Hearth's Warming Traditions
Gallus and Silverstream
Admiral Biscuit
For Miller Minus—Jinglemas 2019
Most of the year, there wasn’t much of a line in front of the mail hut, and Silverstream could check her mailbox, pick up any packages she might have from the counterpony, and then be on her way.
Around Hearth’s Warming, things got crowded. Getting to her personal pigeonhole wasn’t much more difficult, especially since she—like about a third of the students—could fly over the crowd.
Most of the year, getting a yellow slip of paper in her mailbox indicating that she had a package was good news, but this time of year it meant waiting in line with all the other students. Not that she minded too much; getting a package was fun, and it might be filled with something she could share with her friends. Sandbar had gotten several packages of cookies from his family and shared them around.
Silverstream clutched the paper in her talon and flew around to the end of the line, then endured the wait like every other student, her anticipation rising each time the line inched forward.
•••
Gallus also flew directly to his mailbox, and pulled the door open. He wasn’t expecting there to be anything, because there rarely was. Campus mail, sometimes; fliers about events he wasn’t particularly interested in. His friends got letters from home and although he never expected to get one himself, he still hoped each and every time he opened his box.
All around him, ponies clustered, pulling forth letters and cards with mouth or corona, and now that Hearth’s Warming was practically on them, they got postcards and folding cards, too.
At this point, it was as much a ritual as anything else.
There were two letters in his box. One, he could tell just by the envelope, was standard campus mail. He glanced around; other ponies had already opened theirs and from a quick glance he got a gist of what his would say. Have a happy holiday, enjoy your time off with your family, and we look forward to seeing you back next semester.
The other . . . it was the same size as the greeting card envelopes, didn’t have a stamp, and carried a Friendship School return address. Box 831, as if he knew who that was.
Gallus hooked a talon along the flap and slit it open, then gently pulled out the card.
On the front, a woodcut of hippogriffs soaring around Mt. Aris. “Three Days of Freedom Celebration.”
He folded it open. Inside, written in blue ink, Creatures with feathers flock together, Love, Silverstream.
Gallus snapped the card shut and tucked it back into the envelope, then took flight back to his dormitory.
•••
Upon receiving a package, most of Silverstream’s friends would at least wait until they got back to their room to open it.
Silverstream wasn’t a patient hippogriff. She tore it open in the hallway, eager to see what was inside. Waiting until she was in the hallway was more than her usual amount of restraint, but today the mail room was crowded with students and she didn’t want to get in anypony’s way.
“Kelp fritters?” She pulled the paper package out. “Awesome!”
There was a card, too, from Terramar, to go with the fritters. She zipped to a quieter section of hallway to read it, then once she’d caught up on the latest news from Seaquestria, she stuffed everything back in the box. Back in the dorm, everyone was decorating for Hearth’s Warming, and she didn’t want to miss a minute of it—she loved decorating.
•••
“Last year we all talked about our different holiday traditions,” Sandbar said. “And I was thinking this year, instead of just having a traditional Hearth’s Warming tree, we could combine all of our traditions, since we’re all going to be celebrating together.”
Smolder crossed her arms. “Did Princess Twilight put you up to this?”
“No. I thought of it on my own.”
“Sure you did,” Gallus muttered under his breath.
“Yes! Yona will bring things to smash.”
“I love smashing things! And after we smash things, we’ll sing a windsong!” SIlverstream flapped her wings. “And Smolder can tell a story—”
“We can all tell a story, and then decide which is best,” Ocellus offered. “For cookies instead of gems, if we want to have a prize.”
“And we could all make Hearth’s Warming dolls.”
“Yeah! That would be fun! I’ve never made a doll before!”
“They look easy, but they’re not.”
As the five kept talking and planning, Gallus slunk to the corner of the room and sunk down into a couch. What tradition did he have to offer?
•••
“Gallus?”
When the griffon hadn’t shown up for dinner, Silverstream went hunting. She hadn’t told the others; she suspected he’d be up in the air somewhere, and besides, the two of them had the closest bond.
She swooped to a landing on his cloud, shifting around to find her balance before finally just folding her wings in and dropping unceremoniously beside him. Clouds were funny things, like sea currents but more temperamental, and she still hadn’t entirely gotten the hang of them.
“You’re still thinking about Hearth’s Warming, aren’t you?”
He nodded, but didn’t turn in her direction.
“Are you worried about picking a griffon tradition to share? You could, um . . . I guess complaining about bad food isn’t exactly festive.”
He nodded again.
“There was a lot we didn’t have under the sea, either. Like seasons. We didn’t have those. Sometimes days were longer and sometimes they were shorter; sometimes we could feel that the waves far above were angrier than other times, but we were locked away, isolated. There’s so much of the world to see, and none of us knew! It’s like I was wearing blinders most of my life, while you were soaring in the clouds.”
“Sure,” Gallus sneered. “But you had friends, and a family that was close to you. I didn’t. I was always trying to impress, to be a proper griffon, to take my place as one of the rightful kings of the sky. We all thought ponies were weak for having all their celebrations, festivals where they’d gather together and reassure each other that they weren’t weak, and we knew—we thought we knew that we didn’t have to do that, that we had our own strength, each one of us.” He took a deep breath. “That we didn’t need togetherness. You heard Ocellus, changelings didn’t even bother trying to learn to infiltrate griffons. We had no love to suck.”
“Neither did dragons,” Silverstream said brightly. “She’s said that, too.”
“Yeah, I guess. But that’s because adult dragons are big and scary. I wouldn’t want to pretend to be one. Can changelings even stretch themselves out that big?”
“We should ask her.”
“Maybe a stack of changelings, all standing on each other’s backs, and they all transform at once into one giant changeling dragon.” Gallus lifted his head and rubbed his beak against Silverstream’s cheek.
She purred in contentment, then: “You’re not going to try and sabotage this year’s Hearth Warming tree, are you?”
“I could say it’s a griffon tradition,” he mused. “Yaks smash things for Snilldar Fest. So why not goo the tree?”
“If you want to spend time with us, you just have to ask. We all like being your friend.” She leaned in and tugged at his feathers with her beak.
Gallus pushed her back. “Asking is a sign of weakness.”
“It isn’t. Grooming is easier with a friend. Lots of things are better with friends.”
“Wait, what if that’s how the tradition got started? See, a griffon would never confess that he or she wanted another griffon’s attention or companionship, so it became traditional to goop up the tree so that everybody would be punished by having to stay together.”
Silverstream bopped him on the head. “That’s dumb and you know it.”
“No, it isn’t. It makes sense; everygriff would be complaining about how they don’t want to be cooped up together. Besides, traditions have to start somewhere, don’t they? Remember in the pageant how all three tribes were fighting and then the Wendigos came and they all had to work together and that’s how their Hearth’s Warming traditions started?”
Silverstream frowned. “I don’t think they were planning on starting a holiday tradition when they did that, they were just trying to survive. Like when we went under the sea so we’d be safe from the Storm King. We weren’t planning on . . . on staying there forever. It was just going to be for a while, until he was gone.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t mean to start a tradition by gooping the tree last year, but that’s no reason that I can’t do it again this year. That’s how traditions get started. You do it twice.”
“You should ask a Twilight or Starlight for permission first. Making a mess and ruining the tree and getting in trouble for it isn’t a good tradition.”
“I won’t make a mess or break the tree this time, I promise. Cross my heart, hope to fly—”
“Stick an urchin on your eye.” Silverstream finished. “Are you hungry? I’m sure dinner’s finished by now.”
Gallus shrugged. “Kinda.”
“If you want something to eat, I’ve got kelp fritters back in my room. Terramar sent them for me, but I’ll share them with you.”
“Kelp fritters? I’ve never had those. What do they taste like?”
Silverstream shrugged. “Kelpy. And frittery. There’s lots of butter.”
“Sure.” Gallus grinned. “Why not?”
•••
“Well, another failure.” Gallus pushed the paper strips off the table. “I thought that would work, too.”
“It doesn’t look bad.” Silverstream picked up the paper and examined it. “It might drape better if you cut the paper longer and thinner—”
“How am I going to cut the paper longer? It’s as long as it is; it can’t be made longer.”
Silverstream rolled her eyes and rotated a fresh sheet of paper on the desk a quarter turn.
“Oh.”
“Let me try one, too.” She took hold of a pair of scissors and carefully worked her way up the sheet. “Pony scissors are so weird.”
“That’s coming from the girl who reads up on plumbing.”
“Living underwater, we didn’t really need it.”
“How did—you know what, never mind.” Gallus picked up another sheet of colored paper and turned it in his talons. “What if I tried folding it in half and then cutting it? That would give it a bit of a spine.”
“I wish I’d thought of that. This piece is getting out of control.”
“It’s looking good,” he encouraged. “We’re experimenting, it’s okay if it doesn’t work the first time.”
“You’re right.” Silverstream finished up the paper and then laid it over a fern—the closest substitute they had in the room to a proper Hearth’s Warming tree. “It doesn’t look bad.”
“If you spread out the strips,” Gallus suggested. “So they look like they’re dripping.”
“It’s too floppy.”
“Let me see how this works. You were right, this paper has potential, and it’s easier to work with than fabric.” He paused in his snipping and looked up. Silverstream wasn’t looking at his work; she was eyeing his tin of fish sticks.
Gallus grinned. “You can have one. Just because you gave me a kelp fritter last night.”
“Thanks!” She snatched one up and nibbled on the end. “Seven fish for the price of one!”
“A lot of fish but not a lot of money,” Gallus finished.
“You’ve heard their jingle, too?”
“Of course I have.” Gallus snickered. “I love how Sandbar gets green . . . greener every time he hears it.” He finished making his cuts and held up his work. “This looks good.”
“Let’s see.” Silverstream licked her talon clean and then picked her attempt off the fern. Once Gallus placed his latest lametta on the plant, the two stepped back to look at it. “The fold was a good idea.”
“It needs more sparkle, though. It’s too dull.” He poked at it thoughtfully. “What about gluing glitter to it? Does the school have any?”
“I don’t know, but Rarity’s little sister has lots.”
•••
“Other creatures not as strong as yak, not smash as well as yak,” Yona explained. “So Yona use thinner wood, cardboard, paper for Snilldar Fest. And other things that break, too.”
“Glass?”
“Some glass.”
Gallus shrugged. “At least if I’m getting stitches in the hospital for Hearth’s Warming, the nurses will be some company.”
“And you can complain about the hospital food!” Silverstream said. “I wonder if it’s really as bad as everycreature says?”
“Trust me, it is.”
“You could throw it,” Sandbar suggested. “Instead of stomping on it or running into it.”
“Yes, throwing is also smashing,” Yona agreed. “Stomping, charging, kicking, throwing, Yona says is all smashing.”
“I can’t wait to try it out.” Sandbar turned to Gallus. “You two spent a lot of time working together. What did you come up with?”
“Fish sticks!”
“What?”
He proudly held up the box. “They’re seven fish for the price of one! A lot of fish, but not a lot of money.”
“Ponies don’t . . . I can’t—”
“Ooh, me, I want one!” Silverstream fly-hopped off the couch and landed next to Gallus.
“I’ll have one, too,” Smolder said. “I’m not real big on fish, but if it’s a holiday tradition for griffons. . . “
Gallus gave the two girls a fish stick, then turned to Ocellus and Yona, who were both still sitting on a couch. “Either of you want to try one?”
The two shared a look, then Ocellus shrugged. “I can eat one, and Yona can taste a bit of mine if she wants.”
“Yaks sometimes eat dried fish for energy in winter.”
Sandbar’s ears drooped. “I’m sorry if it’s a tradition for griffons, but I don’t think I should.”
“Relax, dude. It isn’t fish sticks. I just had some and wanted to share.” Gallus rested a talon on his withers. “Remember last year how I was so worried about being alone for Hearth’s Warming that I sabotaged the Fire of Friendship and gooped the tree?
“You all know we griffons don’t really have any kind of Hearth’s Warming celebration, so Silverstream and I were talking, and I decided that I’d make that the griffon tradition. Only, instead of putting out the Fire of Friendship and making a mess, I’d do something symbolic, like your Hearth’s Warming Doll.” He reached into the box and pulled a strand of lametta out. “What do you think?”
“It’s so glittery—what is that on the paper?” Smolder leaned forward.
“Iolite dust,” Gallus said. “Or Gotham rock, as some ponies call it.”
Smolder licked her lips. “It looks tasty.”
“I thought you’d say that,” Gallus said. “And I have a whole crystal just for you as a present, if you promise not to snack on my purple lametta.”
“I promise.”
•••
It was well past midnight, and the six friends were still clustered together in the common room. In the flickering candlelight and glow from the Fire of Friendship, it almost looked alive.
The Snilldar Fest structure Yona had built had been throughout smashed and the wreckage carefully swept up. “Carols” had been sung, and five new Hearth’s Warming dolls adorned the mantle. The Feast of Fire stories had all been told, and the last notes of the windsong still hung over the room, haunting yet hopeful.
Gallus broke the silence. “Hey, Ocellus, are you feeding on our love right now?”
The changeling blushed. “Maybe. Just a little bit.”
“I don’t mind sharing mine,” Smolder said. “Not after eating that iolite.” She wrapped an arm around Ocellus and pulled the changeling into a tight embrace.
“Getting a whole crystal for you was Silverstream’s idea.”
“You just don’t want to admit that you’ve got a big enough heart to share,” Silverstream said. She leaned in close to the griffon and rustled the feathers on his crest.
Author's Note
Many thanks to Aquaman for last-minute editing!
