Greta stared at the crumpled note card that lay on the table in the kitchen for what seemed like hours. After rereading the contents of the note for the seventh time, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
A soft wind blew through a hole in the window and ruffled Greta’s feathers. She glanced out, peering through her translucent reflection in the cracked glass, and noticed a pair of griffons working on a nearby cottage. As she watched them patch up a hole in the wall, she smiled slightly.
“Come on, you’ve put this off long enough.”
Greta looked around the room and wondered for a moment why she said that out loud. Gilda wasn’t there. Ever since those ponies left, Greta noticed that Gilda rarely spent any time at home, arriving through the door only to sleep, and sometimes to preen.
Six months, Greta thought, it’s been six months since those ponies left and Gilda started this… thing. Greta stared back out the window and watched as the griffons outside helped each other—the pair rebuilding the house, the tercel helping a hen with her groceries, even the trio of chicks repairing a cart for an elderly griffon—Greta didn’t want to call it a revolution, but something had definitely changed. And it all started with the scones, she thought.
The wind blew through the broken window again, hard enough this time to send the note card off of the table. Greta gasped and grasped at the card, catching it before it touched the dusty floorboards.
“Okay,” she mumbled. “Flour, sugar, salt, butter, vanilla, cream, eggs.” Her eyes widened as she read the last ingredient. “Eggs?” Greta shuddered for a moment. “Okay, I guess.” She glanced up from the note. “I need to stop talking to myself.”
Greta shook her head, grabbed her satchel, and made her way out the door, closing it behind her. As she stood for a moment on the stoop to Gilda’s house, she looked down at the key she held in her talons and remembered when Gilda gave it to her.
“I don’t understand. Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because your house is unlivable.”
“But… why now?”
“Because, Greta, to be a friend, one must trust.”
“You… trust me?”
“Well, more than that. I—”
Greta shook her head and bit at her beak. She felt her eyes burn, but instead of giving in to the weakness, she took another breath and tucked the key into her satchel before flying off to the market.
“Hey, Greta!”
Greta stopped mid-flight and fluttered to the ground. In front of her sat three young griffons.
“Gavin… Garrett… Gale… what are you doing here?” she asked as she quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, I was trying to help Mister Gareth with the hole in his roof,” Gavin said.
“But I tracked down the hay and straw,” Garrett added. “And also—”
“I got the mud bricks to patch it together again,” Gale interrupted.
The three young griffons glared at one another. Before they began trading blows, Greta reached in and separated them.
“Boys!” she shouted. “What’s wrong? You all are helping Gareth with his home.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to help the most,” Gavin replied.
“Me, too,” Garrett said.
Greta turned to Gavin. Gavin blushed and nodded his head. Greta looked to each griffon before shaking her head. I don’t get it, she thought, one day, it’s every griffon for themselves. Then suddenly, it’s every griffon wanting to—
“Miss Greta?”
Greta blinked and turned to the trio of griffons in front of her. “Yes?” she asked.
“Thank you,” Gavin replied.
“For what?”
“For helping us remember,” Gale said.
“Remember what?” Greta asked.
“That we as one are more than we as one,” Garrett said as the others nodded.
Greta felt a chill run down her spine. The heft of the key in her satchel suddenly weighed down upon her. She imagined herself standing on the stoop of Gilda’s house again as the memory returned to her.
“I trust you more than any griffon here, Greta.”
“You haven’t spoken to me since you came back from that stupid flight school, Gilda.”
“Things were… different… then. But I want you to know that I always—”
Greta reached up and clasped her claws to her ears and screeched in an attempt to will the images away. A moment later, she realized where she was and opened her eyes. The young griffons were still there, staring at her. Greta shook her claws at the tercels.
“I’m—I’m fine,” she said. “You all just… keep working together.”
Greta gave a half-smile to the griffons and took to flight towards the market. I have to get this right, she thought.
*****
“Yep,” Gertrude said as she weighed out the sugar. “I am the officially sanctioned egg provider for this city. And yes, you do use eggs in scones.”
Greta rubbed the back of her neck and grimaced. “All right, I believe you.” Greta sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve never baked before, and when I saw eggs, I thought… well… you know.”
Gertrude cocked her head to the side. Neither hen spoke for a moment, but then Gertrude broke into a fit of laughter so loud that every griffon in the store turned to look at them. Greta blushed and lowered her head, but was stopped when the older griffon placed a talon on her cheek.
“Oh, my sweet little hennepin,” she cooed. “If it was those eggs I was selling, I’d need the help of every tercel in Griffonstone. And King Grover as my witness, it’ll be a cold day in Tartarus before I end up with any more chicks in my nest.”
Greta couldn’t help but laugh. As she did, however, she felt a sense of unease come over her. She looked around the store, and as she did so, she noticed that the few griffons who were there made extra effort not to bump into one another. There was the occasional squabble over produce, but other than that, Greta noticed that all of the older griffons had changed their demeanor.
“What’s wrong, hennepin?” Gertrude asked.
“Why do you care?”
Greta blurted out the question, realizing too late that her sudden outburst caught the attention of the nearby griffons. She leaned in towards the older hen.
“How did you all manage to change so quickly?” Greta whispered. “How can you all just forget how things were? How did those ponies change Gilda in a day? And how did she manage to get you all to change in a few months?” As she continued to ask questions, the words flew out of her beak faster and faster. “Why is every griffon able to forget and just move on? Why has every griffon suddenly forgotten the value of gold? Why am I the only griffon that isn’t… that isn’t…” Greta heaved a breath and reached into her satchel to pull out her coin purse. “How much is it today?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject.
“Twelve coins,” Gertrude replied too sympathetically.
Greta’s gaze narrowed. “That seems really cheap.”
Gertrude shrugged. “There are more important things than gold,” she replied.
“Like what?” Greta asked.
“I’ll answer that!”
Greta saw Gertrude smirk and nod as an old griffon shuffled to the counter. Greta saw the griffon’s false eye and gasped.
“Mister Gruff?”
“It’s about pride,” Gruff said. “Pride about who we are. My granddaughter learned something from those ponies. And she’s been working nonstop to restore Griffonstone to its former glory.” Gruff puffed out his chest. “To the way things used to be.”
“I remember the old days, too,” Gertrude replied. “It’s a shame none of you younger griffons understand.”
“But I… I want to understand,” Greta said.
“All you need to remember is that we as one are more than we as one.”
“What does that even mean?” Greta asked.
Gertrude and Gruff exchanged glances.
“We can’t tell you,” Gertrude replied. “It’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own.”
“That’s the problem with some of you,” Gruff added. “We remember the time before, and the young chicks aren’t old enough to think the way you do.”
Greta glanced around the shop at the older griffons walking around. Gilbert used to charge a claw and a leg to help with expeditions, Glinda used to charge for her blankets by the thread, Gilda used to—
Greta shook her head and backed away from the counter, tossing the coinage onto the surface before flying out of the store with her goods.
“You can do it,” Greta muttered. “You can do it right. You have to do this right.”
*****
“Okay, mix the dry stuff basically,” Greta said, placing everything in a bowl as she set a pot on the stove. “Melt the butter and cream, and then—” Greta grimaced once more as she looked at the eggs. She sighed, cracked them open, and put them into another bowl. “Beat the eggs.”
Once each part of the concoction had been mixed, Greta mashed the mixture into small balls, being sure to sprinkle vanilla oil over them. I remember Gilda doing this part, she thought as she pressed the balls into triangle shapes before placing them onto a pan.
Greta reached down and opened the door to the cast iron stove, but before she set the pan down, she froze. Inside, the embers of coals glowed dangerously, their orange light burning into her eyes. Greta shivered, tossed the pan inside, and slammed the door shut. She reached up and set the timer for thirty minutes.
Gilda’s going to be out for a while, Greta thought as she looked down at her talons. The scones… the scones… Greta remembered the way Gilda’s talons clutched hers as the strangely friendly griffon placed the scone into her own claw. Your talons were always chalky, Greta thought as she traced a talon over her claw, chalky and smooth.
Greta looked around the house—dust was settled everywhere and dishes were stacked up to the ceiling. She thought about the griffons she had seen that day and her beak curved up into a tiny smile. Soon, she was busy sweeping, dusting, and doing dishes.
“Greta, what’s wrong?”
“You… you’re becoming better than the rest of us.”
“No I’m not.”
“Then what do you call what you’re doing?”
“I’ve said it many times, Greta. We as one are more than we as one.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“You will, hennepin. You will.”
Greta finished folding a set of scarves just as the timer rang. She flew as quickly as she could from Gilda’s nestroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. The scent of vanilla already filled the kitchen, and Greta’s feathers ruffled as she smiled with pride at what she had done. Finally, she thought, I can do something for you, Gilda.
Greta opened the oven door, but her smiled quickly faded when she saw what was inside.
“No…” she muttered. “No, no, no!”
The moment she saw her creation, Greta knew there was something wrong. Gilda’s scones were soft, puffy, and had tiny crinkles on the top. Greta’s scones looked like stones. Greta’s scones felt like stones. The griffon slowly took the failed dessert out of the oven, the scones clattering as her trembling talons clasped the pan.
“She is better than you,” Greta mumbled as she held the pan over the trashcan. “Every griffon can do it better than you.”
Greta’s lip twitched as she dropped the tray into the trashcan. She jumped when she heard the front door slam and was unable to hide what she had done to the griffon that now stood at the kitchen entryway.
“Greta?” Gilda asked as she brushed off the snow from her shoulders. “What are you up to?”
Greta tried to think of a response, but when none came, her eyes simply began to water. She felt her shoulders shake and her legs tremble. Her wings flapped uselessly as she fell to the floor, sobbing madly as she curled into a ball. She rocked back and forth, jerking away as Gilda tried to grab onto her.
“Stop it,” Greta cried. “Stop it stop it stop it!” Greta tried to keep away from Gilda, but she felt the larger griffon’s talons wrap around her and refuse to let go until her sobbing ceased. “Every griffon… is… better.”
“What in the name of King Grover are you talking about?” Gilda asked.
Greta sniffled and pointed to the trashcan. “I—I followed your recipe exactly.” Greta’s trembling talon moved to the crumpled note card on the floor. “B-but I can’t even do that right.”
She watched as Gilda leaned over and glanced at the note card. “Oh, this was written before Pinkie Pie told me about baking powder,” Gilda said absentmindedly.
Greta couldn’t help but laugh pitifully through her sobs. She felt Gilda’s feathers bristle against her own—the way Gilda’s beak rubbed up and down her cheek, the way Gilda’s talons gently scratched her back—and couldn’t help but bend into the griffon’s ministrations.
“Even the young tercels are able to be good,” Greta muttered as she buried her beak into Gilda’s chest. “Gruff and Gertrude said I have a problem.”
“You cleaned the house,” Gilda replied, as though ignoring what Greta had just said. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t anything,” Greta replied. “You’re never home.” She paused. “I just… saw that it was something you had neglected.”
Greta leaned in and felt the warmth of Gilda’s chest on her face. She closed her eyes and concentrated so that she could hear Gilda’s heartbeat. It’s beating faster, she thought as she wrapped her talons around Gilda’s neck.
“So you finally understand?” Gilda asked.
“Understand what?”
“That we as one are more than we as one?”
As if hit by lightning, Greta saw the images of everything she had seen that day: the griffons fixing the house; Gavin, Garrett, and Gale helping Gareth; Gertrude and Gruff going on about the old times.
“Greta,” Gilda whispered. “Everything you did today, … was for me?”
Greta felt her cheeks burn. She closed her eyes and nodded. “But I failed.”
Greta tried to shy away from Gilda, but she felt herself drawn even closer into the griffon’s embrace.
“You didn’t,” Gilda replied. “You—”
“I failed!” Greta shouted, pulling away from Gilda. “Even the chicks understand it! The elder griffons tried to tell me, but I ignored them! And now this.” Greta shook her head. “I just—I just wanted to see you happy. You’ve been doing so much for Griffonstone since those ponies came, but I saw that you weren’t doing anything for yourself.”
Gilda gently guided Greta towards the table. They both took a seat, Gilda never pulling her claw away from Greta’s. Greta simply looked down at her claws and slowly rubbed a talon along one of Gilda’s.
“It’s strange,” Greta continued. “How the young and old ones were able to change so easily. But then griffons like me still—”
Greta felt a claw on her cheek again. She lifted her eyes and saw that Gilda’s eyes were watering just like hers.
“There are no other griffons like you, Greta,” Gilda whispered.
“I just thought that if I could make you happy, then seeing you happy would make me happy, too.”
Tears fell from Greta’s eyes, rolling down her beak until they fell off of the tip onto the floor. Her tongue tasted salt. Her entire world blurred into a mishmash of colors until she couldn’t clearly see Gilda anymore.
“That’s what it means, doesn’t it?”
Greta blinked and her vision cleared just in time to see Gilda reach over and press her warm beak against her own. Greta leaned into the kiss until both hens’ chests touched. She felt their lungs breathing as one. Then she felt their hearts beat in sync.
Two hearts becoming one.
Becoming more than just one.
