Rebirth Into Brotherhood: A Gilda Story

~~~

“Don't be afraid to cry. It will free your mind of sorrowful thoughts.” - Ironfeather wisdom

~~~

Omawnakw was busying himself in the fields below Black Mesa. The earth may have been the domain of the women but everything above ground was the territory of men. With precise swipes of his talons, the selected ripe maize fell into the baskets he had woven himself to be carried up to the cliff dwellings. He walked a few more paces between the row of maize he harvested, being careful to not damage any of the squash on the ground with his talons. Omawnakw double checked to ensure that the beans had all been harvested as he passed each vine crawling up the maize stalks. On the return trip he picked up the clay watering jug that his mother had made and emptied its contents evenly across the squash. They would be harvested soon.

Life was never boring for an Ironfeather griffon, especially a green-feather.

Omawnakw strapped his hide bags filled with beans over his shoulders and then grasped the basket of harvested maize in his talons. He blew a short puff of air across his face to lift his green dyed and sweaty crest-feathers off of his forehead. As he turned from the rows of crops to walk to the clearing and take wing he came beak to beak with a large griffon. A female.

“Squawk!” Omawnakw was startled and threw his hand-woven basket into the skies. He turned tail and began to waddle into the crops in fear at the strange griffon. He was no red-feather that was for sure.

“Chill out, dude! I’m just trying to get some grub.” The purple-feathered griffon took to the skies and lazily flew over the smaller male griffon who began to huddle in the fields. It was natural for female griffons to be larger than males, but this female was especially hardy.

Omawnakw looked up in fear at the much larger female griffon hovering above him. She must have been the same age as him, her feathers were still bright and her eyes sharp. But clearly she had a meaty diet because her figure was very... full.

“Take a picture, doofus, it’ll last longer.” She frowned and crossed her clawed forelegs across her chest in annoyance. She dropped down to land in front of the male griffon and began to scrutinize the summer squash below her. She asked the male in front of her which were ripest.

Omawnakw was too distracted to hear. He had his eyes drawn to the leonine tail swishing in agitation. He followed it up and up to the well nourished and rounded child-bearing hips of the female. ‘Rump’ was too ugly a word to describe the earthly-

“Quit starin’, dork! Now are you gonna give me some of this squash, or am I gonna have to take it? I’m done askin’!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. I was just startled, and you’re so large and...”

The female griffon in front of Omawnakw rolled her eyes and picked up a squash from the ground before her. With a dexterous flick of her claw a single razor sharp talon was extended and brought close to the vine.

Omawnakw’s eyes widened as he shouted, “Stop!”

The female griffon paused with her talon hovering next to the sticky fur of the squash vine. She looked at the male griffon with a single raised eyebrow.

Omawnakw slowly moved forward and leaned back on his leonine haunches. With his aquiline arms, he grasped the squash and carefully severed the vine above the fresh vegetable. With a quiet murmur he thanked mother earth for her contribution. He held the squash high above his head and let the wind of father sky bless the meal and cleanse it to be consumed. He then passed it to the female griffon in front of him.

“Wow, I completely forgot how lame this joint was.” Gilda shook her head and snatched the squash from the smaller griffon. “Time to chow down.”

Omawnakw huffed as he watched the larger female griffon bite into the squash hungrily. “You must have been away for quite a while to pick up such a tongue.” He spoke with renewed confidence as he watched her make short work of the vegetable. He took a moment to review her features once more: powerful build, large frame, proud chest and stance. He would have assumed she was a red-feather based on how she carried herself but he noticed the faded purple crest-feathers. They clearly marked her as a wise member of clan Ironfeather but they were nearly gone after what must have been so long away from home.

“Care to introduce yourself?” Omawnakw said to his clan mate.

The large female finished eating the rest of the squash and tossed the stem aside. “Hey, what’s up.” She said. No other words followed as she began to clean her teeth with a talon. She continued to regard the male in front of her with uncertainty. It was the first griffon she had seen in a long time.

Omawnakw sighed as he felt her gaze analyzing him. He took the first step, “My name’s Omawnakw, green-feather of Ironfeather Clan. This is Black Mesa, my home. But I’m sure you already know this since you bear our mark. So your name is purple-feather...” He trailed off waiting for her to complete his sentence.

“Gilda.” She answered with a flourish as her claw ran through her crest of feathers and she puffed out her chest proudly. She turned her head to side showing him her profile but she kept one eye on him, critically checking him for a reaction to her name.

Omawnakw frowned at the strange name. He knew the clan was small enough, only 900 or so griffons. It was possible he had never seen this female before but he felt the name nagging on his memory somewhat. “Blessings be upon us then, Gilda, for it is not everyday that two of our souls are united for the first time.” He added a wide wing sweep across his chest to represent his honor at being in her presence. The native griffon culture was matriarchal and women deserved the utmost respect. This was especially true when they were so fetching.

Gilda seemed to relax as the male addressed her as a stranger. “So, Omaw, you gonna show this griffon some hospitality or are you gonna be a dweeb?” Gilda looked down at the green-feather with a twinkle of hope in her eyes. It had been a long time since she had slept in a comfortable bed, much less a roost home. She distinctly remembered her people being honor-bound to care for guests. She wouldn’t have to steal like in Equestria.

“Of course, purple-feather Gilda, it’d be my honor. My home’s just on the south side of the mesa. Follow me.”

~~~

It was customary to honor guests with meals, whether they were from the same roost or from abroad. After gathering the harvested maize back into his woven basket, Omawnakw lead the female to his home cave. Technically it was his mother’s since she was the head of the household, but she would understand his situation. Omawnakw laughed to himself as he realized she would be ecstatic that he had finally managed to host a female for a meal. Even if she was a complete stranger.

“Omaw, why aren’t we cooking yet? I’m starving.” Gilda shuffled impatiently in the cave. She looked on with boredom at the wall as the late afternoon sun streamed in through the only entrance above and illuminated the vibrant painting of rolling meadows on the wall.

Omawnakw was unphased by the brashness and impatience of the female now sharing a cliffside cave with him as he began to sort through the day’s harvest. “My mother will return from the top of the mesa soon. She has many hatchlings to teach in the pueblo and can’t always be home.”

Gilda finished regarding the wall paintings in the cave dwelling and turned to the male. “Lame. And what about your old man? He doesn’t ever protect your house from thieves?”

Omawnakw paused to look up to the sky visible through the entrance in the roof. “He has joined our ancestors in the sky. He perished as a hero defending our clan from the Blacktalon raiders several years ago.”

Gilda looked directly at the male as he closed his eyes briefly and then returned to his task of sorting beans from their shells. “He was a red-feather?” She spoke softly and with sympathy as the green-feather before her shrank into himself.

“He was, and still is. He walked his path with heart and is an inspiration to many.” Omawnakw looked up at the griffon before him. “I’m proud to be his son.” He continued to sort the beans before him calmly.

Gilda scratched at the old tuff floor idly. The warm bed of straw that she rested on in the communal dwelling was much more comfortable than the exposed rocky cliffs she had grown accustomed to on her voyage to the griffon lands. But her physical comfort was overshadowed by her mental and spiritual unrest. She still did not know what had driven her home in her desperation, nor what had caused her spirit guide to return to her.

“Are you... Are you ever upset that you didn’t become a red-feather like him?”

Omawnakw looked up from his task without pausing. It was a question that he got often from fledglings but knew all too well how to answer respectfully. “We don’t choose our own paths. Our destiny is revealed to us throughout life just as surely as our spirit guide is during our first ordeal. Surely a purple-feather like yourself understands the wisdom of walking the true path.” He looked to Gilda as his claws continued the delicate work of preparing the food for the female of the household to cook.

Gilda winced under the gaze of the griffon before her. She forgot how different her people were from ponies. With Rainbow Dash and all the other fillies and colts at junior speedsters it had all been hopeful optimism and excitement. Everypony was thrilled at what the next day may bring and the moment they had earned their cutie mark was a joyous event of self-discovery. Ponies were so unique, just like their cutie marks. Griffons only had a few roles in their society and they were determined externally by their dyed crest-feathers. The only semi-unique identifier they had was their spirit guide, but it was taboo to discuss the identity of that with anyone other than loved ones or during rituals.

“But don’t you ever feel like you could be more than just a green-feather? Don’t you want to be remembered by others for doing something awesome? Harvesting crops and tending the fields is hardly a cool job.” Gilda moved closer to the griffon before her in what felt like a rare display of sincerity. Maybe it was just the familiar feel of the dwelling or the proximity of her home roost. But she somehow felt trusting of the griffon before her. Gilda knew she had to ask if others ever felt like she did.

Omawnakw gestured for Gilda to join him before the sorting baskets.

With a short shuffle across the enclosed space the two griffons sat face to face with the baskets before them. “Gilda, I don’t know why you left the roost. Or why you chose to return after what has clearly been a long time.” Omawnakw paused to indicate the faded dye on her crest-feathers, “Forgive my boldness, but it’s obvious that you need to reconnect with what made you a purple-feather in the first place. Each day I wake up with the sun to tend the crops and I feel fulfilled because I know I’m doing the best I can at the path that I’m best at following. If I were to ask a red-feather to water the crops, he’d do so unskillfully and the harvest would suffer, many could starve. If I tried to protect the roost from attack I’d do so unskillfully and the defense would suffer, many could perish. If I tried to give wisdom to a purple-feather I would probably sound like I was regurgitating the words of Elder Achak.” Omawnakw paused for a moment and smirked. He saw Gilda giving him a blank stare and laughed aloud as he watched understanding roll across Gilda’s face.

She joined him in laughter a moment later, “I wasn’t going to say anything since you seemed to be on a roll there but, yeah. That did sound a bit like Elder Achak, haha.” Gilda absent mindedly reached into the basket of unshelled beans and selected one. She continued to smile and let her claws work calmly to shell the beans. She felt like a fledgling once more listening to a story around the great fire. It was just like old times.

Omawnakw looked down to the claws of the griffon before him. “It’s not my place to give you guidance, Gilda. You’re a purple-feather, and as such are a much better guide of the spirit than I. It’s your own path to walk, no matter how far you may have strayed from it. And no matter what I say, my words will be incorrectly applied, like water from a red-feather or a spear from a green-feather. I can only offer you my friendship, and encouragement.”

Gilda continued to idly pick at the few shells she was trimming from the beans. The basket was nearly empty. It had been a long time since anyone had offered her friendship. She always considered friends a weakness. Just another pony to slow her down. Rainbow Dash was the only one she ever could trust to keep up with, or push her to go faster.

“Yeah, well there’s a reason I don’t have many friends, Omaw, fair warning.” Gilda looked at him with a devilish smirk.

Omawnakw smiled at the female before him and felt true happiness. It was the same pride he felt when the first shoot of a new seed he had planted breached the soil in spring. “Tonight, Gilda, I think we’ll eat to new beginnings. After all, even the greatest of stories start with a single word.” He stretched a claw before him and held his mottled and featherless arm ahead of him.

Gilda looked down at the extended arm and recalled how her tribe shared the guarded Ironfeather clawshake. With an overextension she grasped the forearm of Omawnakw and placed her two middle talons fully extended along the length. She wrapped the outer two talons around his arm and felt him pause a moment to do the same. They shook briefly and held the physical contact for a moment more.

“May our feathers catch the wind.” Omaw prompted.

Gilda felt the response rise from her memory like fresh water from a spring, “And may they hold against the storm.”