The Arcturiad: Long Flight

It was a summer evening in Equestria when the griffon fell from the sky. A fragrant breeze was sweeping across the rolling plains that surrounded Canterlot, creating a swaying ocean of emerald green. Ponies were working in the vast farms that dotted the countryside; content to be away from what they assumed was the hustle and bustle of the city. As they finished their daily work, the clouds above them were anvils upon which the sun cast her salmon rays. The ponies across the countryside looked forward to their evening meals, and the sweet release of sleep that would ease their aching muscles.

In the distance, the griffon burst from the crags that separated the peaks of the Foal Mountains, wings straining with exhaustion, body riddled with cuts and scrapes. As she surveyed the land below, her hear heart soared with joy. Tears began to form in her eyes and a contented little whimper escaped her beak. After what she could only assume was months of travelling, she had finally arrived in the heartland of Equestria. The Griffon’s weary eyes turned now towards the dirty satchel she carried, buried in her mottled feathers. Now, she only needed to find audience with Princess Celestia, lest her journey be for naught.

The Griffon’s wings shot with pain, and the steady flapping began to falter. She screamed in panic, and fell out of the sky like a dart. A family of farming ponies was enjoying their dinner in their dining room when they heard the audible thump outside their house. What had been lively conversation before had turned into deafening silence. Almost thirty seconds had passed before something in one of the haystacks outside began to groan in pain.

Being the type who enjoyed looking formidable, the farmer grabbed the rifle that was hanging by the rickety door of the house and slowly stepped outside. What had been a neat haystack only a minute before was now a scattered pile of bone-dry straw with an unconscious griffon planted squarely in the center. The Farmer, noticing the horribly mangled wings, yelled for his wife to call an ambulance. His wife, who was standing in the doorway, gasped before running inside.

The farmer’s young colt trotted up beside his now distressed looking father
“Pa? Who’s dat” he asked in the way that children ask questions when you specifically want them to stay out of something.

The colt began pacing around the haystack, craning his neck in order to get a better line of sight on the injured griffon. The farmer grabbed the colt and yanked his son beside him. “Get yer ass over here boy.” He snapped as he forced the colt to sit down. The colt, still quivering with excitement, repeated his question. “Well? Who’s dat pa?”

“Dunno son, looks like a gal who’s had one too many wet ones tonight.” The farmer replied a concerned look set in his stone grey face.

“She looks awfully scratched up, Pa.”

“I know, that’s why yer Ma’s getting’ an ambulance.”

“Does that mean that the soldiers need to come again?”

The farmer thought for a moment, scratching his scruffy chin. The war with the Changelings had siphoned doctors from all over Equestria. Even out there, where the wheat stalks during harvest season formed golden oceans as large as the most sprawling cities, the doctors were shipped to the front. Instead of curing the local children and dealing with their incessant wailing, they treated soldiers riddled raw with gunfire wounds. They would all have traded the world to have returned to the children.

“No one else who can come son.” The farmer replied.

“Are you sure?” The little colt whined

“Fraid’ not pal.”

It was on the cusp of night now; the brightest of the stars jubilantly began their sparkling performance in the dusty sky. Crickets joined in accompaniment, flinging the most graceful of melodies into the evening air. The sun was so low, that one could position themselves in such a way that even the most distant haystacks would block out the crimson orb. The farmer and his son sat together, both to keep an eye on the unconscious griffon, and to appreciate the resplendent beauty that the evening had bestowed upon them.

The Farmer’s wife walked up and sat down beside them.
“The base is gonna send a medic over, see what they can do.” She said, fixated on the evening sky.

“Good” The Farmer grunted in reply.

Blissful silence passed among the three, and for a few seconds, the air was filled with the sounds of night.

A large groan from the griffon broke them from their trance.
“Shouldn’t we get er’ inside?” The wife asked her husband.

“Aye, we should probably do that” the farmer said, a little embarrassed that he had let the griffon lay injured in the prickly pile of hay.

The couple hoisted the griffon up on their backs, the dirty satchel slipping from her shoulders.

“Careful with er’ wings! They’re beaten up awful bad.” The Farmer exclaimed.

“I know! I’m tryin’ my best!” his wife shot back

The couple had quite the ordeal hauling the unconscious griffon to their house. They first had to conquer the steps leading up to their porch, with the little colt having to keep their fragile cargo from slipping off their backs. Getting the griffon through the door while walking two abreast was particularly difficult, the husband and wife performed some less-than-graceful maneuvers to fit. They lay the griffon on their patchwork couch belly down, as to avoid disturbing the damaged wings.

The little colt had picked up the satchel, out of which fell a resplendently decorated scroll, emblazoned with borders of jet black and deep red. As the parchment unfurled in the colt’s hooves, a golden seal could be seen dominating the bottom, placed next to an elaborate signature in ornate gold ink. The body of the text matched the jet black of the borders, but what the scroll said, the colt would never know. He had been taught the basics of farm work, not the basics of books.

“Hey Ma? What does this say?” The colt asked inquisitively.
“Junior! What did I say about going through other creatures’ belongi-” She stopped, her head cocked with intrinsic curiosity.

She handled the scroll with the delicacy that parents use with their children. The scroll was of magnanimous importance, that she could tell, but her rudimentary reading skills were not enough to decipher the flowing cursive that dominated the text. The Farmer’s wife gently rolled the scroll back up, and replaced it inside the satchel. She brought the satchel over to the griffon and set it down beside her slumbering body.

“Let’s all leave that alone now, ya hear?” she practically whispered.

It was in the dead of night, the colt had long been ushered into bed, dreary eyed and exhausted from a lengthy day of play with the local children. The farmer and his wife sat at the table, mugs of freshly brewed coffee sustaining their consciousness, hoping and praying that the ambulance would come soon. It seemed as if their prayers were answered, as they heard the steady clopping of a stallion driving a carriage. Both shot up, and rushed to the door.

“Good evening Harvester.” A unicorn officer wearing green military fatigues got off the back of the wagon, a pony with a medic’s armband around his leg followed closely behind.
“Awfully inconvenient for you to call at this hour.”

“Awfully inconvenient for a griffon to drop into my front yard at this hour” The Farmer replied.

“Indeed.” The officer growled, clearly miffed at the fact that he was out so late at night. “Where is the griffon?” he inquired.

The farmer jerked his head towards the couch. The officer nodded towards the medic, who began to make his way towards the sleeping griffon.

The officer let a deep breath go.
“I was going to bring this by you tomorrow” the officer started “but since I had to come here anyway, I figured I would give you this now.” The officer pulled a yellow envelope out of his satchel.

“I’m sorry Harvester.” He said formally
The farmer held the envelope in his hooves, eyes trying to burn it away.

“It’s ok captain, he’s been missing for just over a year now, we figured we’d get the news sooner or later.” He said, voice quaking with grief.

“I trust you know he died in service to his country, no better way for a stallion to pass.” The officer said, emotionless.

The farmer began to weep uncontrollably, eyes releasing torrents of salty tears. His spirit was as broken as a mirror dropped onto a stone floor, only reflecting back pieces of the observer. He threw the letter onto the ground and collapsed into a violently convulsing mess of tears, stress, and dirt. The wife avoided the letter like the plague, only looking to confirm her suspicions before throwing herself onto the floor beside her husband.

The medic returned to the side of the officer, standing uncomfortably close as to be heard over the couple’s anguished wailing.

“It’s nothing serious, Captain. Her wings are broken and she’s pretty scratched up, but there aren’t any major internal injuries that I can see. Gonna hurt to high hell to set those bones, though.”

“Good.” The officer replied. “Get her into a stretcher and we’ll take her to the infirmary back at base.”

“Yes sir.” The medic left the house to get the stretcher.

The officer returned his gaze to the grieving couple
“As soon as the war concludes, your family will have access to all the benefits your son’s service entitles you to.”

“We know Captain.” The farmer’s wife said looking up from the now tear-stained letter.

“Then I have no further business here, I hope you both have a pleasant night.”

The officer shut the door quite loudly on his way out, re-boarding the medical carriage now with the unconscious griffon face down on a stretcher. The farmer and his wife cried themselves to sleep that night, eventually giving in to the demands of their physically and emotionally drained bodies. They knew they had two things to prepare themselves for in the morning, telling their little colt the news about his brother, and packing the next shipment of hay for the war effort.

The officer was tired, pissed, and his butt hurt. He was getting ready for bed, pajamas on and teeth brushed, when the phone rang with the farming couple’s request for a medic. Couldn’t they have waited until morning? It was only some broken bones for Celestia’s sake. He glared at the now dark farmhouse, which was disappearing into the gossamer black of the night. The medic noticed his officer’s glum complexion.

“Something wrong Captain?” the medic asked

“Damn right something’s wrong!” the officer shot back “We’re out here in the middle of nowhere at some ungodly hour, taking care of some prick who couldn’t hold their liquor!”

“With all due respect, sir.” The medic quietly said. “Bones, especially hollow ones found in wings, need to be set almost immediately. We should be glad those farmers called us.”

The officer was noticeably taken aback by the medic’s response, and a long silence followed. The only sounds were the crickets chirping and cobblestones clanking against the wheels of the wagon.

“We should check that bag.” The medic stated to his officer

“Pardon?”

“We should check the bag, for ID. Maybe we can get an idea about family members to contact.”

“Oh. Right.” The officer used magic to pick up the satchel and haphazardly dumped the contents onto the floor of the wagon.

The scroll was the first thing to fall out; the metal ends heavily clanking against the wooden floor of the cart. Several grimy oat rations, and a tattered brown water pouch followed it.

“What the hell is this?” the officer said, still visibly frustrated at the events of the night.

“Dunno” the medic shrugged “Give it here, I’ll check it out”

As the officer handed the scroll over, a glint of light from their weak oil lamp reflected off of the gold leaf on the ends of the scroll. The medic unfurled the scroll and began reading. He recoiled with a sharp hiss; dropping the scroll to the floor and watching it ravel itself back up.

“What!? What the hell was that for!?” yelled the officer, who had nearly fallen out of the cart at the medic’s reaction.

“That damn thing is for Princess Celestia! We’re in deep shit captain, reading such an important message like that!” The medic was now breathing heavily, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.

“Calm down!” the officer shot back “What did it say?”

“I dunno! I didn’t read past the ‘An urgent message for Princess Celestia, ruler of the great land of Equestria.’”

“Damn….”

“Is everything alright sir?” the stallion pulling the cart inquired. “If you need me to stop for anything, you can just ask.”

“No! No!” the officer replied. “Just get us back to base as soon as possible!”

“Right sir!” the stallion replied, going at a slightly faster pace than before.

The cart was dead silent for the remainder of the ride. The driver blindly followed the road, as the feeble oil lamp mounted to the cart could only penetrate a few meters into the night's inky blackness. The silvery moon was well above them, past midnight. As the cart crested a hill, the base’s watch fires could be seen casting a yellowish glow. The cart passed through the hastily made barricade without difficulty, and came towards the brightly lit courtyard. Despite the late hour, soldiers were bustling about in a sporadic fashion.

As the cart ground to a halt, the officer signaled for several ponies to come over. “We’ve got an injured griffon, take her to the infirmary!”

Like a swarm, six ponies picked up the stretcher and began bearing it over to the large domed tent that housed the base’s sick and wounded. The officer placed the satchel on the end of the stretcher and began to walk away. He would take care of that in the morning. He didn’t want to deal with high-level intelligence that late at night. Four delirious doctors joined the crowd, clearly miffed at their good night’s sleep being interrupted.

The infirmary was almost empty, it’s only occupant being a soldier sleeping off a nasty cold that couldn’t be trusted to quarantine itself. Many of the leading officers at the base debated the usefulness of an infirmary, especially with their location being so far away from the front. The infirmary’s newest patient was laid on a cot, and the doctors got to work. It took around an hour to get the griffon’s wings set properly.

“We’re lucky she’s unconscious.” One doctor remarked to his colleague

“Why’s that?”

“The cost of the anesthetic would bankrupt Equestria.” he chuckled

The other doctor took a more somber tone
“Basically anything is gonna bankrupt Equestria, especially with this war on.”

The griffon’s wings were casted and bandaged, and she was left in the stretcher on her cot. The doctors dispersed, eagerly wanting to get back to bed. The satchel and its contents were placed on the nightstand next to the cot, no-one taking notice of it. The griffon slept; content to have the rest. For now, her body sunk into the springy cot, eyes clamped shut in sweet, dreamless sleep.