My left primaries fluttered, and I was forced to dip the wing to keep myself level as I continued to circle. I was nearing the top of the thermal I was riding and it was almost time to embark on my final run for the day.
I was southwest of Appleloosa, at the northern edge of the Macintosh hills. I’d spent my day off flying, enjoying the landscape while drifting from thermal to thermal. Between those lulls I took advantage of the natural terrain around here dropping through the various canyons, dodging the spires and pinnacles, in speed and acrobatic runs. Lone Winds canyon was off to my side and I’d already given it two runs today. One more and that would be it. The ache at the base of my wings was just getting to be enough to start bothering me.
But you never get any tougher without a little discomfort my father always used to say.
My left wing dipped again and I wobbled. Yeah, this thermal was topping out. I pulled out my stopwatch from the pouch strapped to my chest and waited until my circling brought me in line with the canyon. The watch gave a satisfying click as I started it and pulled in my wings, aiming downwards.
Flying like this always took me back to my youth in the Griffon Empire. When I was a little older, when my parents had come to Cloudsdale as envoys, I trained like the pegasi trained; with clouds. Before that, though, it was in the tall trees and narrow valleys near the mountains of my homeland.
I entered the canyon at speed, shooting past the first pair of sandstone spires that marked the entrance to the near maze before me. Pumping my wings hard, I put myself onto my side and banked.
You see, that’s the biggest difference between how I was raised and how the pegasi are raised. On the one paw, when you train with clouds there’s no risk; you hit one and all you get is a little wet. That teaches recklessness, my father used to tell me, that teaches that there aren’t serious consequences to a mistake. A tree isn’t as forgiving and a cliff-face most certainly isn’t. Learning consequences first hand is always a more reliable teacher than just having others tell you.
But, on the other paw, that lack of consequences allows for greater risks. If you know that skimming the surface of a cloud too close is only going to slow you down and get you a little moist instead of taking off feathers and flesh, then you get as close as you possibly can because you know it won’t hurt you.
A rapid series of banks now -- left, right, left, left, up and over -- through the ancient red sandstone fins.
I already knew how to avoid obstacles and crashes by the time I got to Cloudsdale. I’d learned the hard way. The pegasi way, the literal soft way? Cakewalk. That first summer at the Junior Speedsters, had it been any summer before it, I would have dominated.
Low over the ground, my wings kicking up plumes of dust in my wake. There was the stone bridge ahead. This time, though, instead of speeding through like those race-course hoops of so many years ago, I shot under and pulled back hard into a steep climb.
I closed my eyes and savored the sensation of gravity rapidly eating away at my momentum. No flapping, no fighting, just coasting as the pull of the ground caught up to me. Just before it overtook me and I started falling backwards I opened my eyes once more. Kicking out with my hind legs I flapped and flipped over backwards, diving effectively upside down back towards the desert floor and the side of the stone bridge I’d just passed through to complete the loop. I grit my beak and poured energy into sore muscles in an effort to pick up more speed than just falling could provide.
I flew the rest of the maze full tilt, grazing some of the spires so closely I could have picked off the lizards that crawled there. The stopwatch gave another satisfying click as I rocketed through the narrow break that marked the end of the sandstone maze.
Almost eight seconds slower than my best time today, ten slower than my best overall. Oh well. The loop was an embellishment, a spur of the moment deviation.
I found another thermal, circling until I was high enough, and glided off to my favorite spire. The sun was bright and warm, and not a cloud in the sky. That was the problem with living out here, I reflected as I touched down. Clouds always made the nicest perches, all soft and fluffy. Good for napping, good for hiding and pranking ponies.
But, we make do with what we have. I stretched out my limbs and cricked my back before removing my pouch and getting out my canteen. Cool water never tastes better than when you’ve just finished a desert workout, I reflected before settling down on my favorite rock to rest. Dash always used to joke that griffons were solar powered, what with how often she’d sneak up on me while I was out sunning myself on a cloud.
Stretching my wings to ease their tension I laid down to let the sun bake the ache out of my muscles and pondered what was my real problem with this place. Out here there were no other flyers, no competition. No one to test myself against, I thought as I curled my feathered head on my front paws. There was my stopwatch, but that was just competing against myself. Too much of that and I’d wind up an ouroboros in the desert, never getting anywhere because there was nowhere else to get.
I looked across the great, flat expanse of arid wilderness from my perch several hundred meters up. It was clear and sunny -- lots of thermals, lots of canyons and mazes to dip into and fly out of in the hills behind me -- and it was just me and the lizards out here to appreciate it.
Memories of old races run and old rivalries tugged at my mind as weariness tugged at my eyelids. Eventually I succumbed to the warm sun and fell asleep.
When I woke up the sun was almost all the way down past the horizon and my once-warm stone roost had cooled considerably. Time to get home, I supposed. I shook myself out and took a few minutes to preen the misaligned feathers before bounding off the edge of the plateau and heading back.
The problem with sleeping this late is that when things have cooled so much you lose all those nice thermals that are there during the day and it becomes more flying than gliding.
Still, time in the air is time in the air and I’ll take any and all I could get.
My first priority when I got back to town was dinner. Since this area was nearly exclusively earth pony, I could always count on generous, hearty meals. I know griffons who could never get the hang of pony cooking, with its emphasis on fiber and lack of real proteins. But, you can get used to almost anything in time. It just becomes a matter of knowing which dishes to avoid.
Even before I walked into the Salt Block I could tell that there were going to be issues. Appleloosa may be all frontier-sie and such, but it still draws off the more established cities. Thus, from time to time, you get groups of out of towners coming through and they can sometimes cause problems. Or “a ruckus” as the locals like to put it.
Must be a decent size group from all the noise, too.
Yup, looked like about ten of 'em. Celebrating what seems to be one's marriage. Poor guy going to wind up with her.
"Gilda! Hey, Gilda!"
I looked towards the ceiling and grinned before padding over to Morton Saltworthy. "Hey, what's up?"
"Oh, very funny," he grumped. "You already saw my problem."
"That I did," I replied, the grin on my beak growing wider. I tapped my talons back and forth on the bar. "How much is making it go away worth to you?"
"The usual price."
I looked up again. "Toss in a mug of the hard cider those girls have been downing and you've got a deal."
"Done."
With a throaty chuckle I turned back and spread my wings. This was always the fun part, seeing if they'd come quietly or not.
It was more fun when not.
I flew up to ceiling where the drunken pegasus was flitting about. "Hi."
"Hheeyyy!" she slurred back. "How'd you get up here?"
"I have my ways." I moved closer. "Now if you'd be a good little pony and get off the ceiling that'd be great."
“Naahh! No way! Ish too mush fun up here!” She then did a little wobbling loop and almost fell into one of the chandeliers. She thought it was hilarious and her friends did, too. Morton almost had a stroke.
Me, I love drunken pegasi. Absolutely hilarious to watch. Earth ponies are just boring, stumbling all about, not able to keep upright even on solid ground. Unicorns aren’t too much better as their magic is typically the first thing to go. Though some of the fizzles that really, really drunk ones let off can be a downright hoot to watch.
Pegasi, though, are great no matter how much booze they got in them. They don’t fall down, they fall up. Sure, they become more of a hazard if they lose their drinks, or their lunch -- or pass out and just plain drop -- but it’s fantastic to watch them try acrobatics and upside down dancing while swaying drunkenly all about.
They even walk on ceilings, which is what mine was doing right now.
“Woah, hey! Watch the hoofprints there, girl. Okay, you’ve had your fun. Time to bring it down.”
“Down! Bah, down! Down ish boring, down ish dull. No fun being down.” That got a chorus of approval from her cheering section.
“Well, I can’t exactly disagree with you on that point, but you don’t have a choice in the matter anymore. You’re coming down, now.”
“Nah-uh! Ain’t no pony in this town take me down!” She stomped her hooves on the ceiling and pushed off, flipping back upright and flinging all four legs wide in drunken exaltation. “I am pegasi supreme in these parts! Windy Pride owns the skies ‘round here!”
That is exactly what I both hate and love most about Appleloosa myself: no flyers. Well, besides yours truly. Almost no unicorns either, just earth ponies as far as the eye can see. It’s not like an earth pony can easily wrangle a pegasus without a lasso. Even with one it’s a pretty fierce contest, what with how much a pegasus can lift. The few unicorns there are in town usually won't demean themselves with jobs like this either.
All the more fun for me.
"Well… you’re mostly right about all that. Mostly."
Before she could respond, I looped under and over her, pouncing and clamping her wings down on her sides. She gave the cutest shriek as I pulled my own wings in and dropped us both to the ground.
Of course I had no intentions of using her as a crash pad. Well, not much of one. I snapped my wings open at the last instant to stop us and released my cargo into the loving hooves of Morton’s usual enforcers, Thunder Hooves and Bronze Mountain.
"Gentlecolts!" I addressed them, all smiles as I alighted on my paws and tucked in my wings. "It was good doing business with you again."
Windy’s friends weren’t too happy about me putting a stop to her antics and were calling for Bronze and Thunder to let her go. Well, that was their problem now. I’d got her down as requested and earned my free dinner. I was sashaying over to the bar, my tail bobbing behind me at the happy thought of another job well done, when I was brought up short by a rather loud bellow from across the room.
“Ehy! Beakface!”
I stopped, one paw poised mid-stride, and turned to look back at the pegasus’ cheering section. Yeah, no mistaking it; the big light-brown mare with the dirty-blonde mane in the middle, shootin’ me the look like she’s wanting to pluck my feathers one by one.
“Hey, no need to make this personal,” I said as I turned towards her, holding up a paw placatingly. “Just a little business with your friend is all.”
She finished her cider, slamming the empty mug down hard on the table. “Well, I am making it my personal business, pecker head!”
Bronze Mountain piped up. “Then I suggest you take your business elsewhere.”
That set her off in a drunken tirade of abuse hurled at Bronze, Thunder and myself, the peanut gallery around her getting into the act as well. I still had my paw in the air and swung it over in front of Bronze as I stepped forward, clearly signalling to him that I was going to be handling this one.
“Look, ma’am, I don’t know what your problem is--“
“My problem is a little scuff like yourself thinking she can just come in here, ruin the good time me and my friends are having.”
Scuff. Now that was an insult I hadn’t heard in a long time. Some ponies, especially pegasi, would hurl that at griffons as a put down due to the scratches that claws and talons sometimes left behind. Hooves were cleaner in their view, more proper. They don’t leave such marks.
“Only one ruining that time is you. Keep your little winged friend grounded and your cider hole shut, otherwise these two,” I nodded back at Bronze and Thunder, “will be holding back a little more than just her.”
“Hah, little is right. I see nothing but a little winged vermin hidin’ behind big ponies, not willing ta fight her own battles. You may act all tough, scuff, but that’s only cause you got ponies at your flank.”
My wings bumped against Bronze and Thunder. I hadn’t even realized they’d lifted that far. My feathers were another matter entirely, having been ruffled considerably by her words. I took a few steps forward to separate myself, to give myself some room. My talons dragged on the wood floorboards as I moved closer to my opponent.
“Aw, fancy little bird like yourself trying to be all big ‘n intimidating? I got dusters at home look more intimidatin’ than you. Nicer feathers, too. Maybe when I’m done with you I take a few of your own home. Not like they’d be needed for some dirty little scuff like you!”
“Big words from a filthy mud pony like yourself.”
I could feel the eyes of Thunder Hooves and Bronze Mountain on me just before they backed off. They knew you don’t toss back those kinds of slurs at a pony unless you’re spoiling for a fight. They were saying that this was all me, that they weren’t having any part of it.
Good. Just the way I like it.
The other mares around my opponent were backing off, too, giving us a wide berth for what was going to happen.
“Now I tried to be nice, and I tried to be civil with you,” I told her, a dangerous rumble creeping into my voice as I continued to slowly advance. “But it just seems that there’s no reasoning with a little ground-bound earth whorse like yourself there.”
Yeah, that set off a good round of screaming and hollering from her and the peanut gallery. I dropped my head a little more, my wings instinctively twitching to try and make me appear the bigger and more threatening of the two of us. That wasn’t easy as she had several inches of height and certainly a lot more weight, plus earth pony muscle, behind her. Head on, face to beak, hoof to talon, this would be an ugly fight.
But she was drunk and stupid and I was getting closer to her. I crouched lower and allowed her to tower over me. Never come at an opponent the way they expect, I’d always been told. Griffons fly, griffons pounce. Griffons take advantage of ponies never bothering to look up. But since this one was so intent on looking down at me I figured that would be the best place to stay. My talons rasped on the floor as I stalked closer to her, all the while under her tirade of hurled abuse.
“If you think that I’m going to let some mangy cat-chicken talk to me like that, then you’ve got another thing coming!” She stamped the floor with her hoof. “And that thing’s right here! Come get it!”
This is the pony’s land, my father always told me, and as such you should respect them. Respect the unicorns most of all, for it is their magic that keeps this land strong. A prepared unicorn, even a weak one, can more than match a griffon. They have the range to swat you from the sky before you can even think of laying a claw upon them, so do not ever cross them.
Respect the pegasi, for they are our fellow flyers and we share the air with them. Hooves and wing can be just as dangerous as talon and claw. They’re almost as agile as you, almost as fast, too. But they’re heavier and hit harder. You tangle with a pegasus and drop your guard, that’s likely the last mistake you’ll make before they drop you from the sky and you end up eating dirt.
Finally, respect the earth ponies, for there is more to them than you might think at first. It is upon their backs that pony society is built and their minds that have allowed it to excel. A bolt from an earth pony arbalest or crossbow can fell you just as well as a bolt from a unicorn’s horn. The other tribes simply live within this world, but the earth ponies shape it to their will. You may think to look down upon them from your perch on the clouds, remembering the far ancient times before the tribes united and their kind was prey for ours, but you should also realize that it is only that downwards gaze that gives you any superiority. Their territory, their fight, they can be just as dangerous as the others of their kind.
But, in the end, one pony is just like another. You get enough liquor in them and they take that as licence to act like spoiled little foals.
Time to give this one a spanking.
“Now that’s just plain rude. But, if you fancy it, who am I to disappoint?”
She had let me get more than close enough for what needed to be done and I snapped my wings up and forward, throwing my dusty feathers into her face while hunkering down at the same time. Predictably she reared up and back, lashing out with her forehooves. I’d already pulled my wings down and she caught nothing but air.
The best way to end a fight was quickly and decisively, my father always used to say. I lunged up and threw all my strength into a full palm strike to the middle of her barrel, knocking her off her hooves and onto her back. She hadn’t even finished rebounding off the floor before I’d pounced and pinned her, my hind legs resting well forward of her own so she couldn’t buck me off. I leaned in and dug my talons into the soft parts of her elbows. Giving my wings a sweep high and wide served to clear the area around of us any immediate reinforcements.
I let out a full throated roar about three inches from her face, tapering off into a low, rumbling growl. “You want to fight me?! Bitch, I eat ponies!”
She’d lost all color and I was sure that her life was flashing before her eyes. The entire saloon had gone dead silent as every pony in the place stood around absolutely petrified at what they were seeing. Long, long ago ponies used to be prey for griffons and I knew that all those old instincts and fears were rampaging through the heads of everyone else in this place, including the pretty little head of the one under me. On her back, a griffon perched on her barrel with her forelegs pinned, is most definitely not a position this particular pony probably saw herself in this evening. Or just a literal few seconds ago for that matter.
I think she even wet herself.
She may have started it but I had every intent of being the one to finish it.
“I am feeling a might peckish,” I told her and snapped my beak right up in her face. “Perhaps I start with your pretty little face there.” Her deep blue eyes somehow widened even further in fear. “Or maybe I spill your guts on the floor here,” I explained, lifting one of my hindpaws forward and pricking the soft area of her belly with my claws, “and start with those instead, working my way up. What do you say?”
“Now what in the name of the Sun is going on here?!” came a bellow from the entrance.
The whole crowd started and turned towards the entrance, towards Sheriff Silverstar and the two deputies that had just walked in. I jumped off my opponent, sitting my haunches on the floor, pulling my forelegs in close with my tail coiled over them, all the while trying to pull my feathers down as far as they could go. Within seconds I was the slim profile of griffon propriety and innocence. Just… ignore the terrified mare to my left. She was like that when I got here.
That didn’t stop him from singling me out when he and his ponies pushed their way through the crowd. “You.” He glared and motioned to the back of the saloon with one hoof.
With a sigh I shook my head and padded through the crowd, my head and tail held high. This wasn’t going to be my first time for this and I grabbed a stool while he, with deputies Armored Helm and Iron Spirit, sorted out the crowd. I wasn’t terribly worried. I knew Thunder and Bronze had my flank and weren’t going to throw me under the manure wagon. As I said, this wasn’t my first time at this particular rodeo and I was content to wait it out in my little corner, still looking the prim and proper griffon.
Eventually Silverstar made his way over to me. Now it was my turn to play the diplomat, see if all of dad’s tips on saving pony face pay off.
“Bunch of ponies out of Baltimare you roughed up tonight, come to see one of their own marry a fellow over in Dodge Junction tomorrow.”
“Didn’t think they were locals,” I replied, keeping my voice low and just between us. Let the ponies across the room judge by actions not words.
“And you somehow think that makes it better?”
“You talked with Bronze already; you know how this started.”
“I know that you gave her attitude and that set her off.”
I almost guffawed at that and blew the whole thing. “I have enough attitude of my own. I just gave her some of her own back.”
“Now look, Gilda, this town has a reputation to maintain --”
“This is a pony town,” I said, cutting him off. “Built by earth ponies, run by earth ponies, filled with earth ponies.” I looked down at the floor, projecting an air of humiliation back at the rest of the room. “What you want to do is put the blame for this whole thing on your one resident who isn’t an earth pony. You tell them that I’m dangerous and unruly. Little better than a wild animal sometimes, that I’m just so hard to control.” I looked back up at him. “Apologize for my behavior, let them know that this is in no way representative of Appleloosa. Remind them why they’re here, remind them of their big day tomorrow. No sense in risking all that over the obnoxious behavior of some scruffy little griffon that’s always been a pain in your flank. Take them back to the Iron Shoe Inn. Less chance of riling the locals there if they keep up like they have been. At worst their drinking’s confined to their rooms and they become Dusty’s problem if they act up again. Let them know that I will be duly punished for my part in all this, again offering the sincere apologies of all Appleloosa for my misbehaviour.”
“Tarnation, Gilda, what is this? The third time this has happened? Fourth? When are you going to smarten up and learn yourself some proper manners?”
He began shaking his hoof at me as he gave me a talking to, making exaggerated gestures of beratement the whole while. I had to work to stop the smile spreading on my beak. Silverstar was a competent law-pony, no question. But like all law-ponies, he liked his status quo. That kept his job easy. He knew that keeping the locals happy, keeping the locals satisfied with his handling of matters, was the important part. Thus, he could put on a good show for the out of towners when there was need for it. Why waste the resources and paperwork when a few minutes of choice words would resolve the whole matter to the apparent satisfaction of all involved? He gave a good lecture about letting the professionals like Bronze and Thunder handle things like that, about not letting the words of drunken ponies get under my coat. But, in the end we both knew this was all an act put on to placate ponies that won’t be seen or heard from after tomorrow.
“Now you understand?” he thundered at me, clearly ensuring that the entire saloon could hear it, too.
I did my best to wilt under the last of his onslaught, even drawing up a paw to hold defensively to my breast. “Yes. Yes, I understand,” I replied, just loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. I threw in a squawked “I’m sorry,” for good measure.
He nodded. “Good.” I was the only one who caught the smirk that twitched under his mustache.
Silverstar turned and walked over to the group gesturing for his deputies to begin ushering them out of the saloon. I could already hear him making with the apologies, soothing the bruised and battered egos of those poor, drunken, belligerent mares.
Yeah, that’s how you save pony face; become a convenient target for their blame. We’re already the embodiment of pony nightmares for most of them, we might as well act like it sometimes. So a bunch of mares that I’ll never see again have a bad impression of me, so what? They already had that. They were far too drunk for me to hope to change that tonight. The best I could hope for was leaving them with the impression that their mouths should be watched and that griffons weren’t ones to be trifled with.
They were quickly seen out the door and it was just me and the locals left behind. Giving a full body shiver, I settled my feathers and wings into a more proper arrangement. The locals knew the score. They knew me for who and what I really was.
I padded over to the bar and grabbed a stool next to this golden-colored pony with these very odd blue streaks through his orange mane. Didn’t quite look like he was from these parts but he hadn’t left with the others. Had a cutie mark of a barren tree with a lone apple, so who knows, maybe I was wrong. He gave me a respectful nod as I took my seat.
Morton slid over my plate and mug when I waved him down, adding a side of admonishment to keep a cooler head next time. I dutifully ignored that last part and tucked into my well earned meal. Cider never tastes better than when it's served in reward for a job well done. ‘Least the food was good, by pony standards anyway.
I held out my mug to the strange pony beside me. “Well, tomorrow’s another day.”
He toasted back. “May all our worst days be thus."
A good sentiment to drink on, as my father would say.
Th’End
Author's Note
Part of Equestria Daily's Outside Insight Fanfic Contest.
Final place according to head judge CouchCrusader was safely top third, but missed the semifinal cut of 23 of 109 (eligible) entries by a "fairly thin margin."
