A Hawkward Situation

Spring. One of the busiest times of the year for Ponyville's weather team, and this year was no exception. Rainbow Dash groaned as she fell onto her bed, wings sore and feeling like she hadn't slept right in a week. Which she hadn't, since her definition of sleeping right included quite a few naps, and she'd been too busy to take any.

“Ugh. Tomorrow I'm changing the schedule so I don't get stuck with somepony who can't even wrangle a raincloud.” She rubbed her flank where a stray lightning bolt had singed her. “I can't believe Thunderlane and his stupid idea to just smash all the clouds together so he'd only have to make one trip.”

Dash closed her eyes. Maybe she'd finally be able to get a few hours of rest now that she was off duty for the rest of the day.

Just as she started to drift off, there was a knock at her front door. Dash groaned and threw a pillow towards the noise.

“Noooooo!” She rolled over. “If it's Tirek again tell him he can't take over Equestria until I've had a decent nap!” Dash looked at her alarm clock. Usually at this point it would inform her that in the blink of an eye she'd not only slept through the night but also the alarm. For once, the infernal thing hadn't betrayed her, showing that she had indeed only been in bed a few minutes.

The knocking came again, louder and more frantic.

Dash got out of bed, rolling right off and landing on the cloud floor heavily. Well, as heavily as a pegasus could land on a cloud. Even the somewhat sturdier construction-grade cloud of her home was like landing on foam. She took a deep breath, only to realize she'd also landed on a dirty sock, the smell hitting her like two weeks of unwashed hoof.

“Why do I even have these? I barely ever wear them...” She said, for the tenth time. It was precisely because she rarely wore them that they'd been able to go unwashed for so long. It did, however, manage to wake her up very quickly, coughing and kicking the sock to a different corner of the room.

The knocks kept coming. Dash stumbled to the door and pulled it open, ready to either go into panic mode or start screaming. It was definitely going to be one of the two.

“This had better be-” Dash started, before she was frozen in a combination of two emotions: confusion, surprise, and anger. Three emotions.

“Heyyyy....” Gilda said, trying to smile.

Dash's eye twitched. Anger and screaming was definitely starting to win. “You've got a lot of nerve coming back after what you said about my friends last time, Gilda!”

“Yes, yes I do,” Gilda agreed, slowly lowering herself down until her eye level was below Dash's. “W-what if I told you I was totally ready to do anything to get back on your good side?”

“...” Dash raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Gilda said, looking down and swallowing, her throat dry. “Maybe we should talk inside? Or over drinks? I'll buy!”

“You? Buying drinks?” Dash took a step back in surprise. “You never buy drinks. Ever! It's one of your rules!” She looked over the griffon. Her eyes were red and wet. “Okay. I'll hear you out. And if it's a good story, I'll buy the drinks.”

***

Gilda looked down at her cider. She'd had three already. Dash was still on her first. She hadn't started talking yet. The griffon finished her fourth and put the mug aside. Dash coughed.

“Gonna start telling me or not?” Dash asked, watching her.

“I just... I'm trying to work up to it.” Gilda sighed. “Okay. So it's like this. There's bad news, worse news, and more bad news.”

“Let me guess,” Dash smirked. “You realized you were a total beakbrain last time you were here, and you came to apologize to me and my friends. I've been waiting for that for a while. Nopony can resist the Dash. It was only a matter of time before you came back. But hey, that's okay. If I'm honest, I missed you too.”

“You did?” Gilda looked up, surprised. “That's- that's good!” She seemed happier. “You know, I tried to find you during the Equestrian Games but they kept us away from the competitors. I was going to tell you... that you were really awesome out there.”

“Gilda, I'm always awesome.” Dash smirked. “Now come on. Tell me the bad news.”

“Promise me you won't freak out,” Gilda said, taking a deep breath.

“Hey, I don't 'freak out'. I'm as cool as a cucumber on ice in a snowstorm.”

“Well,” Gilda coughed. “It's kind of a long story...”

***

One month ago. Gilda was preening her feathers and checking herself in the mirror. She looked great. She felt great. It was the most special day of her life and absolutely nothing was going to go wrong.

“Gilda! Are you ready yet?” Her mother yelled. Gilda rolled her eyes.

Her family belonged to one of the most affluent clans of the Griffon Kingdoms, and that meant that today, she had to dress up. She adjusted the straps on her dress, which like all griffon formal-ware, was derived from ancient military uniforms and armor. Maybe a hundred years ago it had been comfortable, but now it was a starched collar and a lot of leather straps that could, if you crossed your eyes, almost look like a weapon harness, which were all quite uncomfortable. For one brief moment she wished she still had the dress she'd worn to a formal at Flight School once, but she'd gotten rid of it after she and Dash had parted ways. Too many painful memories.

“Yeah! Just one sec!” She took a deep breath and glanced at a picture stuck to the mirror with a Wonderbolts sticker. Her and Dash, hanging out in Cloudsdale. She had a talon around Dash's neck, grabbing her in a tight hug, the young pegasus smirking despite the claw at her throat.

“Ugh...” Gilda grabbed the corner of the picture, intending to tear it down. Something stopped her, a pang of regret she hadn't felt in years. “Whatever. I'm so lame.” She laughed a little and left the photo where it was, turning to leave her room.

“Finally,” Her mother said. Jeska was a head taller than Gilda, with the same purple tips to her feathers, though her coat of fur over her rear half was so dark it was almost black. She stopped Gilda and adjusted her outfit. “Look at you! All grown up and ready for your Feathermark Day!”

“Mooooom, stop!” Gilda groaned, as the elder griffon started tugging at her feathers to straighten them.

“I just want you to be perfect,” She said, sighing. Gilda walked past her.

“Yeah, yeah. Is Brunhilda ready?” Gilda looked towards the kitchen. She could smell the food being cooked there for after the ceremony. She licked her beak. It smelled like salt-crusted fish being baked, her favorite food since she was just a chick.

“Almost!” Yelled a voice from the kitchen, her other mother stepping out and tearing off an apron. “I just had to take something out of the oven so it wouldn't burn. Is the Hierophant here yet?” Brunhilda moved to nuzzle Jeska. The larger griffon returned the gesture.

“He's out back getting everything set up. Oh, it's so exciting!” Jeska laughed.

“Our little Gilda, finally becoming an adult.” Brunhilda sighed. “Maybe we can start trying to find her a nice drake to settle down with.”

“Or a hen,” Jeska said. “She does take after me, you know. At least her back half.”

“Mom!” Gilda blushed.

Brunhilda ignored her protest. “Well, I have to admit I do like that part of you. I think she could make a hen very happy.” The two nuzzled, while Gilda tried to find a way to just fall over and die from embarrassment. For some reason, despite feeling an intense desire for death, it wasn't enough to make her heart stop.

“I think we should get out there before she starts moulting in despair.” Jeska noted, glancing to the back of the home. The two pulled apart, leading Gilda out of the wide back double doors to the yard, where an elderly griffon with gray streaks through his fur and feathers that were ragged around the feathers with age and rough molting. He was wearing his own formal-wear, almost more girly that Gilda's, with a kilt over his flank and thin metal plates down his right forelimb, a wrap around his head that, in a distant age, would have been used to keep sand out of his eyes but today was more about showing the colors and patterns of his tribe.

“Gilda,” He said, he voice booming and deep. “Today you are of age and prepared to become a full member of the tribe and the right to become the head of your own household. Are you prepared for this responsibility?”

“I am,” Gilda said. The hierophant nodded and turned, claws sparking with magic, and the bonfire behind him sprung into multicolor light, with shades of purple among the dancing flames on the logs.

“Excellent,” he said, very serious. “Have you been instructed on what will happen today?” It was a trick question. Or a ritualized one. It was hard to say which description would be more accurate. Everyone knew what was going to happen. She'd know even if her mothers hadn't already explained it to her before.

But it was also supposed to be a secret. Rituals had more power when they were secrets, and this was no exception. Gilda stood up and looked him in the eye. “No.” An obvious lie, but one that needed to be said.

The hierophant nodded in approval. “First, you will put this on.” He gave Gilda a cotton robe. It was just a bit off-white, made so it would stain easily, unlike her clothing. “It too will bear the marks from today, and will serve as a reminder of the bonds you have to your family and tribe.”

Gilda pulled it on over her formal-wear like the dust cloak it was meant to resemble. The hierophant picked up a wide, shallow bowl, full of sacred oils and herbs. Dragging a claw through it, spirals of color spilling out as the oil was transformed.

“Prepare yourself,” he said. Gilda spread her wings and closed her eyes. She'd been warned that getting rosemary and mistletoe in her eyes was a very bad way to start a day. Not as bad as when Brunhilda had found out that she was allergic to mistletoe oil and ended up turning puffy and pink all day. Thankfully it wasn't a trait that Gilda shared, as far as she knew.

The oil and paint splashed on Gildas as the hierophant emptied the bowl with a skillful throw. Gilda waited for it to start dripping away, the pigments drying in the heat of the bonfire. It would paint her dust cloak in a kaleidoscope of color that would be used later to try and divine her future. Not that she believed in that.

The most important thing it would do, though, would be to show her family markings on the underside of her wings. They were a lot like a cutie mark on a pony, but showed relationships and bonds instead of special talents. When griffons mated, one of the two would find their feathermarks changed to match the others, or occasionally both would change to something new.

There was silence as the oil dripped away from her feathers. That was strange. Usually they'd start cheering now.

Gilda opened her eyes and looked at her wings.

“Oh buck me,” she said under her breath.

Her family feathermark was something like a tangle of rose stems around a gripping talon. That was not what was on Gilda's wings. There, displayed for her mothers to see, was a cloud with a multicolored lightning bolt shooting out of it.