Gryphonia Freezes

One day, three months ago, my squad sat on the southernmost peak of the crystal mountains, newly sprinkled with that death-omen, snow, and watched the last of the ponies, the unicorns' rearguard, trudge over the horizon. Not one raid, not one casualty, not one scratch among them dealt by the mighty griffin army. My youngest, son…

My remaining son…

My youngest son sat by my side, our shared scowling said more than words; we now could never gain revenge on the beasts that brought this winter. The eternal winter that claimed his brothers’ lives.

Three months ago, perched on that mountaintop, I could barely believe our leaders had let our golden opportunity go to waste. The heat in my chest burned, even through the new frost, but its’ parent emotion, rage, burrned all the more. On that day, I no longer cared about the cold, or my revenge, or the dying glory of my race.  I no longer cared that the ponies were the ones who brought my calamity. On that day, I realized that the blame lay with the bickering, navel-gazing idiots who refused to seize the remedies to our plights, staving them off in favor of their personal pride and clan agendas. On that day, I realized that it was them whom I could hate righteously.

It was on that day that I abandoned my flock, forever.