Both Struck By Lightning

by BlabideeblahMLP

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Adventure
Length: 11811

A griffin takes a shot at cross-species love.

I'm a griffin who managed to receive an overseas border pass. I didn't want to be all nonchalant about it—very few griffins get that kind of thing—but the way I got it put me in some pretty bad circumstances, so I didn't consider the privilege to go to another country good.

But after a trip to Equestria goes wrong, a mare changes the way I see it.

Written as a non-personal challenge from Admiral Biscuit. Coverart drawn by _Vidz_.

*Takes place before Wonderbolts Academy, with headcanon developed prior to the release of The Lost Treasure of Griffonstone*

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-09-04 03:25:52 UTC

Prologue: Beginning

   Shiny sun. Blue sky. A usual day in the Republic of Griffinia. I reach up behind my shoulder, pulling out my rusty old pocketknife I keep hidden in my feathers. Used for harvesting the bearing of our family's grapevines, the thing is perfect for anything but the job. I grunt in frustration as I slowly sever the connection between grape bunches and the vine—the stupid thing's blade isn't even serrated.

  My name is Duez. I'm a little gray midget of a griffin; as a matter of fact, I'm barely taller than a fully grown unicorn pony. Like most of the griffins living outside of big cities, my life is pretty uneventful. I'm not exactly average, based on everyone else at school telling me I'm too "happy" and "nice" to every person that crosses me and their slight admiration of the things I'm good at. I guess they're right. I don't see many other griffins that can get straight As in Civics class and play the cello.

   All in all, I'm average and weird at the same time, popular and bullied—I'd rather not elaborate on the bullies. They suck, enough said.

   Within five minutes, I've got a vine of grapes cleaned and ready to strip another, a time I wish I had a better knife for. Picking the basket up in my mouth, I head for a second vine. Damn, I wish my dad wasn't at work, I think, He could've helped me with this boring job. Sighing, I saw off another grape pod as a chilling shriek suddenly emanates from the forest.

   "What the—" I spin towards the direction of the noise. What was that? I listen carefully, and it comes again, this time louder. It's coming from a pine forest. It sounds like a griffin! Without thinking, I sheathe my knife and fly in the direction of the call. I have to save the griffin.

   Once again, I hear the scream, preceded by a much quieter growl. Whatever's messing with this griffin, it's probably canine. A thought goes through my head: What can I do to save this guy? If his tormentor is a timberwolf or something, I'm screwed. I don't fight. I pick violet fruits. What was I thinking?

   The scream is just around the corner now. I shake my head. No going back now. I drop to the ground as the dense trees come close. Twisting my neck around, I pull the pocketknife out from my shoulder feathers and push against the handle with my tongue, releasing the blade. I take off again.

   Pine needles crack beneath my feet as I run through the forest just as another shriek cuts the air. The growl I heard becomes a menacing bark. Whatever's happening, it's literally a few feet away.

   Letting out a cry, I leap forward, letting the knife drop from my mouth and into my talons. My feline hind legs shoot me through the air, and suddenly, I see two living things. One is a battered and bloody griffin, and the other is a blue mass of muscle. Recklessly, I plunge my blade into the blue monster. If I can get onto what might be his back.... A yelp hurts my earslits, then the creature backs away from me.

   I hit the ground beneath the creature. Ouch.

   Pain shoots up my chest. The blue creature snarls viciously at me. Dizzy, I turn towards it just as it leaps forward and crashes into me. The feeling of the paws on my shoulders and the unsheathed claws digging into me tells me what this creature is. It's a Diamond Dog. A fucking Diamond Dog. Perfect.

   I can feel my wings beneath me, getting crushed the Dog's weight and my own. Panic overcomes me. If I'm under here too long, my wings will break. I reach across myself and try to grab my knife, which was apparently sunk into the Dog's shoulder, but it's just thrashing too wildly for me to grab it.

   My wings hurt. They really, really hurt. A few tears blur the edge of my vision, and I grow desperate. I rake my talons along the Diamond Dog's chest, leaving four small gashes. Almost no blood leaks out. My attack did nothing. I scream in equal terror as the previous griffin had and drive my beak into the Diamond Dog's leg.

   It loses its footing and falls over. I'm free. I just have to get up, get up, get up! I twist my back, and just like that, all my weight is put on my right wing. Already hurt, the pain makes me flinch, just long enough for the damn Dog to struggle back up. The next thing I know, it has me pinned, forcing my face into the ground—with one paw digging into each wing.

   Pain. That's all I feel, is pain. The tremendous heftiness of the Dog puts so much pressure on my delicate wings. I can hear the feathers and maybe even bones cracking. The pain. Oh, Gods, the pain. A tear leaks from my eye. I can't take much more. Oh, please, just make it end!

   My left wing snaps in half. The pain is crippling. My head spins. I'm scared now. I'm scared of dying. This Dog is going to kill me. I begin to weep as the Dog's jaws dig into my shoulder. Absolute fire lances up my flesh. Blood spurts from the wound. This is it. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die.

   "Stop!" I manage to cry up at the Dog despite my face being shoved into the ground. "Don't kill me, please! I don't want to die!"

   The dog snarls. I'm covered in the Dog's spit. It presses down with its right paw. The next thing I know, I hear another snap, a fresh explosion of fire—

   —and then everything goes black.

   I wake up in a white bed in an equally white room. I'm laying on my back. My wings feel funny, kind of numb. Everything else throbs, though. Dizzy, I turn my head to inspect my surroundings. I see a row of beds identical to the one I'm on, as well as several machines, a couple of which are hooked up to me. The only other person in the room is a beaten-up griffin covered in bloodstained bandages. By now, I can guess that I'm in some sort of hospital, but why?

   My head begins to clear, and slowly I remember what happened. The screams, the Diamond Dog, my broken wings...I shudder. I was so close to being dead.

   A door opens at the end of the room, and in walk a group of griffins. Two are carrying a third, sick-looking griffin through the room and leave through a door on the other end. One is a crisp, white female griffin. The final two are my parents.

   My stomach does a dive for my tail. I completely forgot about what my parents are going to think of me charging into the forest towards a random screech. My blood turns to ice, and body tenses up. I pray that my mom does most of the talking. If my dad has anything to say, it won't be good. I shrink against the bed when they see me.

   My parents, under the monitoring of the nurse, head straight for me. My mom looks weak with fear, and tear streaks line her face. I feel a bit ashamed. How worried had my parents been when they had found out I was hospitalized? I don't have to wait long to find out. The second they reach me, mom opens her mouth to speak.

   "What in the world happened to you?" she whispers, staring at me in awe. I'm silent, too scared to find out about what's going to go down. What my parents are going to say. How damaged my wings are.

   "What happened, son?" my father asks.

   I struggle for words. "I– uh– what–"

   My mother grabs my talons, holding them in hers. "What happened?" she repeats. "Why did you go into the forest?"

   I finally find my voice. "I-I heard a griffin screaming from there. I went to go... to go help him. A Diamond Dog was there and-"

   "A Diamond Dog?!" my father interrupts, and I wince. "Son, what were you thinking?! Taking on a Diamond Dog?!"

   "I didn't know it was one at first. And I was thinking that-" I stop to wait for a sudden wave of body-wide pain to wear off. "-I could kill it."

   "Why would you think that?" my dad cries incredulously. "A Diamond Dog, son. Not even a well-trained infantry griffin could take one of those, let alone a fourteen year old! What were you thinking—"

   "Leono!" my mother says crossly, just loud enough for him to hear. He stops and turns towards her.

   "What?" he growls.

   "He's already hurt enough as it is! We don't need to be screaming at him when he's lying in a hospital bed!"

   "So you're saying we shouldn't punish him?"

   "I'm not saying that at all. But right now, he's punished enough! He's going to be scarred, Leo. Scarred."

   Utter confusion erupts with me. Scarred? What? I'm just a little hurt is all.

   "What do you mean?" I inquire. "I just got beat up. I'll be fine, right?"

   My mom flinches. "N-no, honey, you won't," she replies nervously.

   "What? Why? What's happened?" I stare at my mom, who doesn't answer. "Mom!"

   My dad snaps at me. "Give her time! This hurts her too, you know!"

   I glare at him. "Well, obviously it doesn't hurt you! Can't you feel at least a little bit bad for me since, you know, I got put in the fucking hospital?"

   "Watch your language!" my dad yells at me.

   "Language? I'm in a sitting injured in a hospital bed, and all you can care about is my language?!" Any pain or fear I felt vanishes. "Well, screw you, dad! You worthless piece of shit! My wings were broken in half, I nearly got killed, I'm trying to find out what the hell's going to apparently scar me for life, and if all you can do is sit there and whine about my language, then I don't know why you still consider it a good thing that I'm still alive! Do you even care about me? Because I don't want you in here if you're going to ridicule me! Get out, dad!  Get the fuck out!"

   My dad gets ready to shout at me, until the white-feathered nurse, out of nowhere, deftly injects a needle right into a vein in my neck. Whatever it was, the effects set in immediately. I suddenly feel incredibly tired. My head spins and my eyelids feel heavy.

   "What... was that?" I moan, my words slurred. I start to feel strange. Everything spaces out and seems far away. Through the feeling, I hear the nurse mumble something about a... "setadive?" "Sedagive?" What?

Sedative! She gave me a damn sedative. I'm going to pass out.

   I don't get to curse her for it before I collapse flat onto my back.

   The world comes into focus around me again. I'm still in the hospital bed. The nurse that sedated me is tending to something, and my parents—well, my mom, at least—is still there. Everything is fuzzy, and I want to fall back asleep. I groan and rub my head. I still can't feel my wings. My mom sees me stir and seems to grow tense. "You're awake," she says flatly.

   "Yeah," I mumble. I remember the miniature blowout I had with my dad, and guilt washes over me. "Listen, about me swearing at my dad..." I hesitate. "I'm really sorry. I guess what he said just...made me lose control." I wait for a response.

   My mom sighs, then gently wraps me in a one-armed hug. "It's okay," she murmurs. "It happens to even the most well-behaved teenagers. It's a part of life. We all lose control sometime." I hug her back, sitting up fully to put both forelegs around her. I rest my head on her sleek shoulder for a second, sighing sadly.

   "I wish I hadn't said what I did," I whisper. "I know everyone regrets something, but I don't think this... whatever this is, is something I can live down." My mom doesn't answer, just hugs me tighter. I want to stay like this forever, embraced, comforted, but I know I can't. There's still one more unanswered question.

   "So, mom," I begin slowly, pulling out of the embrace. My stomach twists. "I really have to ask. What did the Diamond Dog do to me that made you so worried?"

   No answer. My mom looks away from me. I shake her shoulder and ask her again. "Mom? What did the Diamond Dog do?"

   My mother whimpers a bit. "What it did..." she hesitates. "It's going to change your life. In a bad way."

   "What?" I'm more alert now. What did the Dog do to me? "Mom, what happened?" I grab her shoulder. "Mom!"

   "What I'm going to tell you might make you cry. But I want you to remain strong," she says.

   "You're making me nervous, mom. What did it do?"

   "It..." Mom cringes. "It completely destroyed your wings. The doctors had to amputate them."

   My claw drops from her shoulder. Everything spaces out, like I'm on that drug again. I can't feel anything. What did she say? My wings—gone? My trademark as a griffin, gone? "Did you just say..." my voice trails off. I'm too stunned to speak.

   "Yes, sweetie. He cut your wings off. You won't ever fly again." A tear leaks from my mother's eye.

   I just stare at her. I can't believe it. I won't believe it. No. My wings are not gone. Anything but my wings. Absolutely not. "You're lying," I say. "There's no way..." I dwindle again. I can clearly see my mother crying. My mom never cries. There's no way she could be faking it. She was—no. My wings are fine. She's just being dramatic. I'm going to come out of this hospital with the only scar being the mental one of the Diamond Dog nearly killing me.

   Then I remember my wings felt funny when I first woke up in the hospital. Almost like they were... missing.

Oh, no. Slowly and carefully, with a shaking talon, I reach behind my back and touch the base of my wings. I feel a little stump. Oh, Gods, no. I reach for my other wing. Another stump. My wings... they aren't there.  "No..." I whimper. Tears form in my eyes. "No!" I sob, louder this time. "Not my wings! Anything but that! Not my wings! What kind of griffin am I without wings?!" I go weak. "No no no no no!"

   My mother wraps me in another embrace, standing on her hind legs to put both arms around me. "I know, honey," she says shakily. "I know. But we'll-we'll get through it, somehow." I don't hear her. All I can think about are my grey, broken wings, probably burning in some furnace fire by now.

   "This isn't happening!" I scream. "I can't lose my wings!"

   My mom squeezes me even tighter. "It's not the end of the world, honey! It'll be okay!" I can feel one of her tears roll down my shoulder.

   And it makes me snap. I shove her off.

   "First off, no it won't!" I screech. "Flying is everything to every griffin! What kind of griffin doesn't have wings? A useless griffin, that's what kind! Half of my classes at school are in the fucking sky, mom! How can I get to them if I can't fly? HOW?!"

   My mom tries to speak, but I cut her off.

   "Secondly, why are you crying? I'm the one that lost my wings! You're not! You still have yours! I don't! I'LL NEVER FUCKING FLY AGAIN! EVERY OTHER GRIFFIN GETS TO DO IT, BUT NOW I'LL JUST BE OVER HERE LITERALLY GROUNDED AND THERE'S NOTHING ANYONE CAN DO ABOUT IT!" My head begins to pound from all of my screaming, but I don't care. I reach out to scratch my mom. "YOU CAN'T—"

   Then that Gods-forsaken needle plunges straight into my neck again. I try to fight the sedative, try to give my bitch of a mom what she deserves, but within ten seconds I'm heavy and zoned again. I struggle to keep my eyes open and make my mouth work. Nothing comes out, and soon I'm falling into blackness again. Just before darkness closes in, a final thought jumps through my mind.

What do I do?

Chapter 1: Trip

   It's been a while since I lost my wings. Since then, my life has changed forever. I've been put under the "special needs" list at my school. Everyone feels sorry for me. I always get stared at, talked about, scrutinized, every single thing that would happen to an outcast. And I have no choice but to get used to it.

   And, surprisingly, I already am.

   My cello is my primary outlet, as it's always been. Whenever I need to vent or feel like I'm about to break, it's always a complete relief to pick up a bow and play a melody. I have to play much more often than I used to, though. I want to keep myself in check and avoid snapping like I did at the hospital.

   The hospital... I shudder. I'd said the most horrible things to my parents that day. What was I thinking? I was the one who'd made the foolish decision to look for some random noise. I was the one who let my wings get mangled beyond repair. I was the one who nearly let the the Diamond Dog kill me. It was all my fault.

   For a moment, I'm in a state of dread. I don't want what happened at the hospital to happen ever again. That spiteful, enraged griffin wasn't me. I don't want it to be me. I've always kept myself away from everything teenagers start to fall for. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't start fights, and I don't get into gangs. If I let myself become bitter like I did that day, it could be the first step to me falling into one of those traps and watching my entire life fall apart around me. Not even the loss of my wings could cause so much irreparable damage.

   I suddenly can't breathe. The thought alone of losing almost any chance I have at getting anywhere twists my innards and tightens my throat. I feel like I'm falling into a black pit, a nightmare I just can't wake up from. Every single bad thing in the world that could happen to me plays over in my head. Losing my friends, losing my family... Losing my life.

   I snap back into reality as the floorboard beneath me creaks. I'm in my room, one claw gripping my bow and the other on the neck of my cello. I was right in the middle of playing a seranade. I'm standing in front of my blue bed, sepia walls on all four sides. My nightstand sits with a lit lamp above it. A desk sits with a chair on the opposite side of the room, cluttered with paper and colored pencils.

   I shake my head furiously. Get it together! I admonish myself, You lost your wings! Of course you were going to be angry! It's not going to happen again anytime soon. Just play your cello and get it off your mind.

   Steadying myself, I take a few deep breaths and bring my bow to the cello strings. The instrument hums an E note as I slide the bow very slowly across one string. The E note continues for twelve whole seconds, and then I cut into a series of quick strokes across the strings, bringing the notes down a step every verse. The song is something I dimly remember. The title is I'll Fly Higher from the Equestrian acoustic band "Mango Pony."

   "I will," I mumble. "I will fly higher. Even without my wings." My claws move faster and faster across the neck of the cello as the song progresses, building like some sort of rock-style solo. The next thing I know, my entire body is music, all sorts of notes on all sorts of octaves, pulling me into it and deafening me with noise. I get lost in the sound of the cello and the feeling of playing it. It's captured me within its jaws and have nowhere to go. The music inside of me turns into light, and the harshness of reality is gone. Anything that I fear, I can brave. Anything that I hate, I can get rid of. Anything that I love, I can have more of. And I love this cello.

   For the third time in five minutes, I'm no longer in the real world. I only exist in the plane of my own playing, drowning in the feeling of the instrument. I feel as if I'm facing my problems down one by one, and for every line I play, I defeat those problems.  I'm alone with just my cello, exactly what I want. I have all the time in the world to play this instrument, to do something I love. I'm doing it. I'm living the dream. I'm better than I am. I'm—

   "Duez, come here." My mother's voice. I'm in my room again. I stop playing my cello and sit the bow down, leaning my instrument against the wall. Poking my head out from the doorway, I see my mom across the hall. She's smiling.

Well, that's a good sign, at least, I think as I exit my room. I trot across the hall towards my mother. I'm curious as to what she's going to say. I stop in front of her and tilt my head, like some sort of dog. "What do you need?" I ask.

   "Did you pass your math test with an A plus?" My mom asks.

   I nod. "Yeah. Teacher said I didn't get any questions wrong." I give her a confused look. "What's the big—?"

   I don't get to finish before my mom wraps me in a hug. "That's the first time you've gotten one all week!" she exclaims. "Congratulations!"

What the Hell? I force myself out of Mom's embrace before she ends up crushing my ribs. That split second alone left me with an aching barrel. "What's the big deal?" I wheeze.

   My mom straightens. "Well, you see," she began. "After you, err... Lost your wings, you continuously received D's and F's on your grades after. I was hoping it was just a phase and would clear up soon. And luckily, I was correct!" She smiles again. "I'm proud of you, Duez!"

   "For keeping myself in check?" I raise in eyebrow in mock confusion. My mother laughs.

   "Yes, actually," she replies. "Don't be modest, son. The surgeons removed your wings. Very few griffins can go through that and continue through life so well this soon afterwards."

   "Yeah, well, not many griffins can vent their life problems through a cello," I joke in reply. "Thank it."

  Mom hugs—well, crushes—me again. "You're such a good little griffin," she says with a bit of a squee.

   "You're acting like a little girl, mom," I say. "Chill, for the sake of my ribcage." My ribs do, in fact, feel like cracking.

   "My father would always say that when I grew up, I'd be a girl in a woman's body," my mom replies. "Maybe he was right."

   I grin to myself, then hug her back. It feels good to be happy. Sure, I've relieved my tension playing cello, but I haven't been in a truly uplifting mood since I lost my wings. I'd felt certain, powerful, determined... but never positive.

   We stay like that for a while, but as always, we have to let go some time or another. So we do. My mom sweeps her forelocks out of her eyes, then looks at me.

   "Also, your father and I got a letter from your History teacher saying that you were absent on the day he sent out permission slips for a field trip."

   My eyes widen a bit. "Field trip? Why didn't he tell me?"

   "He claimed he was too busy. Anyway, the field trip is to a local station where Griffinian Guards train. He says that he wants to take his classes there to give them an insight on the country's guard system. Your father and I talked it over for a bit, and we decided that it wouldn't do any harm for you to go—if you want to, that is. You'd have to have your escort fly you there." She adds the last part a bit tentatively.

   I blink. A Griffinian Guard station? Interesting. I've never been to one before.

   I nod. "Sure, why not?"

   It's the day of the field trip. I'm pretty excited about it. History class is just beginning, and the teacher isn't here yet. To busy myself, I look at all the things in the classroom I've seen a million times before. A timeline of how the Republic of Griffinia came to be. A red board covered in cheesy motivational phrases. The teacher's name, Mr. Archeos, up on the blackboard. I give up entertainment and just sit at my desk, rapping my talons against the top. The rest of the class is a mess of noise, students chatting about the trip and asking one another questions about it. It's getting fairly annoying, and I grow impatient as I wait for Mr. Archeos to come through the door and shut them up.

   Luckily, it doesn't take much longer before he does.

   I see him walk through the door, a white head on a brown body and a very yellow beak. He's old and grizzled, like a rusty barbecue grill. He plops a wad of folders and papers on his desk and looks up at the class.

   "Quiet," he says calmly, but loudly. The class calms down some and turns his attention to him. Once he has their undivided attention, he pulls out a small stack of notebook paper, then walks around the room, handing out the blank pages.

   "All who have their permission slips signed, bring them to me," he says once the final student gets a paper. The entire class stands up to give their slips to him, including me. We fall into a single file line and bring our little pieces of paper up to him. He takes them and heads back to the front of the room. He grabs a piece of chalk and starts writing down a typical set of rules for the field trip: The class will be flying to our destination, no talking when an adult is talking, stay with the group, yadda yadda yadda. I try to stay alert and keep focused should there be some small rule that's crucial to something, but before long I find myself fidgeting in my seat, unable to pay attention.

   After what feels like eons, Mr. Archeos finishes listing the rules, then turns towards me. I see him out of my peripherals and snap my head towards the teacher, trying to make it look like I was paying attention the whole time.

   "Duez," he says, "Your escort will be at the departure area when we arrive."

   I nod as some kids turn to look at me, probably not used to the fact that I'm flightless. My cheeks grow warm under their stares, and I feel like shrinking, until Mr. Archeos calls their attention back. He drones over some last-second rules, then we get ready to leave.

   I can feel my stomach twisting in excitement as the class slowly heads for where we take off. The school building seems much more massive, and the class feels like it's merely inching forwards. I tap the kid in front of me on the shoulder, a griffin with yellow head feathers and a black body. He turns to me. "What?" he asks, somewhat irritably.

   "How long will the flight to the station be?" I ask.

   "About an hour," he replies, then turns away.

   I groan. An hour?! My stomach sinks.

   This is going to be a long trip.

   "Duez, correct?" The enormous griffin asks.

    I nod, skeptical. How's he know my name?

   "I'm here to escort you to the military station," the griffin says. Oh, that's how. I nod, then climb onto his back. He flaps his wings, then shoots into the sky, racing to catch up with my classmates. I dig in with my hind legs when I feel myself begin to slip, wrapping my forelegs around my escort's chest. I manage to steady myself out and hold on tightly as the griffin rockets through the sky.

   Before long, we've caught up to my class, and the griffin I'm on slows down to a travel speed. I soften my grip on him and pull myself up into a sitting position. The winds are smooth and the class has settled into an easy flight. I look out over my escort's head, watching clouds roll by just above us. The air feels crisp in my feathers, and it's a nice, sunny day. It feels good to be in the sky, even if I'm not the one who's flying. I go into a kind of autopilot mode, oblivious and just enjoying myself, much like how I do when playing my cello.

   The time is slowly ticking by, and I can't wait to get to the military station. For now, though, I relish the feeling of flight. All this time, I'd taken it for granted, but now, with it being a rare opportunity, I feel at peace with the world, jovial that I can be in the sky for just a bit longer. It feels so good to just close my eyes. Nothing can bother me. I shut myself off from the world and let the amity take over.

   I could get used to this.

"We're here!" Mr. Archeos calls.

   I snap awake from my half-conscious state and look ahead. In front of us is a huge bundle of structures made from some sort of metal. The metal is painted various streaks of brown, and there are watchtowers sticking above the crowd of buildings.

   A Griffinian military station.

   I hop off of my escort's back and gaze up at the thing. It's enormous. Even the watchtowers are twenty-foot squares. The entrance building is about the size of an average house. I can only guess what the rest must be like. I walk along in slight awe with the rest of the class as Mr. Archeos verifies our coming here. He shows the guards at the front of the station some sort of letter, then all the permission slips we gave him. The guards ignore the slips but grab the letter. One reads it for a bit, then nods and lets us through.

   The inside is chaos, noisier than my school's cafeteria. I see soldiers, young and old, in brown uniforms, doing all sorts of exercise. Sparring, wing-ups, laps... you name it, they were doing it. The place smells like the boys' locker room at our school's gym but ten times as overpowering. The ground is made of concrete and feels very cold beneath my talons. Almost everyone in the building we're in is focused on something; the only ones who notice us are the ones standing idly by. I feel uncomfortable under their stares. Some are scrutinizing, some are curious, and others are eerily expressionless. I'm stuck at the outermost edge of the group, so I feel the looks the most out of the whole class. My little stumps where wings used to be must make me look like an outcast to them, maybe even a freak. I try to ignore the stares, concentrating on the back of my teacher's head, but even without looking I can feel eyes boring into me like drills.

   Over the din of training Guards, I hear Mr. Archeos say something about "the youth section." He leads us into a slightly smaller building that's just as noisy, but all of the griffins here are younger than the ones we'd passed before.

   "This is where griffins train in preparation for enlistment if they are not yet eighteen," Mr. Archeos says. "The youth section consists of multiple exercises including combat, sprinting, flying, and climbing. On rare occassions, the mentors of the youth students may take them into a country that neighbors the Griffin Empire to show them what to do when in enemy territory. Once the students turn eighteen—"

   "Excuse me!" I hear a call from my right. I turn my head and see a very exotic-looking griffin heading our way. He has blue eyes and a blue beak, wth a black mask of feathers covering his face and shoulders. The rest of his body is white and the tip of his tail is the same blue as his eyes. Various barely-healed bruises and cuts litter his body. He looks about seventeen.

   "What is it?" Mr. Archeos asks.

   The griffin walks around the gruop of kids, pushes past the griffin who carried me here—who, for some reason, isn't outside—and places a claw on my shoulder. "Can I talk to your student for a minute?" he asks my teacher.

   I look up at him in surprise. Why me? What did I do?

   "Why?" Mr. Archeos asks. He looks skeptical, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. I understand his distrust; what does that griffin want with me? Did something happen between us?

   "Because we saved each other's lives," the griffin replies.

   "What?" I look up at him in disbelief. "I don't even know you!"

   The griffin rolls his eyes at me as Mr. Archeos' forehead creases. "I'll explain if your teacher lets me talk to you—if he's even your teacher," he says to me.

   "He is," I say slowly.

   Eventually, Mr. Archeos gives his answer. "Okay, but be quick," he says. "And don't try anything funny!"

   The griffin nods and walks away, pulling me with him. I follow along hesitantly as he turns around a corner. The second he does, he pulls me down behind a pile of sandbags. What the hell does this guy want to say to me? I feel nervous, apprehensive, and for some reason, irritated.

   The second we're crouched, I glare at him. "What are you doing?!" I yell. He puts a talon to my lips to silence me and then fixes me with a solemn stare.

   "I'm that griffin you saved from the Diamond Dog," he says.

Chapter 2: Pass

   His words hit me like a bolt of lightning. "You're what?!"

   The griffin slaps a claw over my mouth. "Shut up!" he hisses. "Do you want them to hear us?" He glances around the sandbags over to where my class is. They don't notice us over the din of the training going on. He gets back behind the bags, then removes his claw. "Now," he says, "I never got to thank you."

   "F-for what?" I stutter.

   The griffin smacks himself in the head. "Hm, maybe for saving my life?" he says sarcastically. "Seriously, don't play dumb. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

   "That's, uh... something." I really don't know what to say.

   The griffin sighs. "Look," he begins, "I feel like I should give you something after you saved my life. We're probably never going to see each other again after all this, and what would I be then? A guy who was dumb enough to put his life in danger and then not even bothering to thank the one who saved him.

   "With that said..." The griffin reaches into his shoulder plumage. "Giving this to you will probably get me into trouble, but here." He hands me a slip of plastic. I take it from him wordlessly, still dumbfounded. Once I have it in my hands, I look down to read it. It's blank. Confusion bubbles in my chest.

What? A thousand questions burn in my head. What is this? How did you manage to find me? Where did you get this? What—

   "Duez!" I hear Mr. Archeos call over the noise of the station, nearly making me jump out of my feathers. "We can't wait much longer! We have to get the class moving, so whatever you're doing, do it fast."

   "Y-yes, sir!" I answer back, hoping I called loud enough for him to hear me. Turning in haste back to the other griffin, I ask, "What is this and how does giving it to me get you in trouble?"

   The griffin stares at me blankly and says simply, "Flip it over."

   I do as he asks, turning the card over in my claw. On the other side is a small, empty square and a bunch of little scribblings, probably words. I have to squint to see them, and when I read them, my jaw hits the floor.

Overseas Pass

To be used only for traveling to countries across the ocean. Any countries connected by land to the Griffin Empire (Amareica, Changeling Hive, and Aussieland) must be entered using an authentic border pass.

No fucking way. A pass to ferry to entirely different countries? Frozen in astonishment, I just stare at it, refusing to move or speak, my mouth still hanging open like a loose drawer. Before long, though, a thousand more question begin to burn in my mind.

What will I do with this? How much will it cost this griffin if he's found out? What countries can I visit? When-

   I stop. That's a good question. What countries can I travel to, if I'm ever given the chance? Draconia? Almaneia? The Japonies Islands? Where, where, where?

   Then it hits me. Equestria. The land where the two Cycle Gods raise the sun and moon. The country with the lowest crime rate in the world. The land of paradise.

   Everyone's always going on about how Equestria is so "bright" and "perfect." What if they're right? What if Equestria is literally the best place to live? Could I ever enjoy going there? Is it really that great?

   My train of thought derails when Mr. Archeos calls for me again. I hastily tuck the pass deep into my shoulder plumage, mumble a "thank you" to the griffin who gave it to me, and turn to leave.

   "Oh, by the way," the griffin whispers. I turn towards him, starting to get a little irritated.

   "What?" I ask.

   "On the off chance we ever see one another again..." the griffin looks away for the briefest of moments, "...My name's Wing Feather. Most of the other trainees here like to call me Covert."

   I nod. "I'm Duez," I reply, then hurry back to the class, not looking back. Wing Feather doesn't stop me again, and soon I've made it back.

   "What were you doing?" Mr. Archeos asks as I return. I can see he's slightly annoyed, his brow furrowed in the slightest of scowls. "We've been waiting here for seven minutes!"

   "That griffin was apparently someone special," I respond half-mindedly. I go past him and return to where I originally was in the group. A few second pass before we continue on, over to some locked storage container that we don't actually enter. Most of the griffins stop to give me quizzical looks for a solid few minutes before turning back to what the teacher is starting to ramble on about—some technologically hyper-advanced weapon called a flintlock. I don't really hear him over my own thoughts.

I need to think this over, I realize. Obviously, I can't just head down to Equestria on a whim, but if I can't go to Equestria, then what's the point of having this pass? Should I save it for a few years down the road? How could I keep track of such a small card?

   For the umpteenth time, my thoughts get interrupted. I feel a tap on my shoulder, and spin around to see Mr. Archers staring at me.

   "Are you taking notes of what's being taught?" he asks.

   I look ahead at what the rest of the class is staring at. A stocky griffin in a Guard uniform has taken over Mr. Archeos's role telling the class about guns, probably because he's more professional. I hear some snippet about how guns come in all sorts, and see two very different-looking guns, one he calls a "musket" and another a "Pennsylmaneia long rifle".

   Mr. Archeos repeats the question. "Are you taking notes?"

Notes? My stomach lurches. I don't have anything to write with or write on. Grimacing up at the teacher, I shake my head no. "I don't have anything to use," I explain, my cheeks growing warm.

   Mr. Archeos pinches the skin of his forehead between two claws, muttering something that sounds like "I knew one of these dunderheads would forget something." This pisses me off a little, and I open my mouth to retort, but before I can say anything, the teacher pulls out a pen and notepad from scenic nowhere, handing them to me. "Use this," he growls.

   I take it silently, compliant with the order. Turning away from Mr. Archeos with a mumbled apology, I bite gently on the end of the pen, holding the notepad in my talons.

  Once Mr. A is gone, I scribble down the best notes I can—"musket and Pennsylmaniea rifle=flintlock firearms" then try to push it aside by keeping it under my folded wing, until I remember they were gone. Fucking right. A small coil of frustration tightens in my chest. Growling, I continue walking along with the class as they start moving again, awkwardly clutching the pen and pad in my claw. Apparently it's going to be a while before the guide griffin finds something worthy of yammering about since he's walking past everything without even looking at it, so I get the chance to let my mind wander...

   ...and immediately, it returns to the Overseas Pass.

   Some unknown force grabs my innards and rearranges them. I still have no idea what to do with it. I can't just show it to my parents right away—they'll get the wrong idea of what I want to do with it. Then again, I don't even know what I'm going to do with it yet. I can't handle something like this.

   "Oh, and listen here, youngsters!" a deep, booming voice rattles my skull, derailing my train of thought completely—and there are no survivors. I wait for the world to stop spinning around me like I'm caught in a cyclone, then shake my head out and staighten in the direction of the voice. It's the big griffin that took over Mr. A's speaking role. He gives what looks like a scowl of warning at the whole class, and when he speaks his voice is a growl. "Each and every last military item you see in this building is property of the Griffinian Government. Not a single armor piece, training dummy, or flintlock you see here is personally owned—these kind of things aren't even allowed to be sold to citizens. Just becuase you've been given permission to take a tour of a military station does not mean you can take any of this."

   I suddenly feel very queasy.

   "In other words," the griffin continues, "everything you see here is highly illegal to be outside of this station unless directed otherwise by a military official. So don't try to go sneaking off with something, because if you are caught—which you will be—it can earn you ten years in prison, no matter your age, gender, or charm. You won't even go to court. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!"

   Each and every last student is nearly forced to the ground by the sheer volume of his last sentence; he could've blown a hole through the Sun Pony's backside if he wanted to. It takes at least fifteen seconds before the class and I are reoriented, and then we all force out a choppy "Yes, sir."

   The griffin hmphs. "Good," he murmurs, then spins fit around and starts yakking again. "Ah, the blood, sweat, and tears of heavy weaponry: explosives! Now, if you don't know what an explosive is..."

I need to get rid of this Pass right. Fucking. NOW. I can feel my heart trying to punch its way through my ribcage and my knees completely melting into jelly. I knew that giving me the stupid Pass wasn't exactly army etiquette, but illegal? How high was Wing Feather when he gave it to me? What made him think it was a good idea to put me in a state of illegal possession?! I need to put it back in the talons of the station!

   I slowly and shakily raise my claw, but then the realization hits me like a bolt of lightning: If I show the Pass, I could be falsely accused. My heart sinks to the bottom of my chest. How am I going to work around that?

I might be able to explain to the guards about the griffin who gave it to me, I reason, But that would get him in trouble. Does he really deserve a decade and a half of jail? It's not like he wanted me to get caught or something... did he? No, that's stupid. I saved his life.

   I shouldn't have a problem with spilling the beans on Wing Feather. He was the one who was stupid enough to give me something he shouldn't have. Then again, I was the one who was stupid enough to take it.

   I can feel tension building in my chest. I fidget where I stand with the rest of the class, throat tight and trying desperately not to start hyperventilating. I can't give myself away. People will start inquiring, and I could be caught.

I need to think of every last problem and it's solution to get out of this one. I come down to two options: Either keep the card and pray I don't get caught, or sell out Wing Feather and get him thrown in jail when he just wanted to repay his own personal debt. Could I do both? I question. I could try to hide it and only blame it on Wing if I get caught. That might be a good idea. I could possibly get out with neither me or Wing Feather guilty, and if I get caught... well, I tried.

Yeah. I nod to myself. My best bet would probably be to do just that. A little less uptight now, I pull out my teacher's pen and pad and try to scribble down some notes about whatever the guide griffin is barking about. My mind is still very heavily on the Pass and its new legal issues, but for now I can rest easy—even if I am caught, I can hopefully at least lessen the charges.

Halle-fuckin'-lujah.

   Fucking fuckity fuck fuck FUCK!

   We're almost out of the station. So far, I haven't been caught. The class had finally started leaving, and I could breathe a sign of relief. When we got back to the entrance, however, it was revealed to us the class would have their shoulder feathers—the only place where the feathers are thick enough to store random items—ruffled and checked to make sure nogriffin had stolen anything.

   And my shoulder feathers was the exact place I had kept the Pass this entire time.

   Panic sends my body into overdrive. I can't even think straight as the line is slowly shuffling forward, everyone getting rummaged and frisked. My throat is bone-dry and so tight it's hard to breathe. I can feel little streams of sweat trickle down my face.

   The second I get to the frisking team, I'm done for, and I'll have to screw over Wing Feather. How do I get out of this one? Is it even possible?! I need to think. Where else can I hide it? The card is too big to fit into my mouth, and I can't hide it under my wings—I don't have any. Oh, dear Gods, what do I do? I'm just about ready to vomit.

   Someone shoves me from behind. "'Ey, move your feet, fucker," he growls irritably.

   I lurch forward, along with my stomach when I feel something fall out from inside my feathers. The Pass! I quickly find my balance and reach for it, then go weak with relief when I realize it's just the notepad.

   With that out of the way, I still need to find a way to hide the Pass. I've already ruled mouth and wings out of the question, and I can't think of anywhere else I can put it. And I need to think fast, because the line just won't stop moving forward. I'll be caught any second now if I don't—

Wait a minute. A bolt of realization hits me. That griffin had told me to "move my feet". Feet. Feet! That's it! I can hide it beneath my feet. Glancing around to make sure no one is looking, I slip the Pass out from my feathers, then awkwardly rearrange it so that my four talons are clutching the edges, the blank side facing towards the ground. Hoping I can cover it up enough so that nogriffin sees, I plant my claw back on the ground and get back to walking—just as the griffin in front of me is done getting frisked.

   I try as best I can to steady myself, wiping the sweat off my brow and steadying my breathing. I step in between the two Guards, and one on each side pokes a single claw into my shoulder feathers and starts sweeping through them. In about two seconds, one of them bumps into the pen and notepad. He gives a small start, then pulls out both of them. The other griffin stops to see what he's doing.

   The first takes one look at the two, then huffs. "Non-Government property, huh?" He drops them both into a plastic basket, then continues probing my shoulder feathers. The other one does the same wordlessly. I can feel my stomach slowly tie itself into a double knot as the griffin on my right runs through the lower parts of my shoulder feathers. She might spot my talons and the Pass within it. I start shaking when she stops all of a sudden, but eventually she slowly keeps going. Knees weak, I silently pray to the Cycle Gods that I get out of this undiscovered.

   Fifteen seconds later, both griffins stand up. They'd found nothing aside from Mr. Archeos's notepad and pen, which are given back to me. I try not to let any of my immense relief show as I take the two items from the griffin, then slowly shuffle off, the Pass still hidden.

   The second I'm out of sight of the Guards, I let myself go weak. I'm so relieved to have gotten out of that safely that I can't even feel my legs. I let my rump hit the floor as I try to keep my forelegs from collapsing. I raise my claw to my head and wipe away some more sweat. I fucking did it! Now, with a bit of luck, I could do something about this Pass without getting caught. I slip the Pass back into my shoulder feathers.

   I suddenly feel a tap on my shoulder and jump into the air a bit. Spinning around, I see the big griffin that had flown me to the station. He gives one stony look at me and shrugs.

   I realize that he wants me to get on him so he can fly me back to the school. Wordlessly, I clamber onto his back and grab on tight.

   The high of being so far above the ground distracts me from the Pass even after I get off, so it's when I'm finally home that I remember the legal issues I have with it. I'm just outside the front door when it comes to mind, and my claw stops just as it reaches the doorknob. Just what am I going to do with this? The question I'd be asking myself ever since I got this thing was left unanswered, except now it wasn't asking how I was going to use it but how I was going to keep anyone from getting in trouble with the law.

   I wish I could just destroy this stupid thing, but I don't know how. I can't burn it—I'd be arrested for starting a fire. I can't throw it away, because there's a not-really-all-that-small chance someone could find it amidst the garbage. I can't cut it up. It's made of plastic, not paper, and besides, what am I going to do with the pieces?

   A flash flood of defeat washes over my body and drowns out any other emotion I could've been feeling. I don't want to have anything to do with this Pass anymore, but I have no choice but to keep going.

Chapter 3: Confession

  I open the door to my bedroom and step inside. My parents aren't home for some reason, but I couldn't care less. I collapse onto my bed, wanting to take a nice nap and clear up my head. I can't stop thinking about the border pass—it's on my mind like white on the glue that stuck it to my brain. I need to figure out how to keep my little secret hidden from the law. I know I don't have much to worry about if I keep the pass in my room, but there's always the possibility of getting caught.

Is there really? I ask myself uncertainly, laying down on my bed and staring up at the ceiling. I mean, sure, the Griffinian Guards might notice that Wing Feather lost his pass, but then again, it's a teeny piece of plastic. Maybe they'll think he just lost it, and that'll be the end of it. I hope that's the case. I don't want to spend years in some run-down jail cell where everyone tries to murder each other and I always have to make sure I "don't drop the soap". I shudder at the thought.

Well, for now, just don't worry about it, my brain admonishes me, and take a nap. I agree and roll onto my side, pulling a blanket over myself. I just need to sleep a bit, and then I can start thinking about this whole pass thing.

   It's not long before by eyes are as heavy as a sack of potatoes, and I close them with a sigh. A minute later, darkness takes over.

   I wake up to the sound of the front door creaking open. My parents are home. Already? With a groan, I force the blanket off and heave myself out of bed. I blink and rub my eyes as I hear my mom call out.

   "Duez, we're home!"

   I normally love the sound of my mom's voice—it's soft and delicate, soothing as silk and lovely to hear—but right now it just irritates me. My parents won't let me take midday naps for some dumb reason and I can't let myself fall asleep around them. I force myself awake and yell back.

   "I'm in my room," I reply. "I'm just... Messing around."

   "Do you have any homework?" my father asks. Typical. My dad's the kind of griffin who wants to get every single thing done before anyone can have a break. Fortunately, I don't. I call out a "No!" in response and that's the end of it. My dad heads outside to do whatever. I can hear something sizzling, a sign that my mom is making dinner. My spirits lift a bit. I am hungry, after all.

Well, now that I can't sleep, I might as well play the cello, I think, and go for my bow.

   "Duez, come eat!"

Yes! I drop my bow, hastily, but carefully, lay my cello against the wall, and practically sprint for the dining room. I'm greeted with a sight of my parents at the table with a chair between them. My seat.

   I sit down, and in front of me is a plate of steaming pork. Off to the side is a pile of griffinscones. I love the things. They taste awful, but stuffing my face full of the dry bastards is always an excuse to wash it down with a load of milk, the best drink in the entire universe. I lick my beak, my mouth watering, and once the entire family is settled, we tuck in to our food.

   I tear away at the pork as fast as I can without losing my manners, and then shove my serving of scones into my mouth, grabbing the conveniently-placed glass of milk and downing it all. It's absolutely delicious, and I thank whatever god or deity or higher being is out there for this amazing food.

   It wasn't very often our family could have such high-quality food—we're not exactly impoverished, but in the Republic of Griffinia money's a little tight. I think the most expensive thing that we've ever paid for is my recent... hospitalization. So when something like fresh pork chops are dropped on my plate, hell yeah I'm going to gobble it down!

    "Son, could you pass me the salt?" my dad asks. I nod and pass it. He grabs it and shakes some grains onto—

Pass. Pass. Overseas Pass.

Oh, fuck.

   A serpent coils its way around my insides. Of course, that stupid passport just had to show up. I swallow a load of bile as all the qualms and problems with the Overseas Pass come back to the surface and impact me so hard I nearly fall out of my chair. In fact, I would have if my dad hadn't caught me. With his help, I pull myself back up onto the chair to the concerned face of my mother and the did-that-whole-scene-just-unfold-before-me face of my dad.

   They both blurt out a question at the same time. My dad says, "Duez, what just happened?"

   While my mom says, "Duez, are you okay?" Deciding to answer my mom's question, I reply, "I'm... I'm fine," in the dire hope that she just takes it and leaves it. Obviously, she doesn't.

   "You're not fine; you just keeled over," my mom insists. "is there something wrong? Do we need to get you back to the hospital?"

   "No!" I shout, a little too defensively. I try calm my nerves, roughly rubbing my talons against my temples, and then my mind races faster than my heartbeat to come up with a lie. If they find out about the Pass, there's no knowing what trouble I might get in. "I just... I got lost in thought and forgot to breathe for a second, alright?! I'm fine."

   Mom doesn't buy it. "You always say 'I'm fine' when something's bothering you, Duez," she pries. "What's going on?"

   I can't stand getting cornered like this, forced to tell the truth when the truth will get me scores of flak. I start getting frustrated, like the pressure being forced on me is going to make me burst, and I lash out a bit.

   "I said I'm fine! I ran out of breath and blacked out a bit! Is that too much to process?!"

   My dad glares at me. "Don't you talk to your mother like that," he warns.

   My mom gives him a look, and he leans back, hmphing a little. Mom turns back to me.

   "If everything's okay, then why are you shouting?" she asks, and I feel myself tense a little. "If something's wrong—which we all know there is by now—then just tell us. Get it off your chest. Tell me: What's wrong?"

   I can feel myself cracking, but it's not her words that get me. It's the look she has me pinned under. It's not a harsh, angry glare of tell the truth or else. No, it's a relaxed, almost therapeutic gaze. The kind of look that tells me it's okay to tell the truth, to let it all pour out, even if I know it's a bad idea. I don't want to, to let out a severe secret and risk getting put under fire, but at the same time I want to, to confide in someone and not be alone. I've been struggling with this Pass all day by myself, afraid to tell anyone at all about it. In the minute time I've spent with this burden, it's put a huge weight on my shoulders.

   Now, though, with my mom in front of me, letting me know that I'll be alright, I feel completely torn. I'm scared of her and Dad not understanding what I'm saying and putting me entirely at fault for this, and I've always had a gnawing in the back of my head to never let my parents down. Even the slightest sign of them being unhappy with me would be worse than any jail sentence from the Griffian military. I'm not angry anymore, just completely torn and ready to rip out my own stomach just to relieve the queasiness in it.

   My vision starts to get blurry, and I realize I'm tearing up. My mother sees it too, and she tilts her head. "Duez? Why are you crying?" she asks, frowning.

   It seems like such a normal question, but the concern I hear in her voice, the concern she has for me, despite everything I've been fucking up in our lives lately, from nearly getting myself killed to losing my wings to this, is what finally breaks me. I let out a sob and then the floodgates are opened...

   "I've been under so much pressure all day because I was given a card that I shouldn't have but I didn't want to sell out the person who gave it to me because—"

   ...and immediately closed again. My beak snaps shut.

   My mother stops me, and I try my best to focus on her, my breath shaking and my vision blurring into one mass of colors.

  "Duez," my mom murmurs softly, soothingly. "Calm down and take it from the top. When did this all start?"

   "Today," I sputter in response. I take deep breaths, trying to get myself under control, and when I can finally talk normally, I tell the story as best I can. "I had that field trip to the military station today, and I ran into the griffin from the incident with the Diamond Dog."

   The two pairs of eyes staring at me widen a little.

   I keep going. "He pulled me away from the group and told me his name was Wing Feather and that he was part of the youth training session. He said he wanted to thank me for saving his life and gave me a card."

   My dad cocks his head. "A card?"

   I nod. "Yeah. As it turns out, though, it was illegal for me to have that and I could get ten—oh jeez..." I pause to steady myself out again when thinking of all the problems I have with this Pass stirs up my emotions again. I shake myself out of it and turn my eyes back to Mom. "Ten years in prison. And I... I decided to smuggle it out because if I got caught, I'd have to tell the officers about Wing Feather, and I didn't think he deserved to be put in jail." I stop there, anticipating my parents' reactions.

   They both just stare at me blankly, and I feel so stupid for letting them in on my new secret. They probably think I'm the stupidest griffin alive right now. Truth be told, I probably am. Why else would I think it a good idea to keep something illegal? Fucking idiot!

   My father opens his mouth, and I flinch, bracing myself for the harsh words to slap me in the face. I already know he's going to go on about how big a mistake I made and every bad thing that can happen, so I just try to prepare myself.

   But all he says is, "Bring me the card."

   Inwardly, I gasp. "What?"

   "Bring me the card," my father repeats. I turn to look at him, expecting to see a face of either disappointment or anger, but instead I see... amusement?

What? One eyebrow cocked, a snarky look, and a smirk. He's definitely humored by this.

   "...Bring you the card?" I question. My dad nods. "Al-Alright." I scoot myself back from the table and go to my room. I hid the card in the pages of a notebook under my bed, sticking out like a bookmark. I drop down to my belly and pull the notebook out, slipping the card out from between the pages. Pulling myself back to my feet, I clench the card in my beak and head back to the dinner table.

   I take my seat and tentatively hand the Pass to my dad, who still looks strangely amused. He takes the card without a word, inspects it for about five seconds, and then chuckles. "Yep, just as I thought," he laughs.

   I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about. "What do you mean?" I ask. Looking over at my mother's face, I can see she has the same question. What is he talking about? Why is this laughable? Is the card defective? What?

   Without even looking at me, my dad says, "This Pass is for civilians. It probably belonged to your buddy before he gave it to you."

   I reel back, almost knocking my chair over. "What?!"

   "And from the looks of it, he just got it, too, seeing as how it's completely blank."

   I'm stunned. Completely stunned. I've been worried sick about this all day, unable to properly focus on anything else, dying to fix the problem, and it turns out there was no problem to begin with? There's nothing to worry about?

   I want to faceclaw and breathe a sigh of relief at the same time. I can't believe that this entire time, I was worried over nothing. Absolutely nothing. I've been in the clear this entire time, and was never risking getting sent to jail for illegal possession. No, I really can't believe it. The massive weight that was sitting on my chest I had put on by myself. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing.

   I have to test the waters first. "Are you... Are you sure?" I breathe.

   My dad nods again. "Absolutely," he replies. "No armies are going to get their feathers in a bunch because of a missing Pass. That kid's dad might, though," he adds.

   At first, I feel so weak with relief that I have to hold my head in my claws. I'm free to lug that thing around however I like. But then, now that this Pass was techincally my property, that brought up a question.

   "What do we do with it?" I query.

   My dad answers immediately. "I say we keep it. Turning down a gift is just stupid, and who knows? Maybe we can take a trip to another land someday." Dad looks over at my mother, who has been strangely quiet ever since my dad first asked me to give him the Pass. "What do you think, Madridia?"

   My mom shrugs. "There is the hope that something as wonderful as that could happen. Keeping it won't bring us any harm, and disposing of it would just be pointless."

   My dad nods. "It's settled then." He flicks the card at me, and I catch it. "We'll get that thing filled out next week and keep it until an opportunity arises. It's a painless process, and nogriffin'll question it. Now that that's over with, we should finish our dinner." I agree with my dad, as does Mom, and we go back to eating.

   That night, I sit in my bed, still a bit shaky over what transpired at the dinner table. I still have a bit of trouble believing that the Pass isn't military, but I slowly come to grips with it after a while. Rather than try to sleep, though, I move on to another question: What country should I go to? There are so many countries I can travel to. Some of them I've been told are dangerous but fascinating, like Draconia and Friezland. I've heard rumors about others are quirky but awesome, like Equestria and the Japonies Islands. Where could I travel to?

Then again, will I ever be able to go anywhere at all? I think. My family isn't able to spend very much money on even the most trinkety of things, let alone three tickets to another country.

   I sigh. It's late and I need sleep. It isn't like not being able to decide what country to travel to—if I even get the chance—will result in the end of reality or something. I'm just glad I'm not in a tight spot anymore. Sighing again, I roll to my side, pull my sheet over myself, and close my eyes.

Hopefully it'll stay that way.