall see, honest warrior. For now, I am content to let you deliver a message: the war is over. We need not fear each other, or see each other as usurpers and threats. I shall send Gregaria to discuss future terms with you.”
“I shall be delighted to hear them.” Rockhoof bowed.
That day, he departed the griffon village with hope in his heart, and immediately he went down to his fellows to deliver the good news. There was relief across all their faces, and several danced with joy, and many brought out the mead, and soon a celebration had engulfed the village, and the ponies made music that reached even the griffon village and the volcano’s peak. Honey Wolf and Deadly Silent celebrated most of all, and even announced their engagement, though they’d had a lot of mead so no one took them seriously.
And Rockhoof rolled his eyes, for the two of them began to argue again over another philosophical point, for that was the natural way of things. Yet he was happy too. Without war over their heads, hurrying their every move, they now had all the time in the world for some proper, dedicated arguing.
