High off the ground, they soar with a grace to rival the valkyries themselves, so effortless that it seems as natural to them as hopping to a hare, or swimming to a fish. And clad in the armour and colours of the jarl’s household, they appear fit for any situation — any combatant that tangled with them would be met with claw and spear and shield alike, and a lifetime of training in how to use them.
Currently, they fly in formation as part of an exercise — war games to hone the senses, keep them as sharp as their blades, beaks and talons, ready for any threat, anywhere, anytime.
They are, undoubtedly, the finest warriors I’ve ever seen. It would be an honour to join their ranks and fight alongside them, making a name for myself like the heroes of old: Gautvin the Thunderer, who tamed a roc by ambushing it inside a coastal tempest; Gertrud Earth-shaker, who single-handedly defeated a marauding band of arimaspi giants; Sure-footed Gunvald, who led the defence against bandits and feral tribes to help form the first true kingdom in Griffonia.
Great deeds done by great people, huscarls one and all, whose names echo through the story halls and history books even now, told by the glow of a hearth when the light of the world had long since faded.
And I’d never get to be one.
I let out a sigh, lowering my gaze as I pluck at the grass beneath me. I often came to this cliff’s edge when I was younger, and I’d sit and watch them drill and practice in the airspace of the valley below, dreaming of the day I’d be old enough to enlist, and hopefully pass their trials. Then I’d don the helm, the mail, the axe… and I’d not only make the jarl proud, but my family as well, Father most of all.
But in the end, I guess that’s all they ever were: dreams. And he always says how I have my head stuck in the clouds too much.
But when you’re stuck on the ground, what else can you think about?
“Well I’ll be…”
I quirk an eyebrow and look to the right.
A foreigner — a pony — strolls in my direction. The town around me and this valley was founded before urban planning had been invented, so it’s difficult to say where she’s coming from, but I know that she arrived yesterday morning at the break of dawn. The small airship she rode in on caused quite a stir, gathering a crowd when it came to rest just outside the walls, and I’ll admit that its simplistic, sleek design caught my interest, as did the propellers on either side.
But whatever fascination I had was lost when I heard the pilot was a pegasus; she didn’t need the fancy get-up when her wings served her just as well. As far as I was concerned, she’d just come here to turn a few heads, and maybe flaunt her wealth if she’s the wealthy type.
But now she’s rocking up and slowing to a halt a comfortable distance away from me, her attention fixed on the training huscarls, watching them was a fascinated glint in her eyes and a soft, open-mouthed smile. “And here I was thinking I’d never get to see you griffons in action.”
My brow remains high as I question, “You’re not talking to me, are you?”
She idly shakes her head, swaying the dangling flaps of her aviator’s cap. “Thinking out loud. You know how it goes — some ponies just can’t keep their thoughts to themselves.”
I linger on her, then return to the mock battle and let go of the grass held in a fist, and the blades are carried away in a gentle breeze. “People,” I mutter to myself, correcting her for nobody’s sake but my own.
None the wiser and unphased, she sits on her haunches and fluffs her wings at her sides, wrapping the scarf around her neck a little tighter. “I’ve spent the past month here in the GK, always hoping to see what you lot look like fully armed and armoured… but everywhere I’ve gone to, they’ve stopped doing these sorts of things.”
I doubt that. Unlike Equestria, from what I’ve heard about the place, the Griffon Kingdoms take pride in their martial history, and pride isn’t easily forgotten. More probably, whichever villages, towns and cities she stopped in simply weren’t doing any exercises on the day; just because some people have elected to be warriors doesn’t mean they spend every second of every day sparring.
“Maybe that’s what happens when there are no more wars to fight,” she says after a long pause, and it almost sounds… sad.
My brows crease in sense of confusion, and I peer at her again from the corner of my eye. “Shouldn’t you be happy, then?”
She turns to me curiously. “What do you mean?”
I pause, then shrug. “I just thought Equestria was all about peace and harmony.” I limply wave a clawed hand for added effect. “You know… friendship is magic, and all that stuff.”
“Oh, I am.” She nods, her smile widening. “The less conflict there is in the world, the better. And believe me, I’ve seen my fair share of conflicts.”
None like an actual mêlée, I reckon, but that doesn’t answer the original question. “So then, why do you make it sound like a bad thing? Isn’t that what you want — a happily ever after?”
She blinks sedately, then lowers her gaze and puckers her lips, thinking, before she’s drawn back to the fray at the sound of a sword striking a shield, and both attacker and defender letting out a triumphant cry. “I guess,” she replies, now with a touch of sobriety. “It’s just… a shame, when some things come to an end.”
Again, I linger on her, then lower my gaze as well, feeling a solitary wing tuck in against my side, and a phantom limb try to do the same.
“I mean, I don’t want this to go away,” she continues, gesturing to the huscarls and their exercises with an idle hoof, “because this is part of who you are, and it isn’t hurting anypony. And I came here to experience a culture I’d never fully appreciate if I stayed on the outside looking in. But… if fading traditions are a sign of the world becoming a better place…”
“Conflict defines us,” I quietly interject, if only for my own sake, so I feel like I have something to contribute.
She looks at me again. “Us?”
“People. In general.” I give another, slower shrug. “Sometimes it makes us. Sometimes it breaks us.”
She pauses. “And which are you?”
“Neither.”
Silence.
…I said the wrong thing, didn’t I? Got too poetic for my own good and tried to say something smart, when really it’s nothing more than meaningless drivel.
Maybe there is a future for me yet, as a bard — a wandering troubadour travelling from place to place, singing praises only of others, never making a name for himself. Doomed to be relegated to a footnote, if anything.
“Never mind,” I mumble, shaking my head, then stand and begin walking off. To where, I don’t know. “I should probably get going anyway.”
“Actually… I think I understand you just fine.”
And then I stop.
And then I look over my shoulder.
She offers me a small, soft, genuinely sympathetic smirk, then unfurls her wings. “You see these bad boys?” She nods to them as they bend and flex. “They’re useless too.”
My brows furrow, focus shifting from her to them, then back to her. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t fly either.” She shrugs and huffs a quiet laugh, her attention slowly drifting across the horizon. “Tried and tried — even had my sister give me some private lessons — but… nothing. For about thirty years now, practically my whole life, I’ve lived on the ground.”
I watch her closely. Blankly.
Then she returns to me, and with my left side now facing her, she’d have to be blind not to notice the bandaged stub. “I know what it’s like, not being able to do what others can.”
“Did you have it taken away from you?”
“No.” She coolly shakes her head. “But then you’d have to ask yourself which is worse, wouldn’t you? To be robbed of it, or have never had it to begin with.”
I linger on her, then look away, a troubled frown forming as a tiny knot gathers in my chest.
“They say all good things must come to an end,” she shrugs, “but honestly… I don’t think so.”
And then I quirk another eyebrow and peer at her once more.
“Must they? No. It just happens, and unfortunately… you can’t always control that.” She stands up and turns, walking toward me with an easy stride. “But what you can control is how you react, and it’s important that you never let it keep you down.”
My brow lowers into the troubled frown again. “Easier said than done,” I murmur. “I don’t suppose your family ever judges you, coming from a land of love and tolerance.”
“Surely you have some other skills.”
“None they’d appreciate.”
“Then that’s their mistake.” She comes to a halt within foreleg’s reach. “Griffons and pegasi aren’t supposed to fly — we just can, because we’re born with wings. But if they’re judging you solely on that ability, then… I’m sorry to say, but that sounds pretty narrow-minded to me.”
“It’s all we know.” My gaze wanders back to the valley, and the sound of clashing iron and steel. “It’s how we survived when there were wars to fight.”
“But there aren’t any more, are there?”
My attention shifts from the valley to her, and her lavender eyes. I don’t know if I should say something or remain quiet, but my silence speaks for itself.
“Change isn’t always good, but it isn’t always bad either,” she intones, glancing at the town around us and its wood, thatch and stone-based houses. “What matters is that you learn what you can from it, and try to make the most of it. And sometimes, that means looking to new horizons.”
I feel a mute pang in my core and wince very slightly. “Are you saying I should leave my home?”
She shakes her head again, just as calmly as before, but her smile shrinks. “I’m saying you should keep an open mind. The world is absolutely full of opportunities, you just need to know where to look, and then have the guts to see them through.”
I pause, my expression relaxing to something less disparaging. And then, for the first time since meeting her, and for the first time today, I smirk as a short, quiet huff escapesthrough my nares. “And you’d be an expert on the matter, would you?”
And in an instant, her demeanour brightens, and she beams a wide, genuine grin. “Are you kidding? I’m all about guts! I wouldn’t be out here exploring if I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it. And besides, my sister and her friends are pretty awesome ponies, so I have a standard to meet at the very least.”
My eyebrow quirks yet again. “You feel… obliged?”
“Challenged, more like.” Her grin lessens, but doesn’t completely fade, and she casts her eyes toward the town once more. “I don’t think I’ll be making a name for myself like they did, much less saving the Earth from eternal doom, but I’d like to have a little adventure of my own. Journey to distant lands, meet new creatures… enjoy myself.”
I follow her gaze, part of me hoping to see something new and fascinating.
It’s still just regular old Gunnarsholt.
“I’d have taken my friends too, but… they have their own lives to live, and families to raise.”
“Not you?”
“Nah.” She shakes her head nonchalantly, then blows a small, reflective sigh. “One day, maybe, but for now, I remain a free spirit. Although, who’s to say? Perhaps I’ll find that special somepony out here, on the borders of the known world.”
I huff another quiet laugh. “Not many ponies in Griffonia.”
“Yeah, well…” she chuckles, returning to me with narrowed eyes and a smirk of her own, “good thing I don’t discriminate.”
I blink hard, and whatever smile I was wearing quickly falters.
And then she giggles, covering her mouth as she pulls back. “Oh my, you’re an easy one, aren’t you?”
I glance away, then turn my head completely before things get any more awkward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” she says, waving a hoof in good-natured dismissal. “But anyway, as I said, I’m not really in the market for that kind of thing. A professional mechanic, on the other hoof…”
“What for?”
“Well, I’ll be heading out before the week is up, and this is my last stop before crossing the Shattered Mountains to Zebrica. I want to be sure my airship is in tip-top shape before tangoing with the rocs there, and the thunderbirds.”
I snap to her, eyes wide and beak open.
Her smirk widens in amusement. “What?”
“You’re… planning on fighting them off in an airship?”
“Fighting? No. But if I can outrun them… that’s more like it.”
I continue to gawk, stunned. And then I laugh. “Well, I mean… I can’t promise you the best service in the GK, but… I could take a look at your rig, maybe.”
Her brows rise. “You’re a mechanic?”
“Not quite.” I shrug, glancing away again. “I work with my father at a blacksmith’s forge, but… I’m just about the only one who tinkers with anything around these parts. Not that there’s a lot of automation here anyway.”
“…Huh.” Her thoughtful look becomes a charmed one. “Well then, how cool is that? Fancy stumbling across and striking up a friendship with the very griffon I need.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Friendship?”
“Oh.” She bows her head and takes a few small steps back, smiling bashfully as her ears lower. “Maybe that was a little presumptuous of me. We can stick with acquaintances, if you want.”
I hesitate, my expression fading to a blank stare.
Presumptuous? Yes. But much to my surprise… the concept itself doesn’t feel all that off-putting.
So, I smile in kind, but hopefully warmer, and more inviting. “Well, even acquaintances know each other’s names, don’t they?” I offer her an open palm. “I’m Giselmund.”
“Scootaloo,” she chirps, immediately perking up and accepting the offer with a hoof. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I nod, and we shake on it. “So, you want to show me to the airship now, or…?”
“In a bit.” She returns her hoof to the grass and gestures with her head to the valley, walking toward the cliff’s edge once more. “I want to keep watching this for now, while it lasts.”
I huff another amused laugh, but follow and sit by her side once she takes a seat on her haunches. “You really don’t want it to end, do you?”
“Of course not,” she replies happily. “Huscarls are awesome. I mean, not as awesome as my sister, but… yeah, still pretty cool. From a respectable distance.”
“Even then, you aren’t safe.”
Absently, she nods, watching with interest as one of the warriors disarms another, only to be knocked away by a blow from a shield, and the onlookers cheer their approval.
A silence settles between us. The comfortable sort, where even though I don’t know exactly what she’s thinking, I’m still fairly certain that I’m in good company. And I’m not entirely sure what has spurred that kind of feeling; in my experience, it’s never been this easy to make such a supposedly instantaneous and seemingly quite natural connection — from an outsider, no less.
Maybe that’s how ponies are, so innately forthcoming, endearingly charismatic.
Or maybe it’s just her.
“How did it happen, if you don’t mind me asking?” she queries after a while, looking to me, and then glancing down at my back. “You know…”
I follow her gaze to the stub, then linger on it, then finally let another quiet sigh loose and return to the series of aerial duels taking place above the green. “I was stupid,” I reply, shaking my head and shrugging with a subdued sense of disappointment. “Overeager. Flew through a storm, got blown away by a squall and… that was that.”
She waits patiently.
“I tried being a hero, but I was just a fool. And now I’ve paid the price.”
Slowly nodding in thought, she returns to the battle with a look of contemplation. “I have a few stories like that.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Stories?”
“Yeah, stories. From my friends and family.” She hesitates, then bobs her head from side to side. “Granted, they’re not all as… tragic as yours, I guess, but… you know. I could share some if you’d like. And if you have the time.”
I pause.
I stare.
I blink.
And then I smile.
“Yeah,” I say wistfully, gently nodding to myself. “I think I’d like that.”
