Every alley felt damp, muddy, and cold. At least, from what Aloysius had felt. At this point, the little griffon knew each and every cramped space between the huts and thatch houses of Griffonstone.

Griffonstone was only full of poverty-stricken homes. The mountainous terrain didn’t help, in that most the houses were drafty too; winters were agonizing. Nothing escaped from that demon which wanted nothing more than to create a void of impoverished griffons.

No griffon, no matter the job, age, or state of living could say they were content. The pitiful amount of bits held in one’s talons never satisfied anyone. Either griffons didn’t have enough of the precious gold coins that made the world go round, or they didn’t have any at all.

Aloysius didn’t know the feeling though. Of course, he knew the feeling of greed - any griffon growing up in the streets didn’t just know what greed was. It was all around them. Examples of its omniscience were everywhere. Houses with broken down doors, fledglings that were left beaten up and scarred, and certainly the rabid, unsharing nature all the homeless had with food. Griffons weren’t griffons unless selfishness consumed their heart.

But Aloysius didn’t even have the energy for longing. He could only focus on staying alive.

Find a place to sleep, maybe eat something - anything - and hope I don’t die... These were the only thoughts that weren’t a waste of time.

He shifted in place slightly, his small wings rustling his feathers. Aloysius’s feathers had the same color as the mud around him. He blinked, seeing a puddle of grimy water filled with filthy dirt near his soon-to-be nest for the night.

Getting up with a quick stretch of his legs and a flex of his dust-colored talons, he padded over to the puddle. Aloysius lapped up some of the water.

He gagged, but kept the precious liquid in his beak, swallowing it - gut-churning as it was. Aloysius sighed, his claw sliding up to his scarf.

The feeling of the black cloth comforted him - even if it was covered in dust and pebbles. The fabric wasn’t particularly valuable. but it was all Aloysius truly had. He was too young to do any jobs for other griffons, nor could he even steal anything for himself.

Besides, he didn’t have the heart to steal.

Feathers ruffling, he groomed them down, pausing at his own face. He looked down in the puddle, seeing his reflection.

Aloysius thought he looked like a piece of crap. At least he wasn’t wrong about the color. While his body was as brown as the mud he stood on, his chest and face were more of a light-colored dust.

Two red eyes flicked back down at him, bearing into his thoughts. If I’m lucky, no one will attack a fledgling with nothing. His hope was hopeless - the only possession he had was his scarf, and nothing else.

He patted down the tuft of feathers on his head, curving them to the side slightly in the front, a few stray feathers sticking out front. Leaving the back feathers to stay as the messy nest it was, he swung his tail in front of him, inspecting it for any rocks stuck in the tuft of feathers.

Finding nothing, he left his tail back to its own world. The long strand of messy feathers flicked about at the tip, then in the middle. It always did this; it seemed to have a mind of its own.

He winced, feeling a sudden prick of pain in his left hind paw. He sat down, his hind legs splayed in front of him. His paws - as dusty as the rest of him - had enough sharp pebbles lodged in them to build a wall around the tiny brown bird.

Groaning tiredly, Aloysius set on using the sharp tips of his talons to dig them out. As he used his claws to carefully remove them, he examined the light brown talons moving about.

He drew in a sharp breath when he pricked himself by accident with his sharp talon-tip. They had to have a razor quality to them; dull talons meant a quick death in a fight. Without his talons, Aloysius would have been a dead griffon a long time ago.

Not just in a fight, but also in being able to hastily take what little crumbs of food were left on the ground. If he was lucky, his claws would also be able to catch the occasional prey.

He groaned, his stomach growling painfully. The agony in his belly needed food, but a stray mouse or lucky bit of game was unlikely.

Flopping onto his side with a light thump onto the ground, he curled up into a tight ball, claws gripping his scarf against his neck.

Griffonstone truly was the hell before hell. The only comforting thought from this was that this wasn’t eternal at least. The city of griffons may of been a great kingdom, but once King Grover had lost the Idol of Boreas, it had all gone downhill. From a rich, comfortable kingdom of stories, to a meager, barren, purgatory. It didn’t matter if the city had been built up on a great mountain. It didn’t matter that the soil was so infertile that even the trees had given up growing leaves in the summer.

With a nation that was greedier than dragons, the city stood no chance of becoming the once powerful capitol it had been. Even the trees know there’s no point in growing here… the only fate is death here…

The dingy, shabby huts that Aloysius laid between were a testament to the rest of the homes. Nothing but countless huts and thatch-roofed houses; it was no small wonder why the griffons couldn’t rebuild what they had once been.

Even if the griffons did rebuild, wind storms would put an end to their efforts quickly. Aloysius had only gone through one stormy vortex of sand, dust, and pebbles, and it had left him hiding in a trash bin for days on end.

He shuddered at the thought of the barren, rocky ground tolerating another storm like that. Aloysius doubted he would even have the courage to face the outside again if another occurred.

The afternoon was windless however - much to Aloysius’s anxious worrying - so the alleyway would at least suit him for the night’s rest.

Aloysius had no other nest to return to, no home, nor a chance of getting one. It was a fact the fledgling had accepted, and one he still cried over. He didn’t understand how one could cry over the truth. He told himself it all the time, but even though his mind accepted it, his heart didn’t.

A home meant he had something, maybe even someone. Aloysius longed for another griffon. Not one to steal from, or lay pent up rage into with the sting of his talons.

He wanted companionship.

He felt bitter, hot tears sting his eyes. Lifting up his scarf, he trembled into it, his fragile body convulsing with the tremors of the pain in his chest. Even my heart hurts…

An unseen force suddenly took him by his black, fabric haven. He squacked in surprise, choking for a moment. Wide-eyed with panic, he saw the sight of terror.

Carrion! Nonononono- The bigger griffon’s growl was menacing enough to cut off his innermost thoughts to run. Carrion griffons preyed on the weakest, the homeless fledglings, knowing they could get extort bits or food out from them. It’s where the name came from - they were nourished by the abandoned and soon-dead children on the streets.

This carrion was obviously older than him. The monstrosity stood a shoulder taller than him, the mess of feathers on him standing on end. Combined with the fact that his talons were thicker and sharper than Aloysius’s, the appearance sent the fledgling's heart into chaos. Panic dominated his mind and body.

“Ya don’ need this, do ya?” The carrion smiled - even if his beaky grin didn’t reach his eyes in doing so. Extending a talon, he held it up to Aloysius’s neck, glaring as he leaned his face towards him.

Aloysius shivered, feeling his feathers brush up against the claw that held him against his will. He squeaked out, “Ah don’ know what ya mean,” - his voice sounded like a shrill, shaking as much as his wings were.

“Ya know what I mean,” The carrion’s grip tightened on his scarf as he put another extended talon on Aloysius’s neck.

Tears pooled up in his eyes again, threatening to spill out. It’s all I have. The simple black cloth was more than just clothing to him. It was all he had. Memories of having it since he could remember made the salty drops stream down his face.

The black scarf was Aloysius’s only fact of life. It was his, and that was all.

The carrion leaned his face closer to him, snarling. “Let go of it, and I’ll let ya live.” All five of his talons pushed against his neck, nearly digging into and breaking the skin.

Aloysius shuddered, his breathing random and erratic. He couldn’t let him have it. Nothing would be worth it if he didn't have the comfort of it around his neck. Giving out a growl - which became a high-pitched squeal when he sniffed - he kicked out of his grip and stood across from him, his four legs in the best stance he could think of.

The carrion didn’t hesitate. He snarled, and pounced, landing on top of Aloysius. He slashed his claws into the tinier bird’s cheek, sending stars shooting along his vision.

Again and again he did so, until Aloysius was bleeding around his beak. He trembled feebly, putting up no fight.

The carrion - thinking he had beat the child enough - took the scarf, and turned to walk away.

Groaning, he saw through the slit of his eyes the sight of his precious scarf going away from him. His only comfort, perhaps his only friend - gone. Aloysius started shaking again, but not from the fear that had gripped his heart. Anger. Pure, unfiltered, fury bubbled within his heart. With a yowl promising bloody murder, Aloysius ran after the scarf-taker.

The carrion yelped in surprise when Aloysius lunged at him. Aloysius slammed his head down into the ground, panting. He flinched at the sound the impact made, feeling bile rise in his throat. He didn’t know whether it was the skull or rocks that had cracked.

The carrion shifted slightly, trying to keep the scarf.

Aloysius yelled - his voice filled with ire - at seeing the thief trying to keep it. “That’s mine! Mine!” He raked his talons down the carrion’s side. “Mine!” Aloysius walked over to the scarf-stealers face, slamming his closed talons into him.

Yelling incomprehensible nothings, he kept slashing his talons into the carrion, and punching his fist into the disgusting thief. At the end of his own rampage, he was left panting.

Aloysius spat on him, taking the scarf back and draping it over his neck. He sighed with bliss; the feeling of the fabric was worth it.

The carrion ran, his feathers bristling out of terror, as he limped away and groaned in the torment of his wounds.

Aloysius kept it together long enough before he broke down, cowering on the ground, scarf and claws over his eyes as his raking sobs muffled into his black strip of sanctuary.

He stared at his talons, afraid of what they could do now. Caked in blood and bruised from the impact of the carrion’s cheek, he looked away,
as more hot tears pooling down his eyes.

Only a true griffon did that to another griffon. Greed was one thing - to even breathe for air, he had to take it from others - but this. This vicious, merciless, animalistic mauling….

He stopped crying, staring at his open palm. The talons had flecks of dried blood on them.

They were the only way he could stay alive.

His talons had to fight others to live. Aloysius had to fight to simply exist.

Griffons were as greedy as dragons, he’d be more greedy than the gigantic beasts. Griffons were rude and insulting, Aloysius would be ruthless with his words, tearing down any eagle who thought they were anything at all. Griffons were as vicious as the predators they were made up of - eagle and lion.

Aloysius would be as bloodthirsty as a beast.

But the pain in his chest couldn’t allow it. His own conscience - how the forsaken thing was still alive was a mystery - wouldn’t let his talons kill.

He took in a shuddering breath, curling up in a tight ball, tail swiping around him on instinct.

Aloysius could want everything in the world. The little griffon could release as much spite and ire upon others as much as he wanted.

But he couldn’t take a life.

“I’m a griffon…” He spoke to the world his new fact.

But I’m not one of them… He promised in his mind, owing it to himself.

Author's Note

Please note that timeline-wise, this story takes places long before Season 1. A good estimate to match up to the show would at least be when the Mane Six were just cute little fillies.

Other than that, enjoy!