Gunny crept through the tall grass, keeping low to the ground, his wings folded tightly against his sides. Long hard years as a mercenary sharpened every predatory instinct he has, allowing him to essentially become invisible when stalking. Being nude except for his trusty stetson, unencumbered by armor and weapons, made him all the more sneaky.
Surviving a life in the Equestrian wasteland long enough to see peace restored to most of it was nice. Able to settle down in a safe place, no need to fight for survival and resources, not have to watch your back constantly. It was paradise.
It drove Gunny absolutely bonkers.
He needed to move, he needed action. Living in peace was boring. Gunny had an itch, an itch that could only be scratched by reverting to his most base instincts. He had to hunt.
Sometimes it was for food. Meat is still an essential part of a griffins diet, and living among ponies who, for the most part have no need to eat meat anymore, it was up to him to get it himself.
Today he hunted for fun. The prey he stalked was ten times more dangerous than any radhog or even radgator. Not even hellhounds put fear in his belly like what he stalked now, and the feeling was exhilarating. Today he hunted a pony.
Not just any pony. This pony knew him best, all his tricks and techniques, and she was more than smart enough to counter every one. Today would be the day though. No way he would lose this time. He would not be bested by his wife, again.
The wind shifted, a light breeze coming from the trees to his right. A smirk split his beak as he caught her scent. Machine oil and apples. He checked himself, his body immediately wanted to turn and follow the scent, head for the orchard. The apples were not ready for harvest yet, but that still could explain the smell, and the machine oil could very well just be Rusty out tending the trees.
He waited patiently for more hints, catching the faint smell of ozone from Rusty's levitation talisman. Probably not her, or she could be hiding there to mask her scent.
This would be much easier if he could use his wings, but that's the one condition they settled on. No flying. His earth pony mare would be at an unfair disadvantage.
Not that having use of his wings helped him win at their games in the past. She always managed to get away or pin him somehow and come out on top.
He shook the thought of past failures away and focused his attention back on the trail he was following. The orchard could wait, he was positive she had come this way through the tall grass. She hid her tracks well, but there were signs Gunny could follow. A bent blade of grass, a slight indentation in the soil from the edge of her hoof. A single strand of blue hair from her tail… wait.
Gunny froze, looking closely at the ground surrounding the tail hair that was draped casually over a clump of scrub brush. He backed away in suspicion, sensing a trap, looking for a trip wire that he knew had to be there.
Only it wasn't.
He felt the tripwire stretch taught against the back of his leg and reacted in an instant, springing forward so fast that the net that launched over where he was standing only grazed his tail. He dove and rolled, digging his talons into the dirt and spinning around to face the trap.
That was close. He caught his breath as he inspected the net, fine stranding and lots of individual weights. That would've tangled him up good. Should have known to check behind him.
Gunny shook himself and moved on, following the trail and keeping an extra eye out for more traps.
Bookmark watched all of this unfold from just a few feet away. Gunny literally brushed against her ghillie suit as he moved away from the trap, following her false trail away. She bit down hard on her hoof to contain her laughter.
She waited a good ten minutes to give him distance before she decided to move. She followed silently along his trail, not having much trouble since she’s already laid it out for him. It amazed her that she could still lead him on with her false tracks. They had played this game together many times now, and her husband always seemed to fall for her tricks. She wondered at times whether he did it on purpose.
Since the day he had, quite literally, swept her off her hooves, Gunny had been a source of amusement for the sheltered mare. Growing up in the Steel Rangers and being sheltered from the outside world all those years, then suddenly finding all of that snached away, only to be replaced by a kind hearted outsider who went to every possible length to keep her safe. It was no wonder she’d fallen in love with him. They had been through so much together.
Bookie shook her head and focused on her task. Now was not the time to reminisce. She had prey to stalk. Gunny should be coming up on her second trap about now. She settled in to wait and see if he would fall for it or not. Sometimes he saw right through them, recognising the bait for what it was and either triggering the snare or just avoiding it all together.
After a few minutes of silence, and no loud boom of the smoke mine she had rigged, she assumed he had avoided it and moved on. She eased forward, stopping at the edge of the small clearing in the grass and looking closely at her surroundings for a concealed griffin.
Noticing nothing amiss, she stood up and stepped out. Inspecting the area, she didn't see any tracks at all. Maybe he didn't come this way? Could she have passed him and now he’s about to catch her? She looked around nervously and slipped back into hiding. If she got spotted then it was over. The stalk would become a chase, not that she was worried. He couldn’t catch her on the ground anyway.
She sat still for only a moment before turning and heading for the orchard. If she had to run, the clear ground around the trees would be better, and if Gunny hadn’t figured her tricks out yet, he would soon be there anyway. Her hooves carried her silently to the edge of the tall grass and the tree line.
She stopped and gave the orchard a once over. Looking for any movement or shadows that seemed out of place. Rusty, Gunny’s old robot, was floating along under the trees some distance off, checking them for fungus or something, she didn’t really care. He knew to ignore them and not interfere when they played their games.
Seeing nothing out of place, Bookie headed off to the right. Keeping to the edge of the grass, she headed up the slope to the top of a hill, hoping to get a look over the fields and see if she could spot her pursuer. Cresting the rise she took one more look around to make sure the coast was clear.
Dashing over to the nearest apple tree she wrapped her hooves around it and shimmied up into the branches, finding a perch that was clear of branches so she could look out over the tall grass below. She settled in to watch the patterns the wind made across the top of the grass. Like waves on the ocean, the light breeze bent the grass as it wafted across the field. It was only a matter of watching for a slight variation… there. A hundred yards off to her left, cutting across like the wake of a shark, heading for the trees. Now was her chance.
Gunny hit the edge of the grass and peeked out. Glancing left and right, he couldn't see any movement or ponies in the vicinity. He headed to his left, up a slight rise, skirting the edge of the grass and looking for hoof prints. It wasn’t long before he found them. Slight depressions heading into the orchard. Fresh too, she couldn’t be far.
Without stopping, Gunny went past the point where Bookmark had entered the orchard. Not giving any indication that he had seen her track, or was still seeing them. As fresh as they were, she was probably close and watching him. He didn’t want her to know he had her.
After moving down the hill for a good distance, well past the point she left the grass, he stopped and pretended to inspect something on the ground. He looked around a bit before turning and heading into the trees. All he had to do now was put some distance between himself and where he thought she was, then let his superior vision do the work of spotting her when she moved.
There were several trees at the top of the hill, and he assumed she was probably in one of them, and had seen him exit the grass and head across her backtrail. She was probably confused as to why he seemed to not notice that she had come that way, and trying to decide what trap he was laying.
He paused as a sound reached his ears, the slightest rustle of leaves from up on the hill. Could be the wind, but no more sound followed. He ducked behind a tree and peeked up at the trees on top of the hill. Spotting the slightest movement. A formless shadow dropping from low branches and disappearing on the ground below. She was on the move, time for a chase.
Up the hill he bounded, being as quiet as possible. Trying to keep the trees between him and his prey, and also watch to see what direction she was going. He made it to the base of the tree, and looked down the other side of the hill, assuming she would run that direction. There was nothing. No sound, no movement. He quickly checked the other directions, including the way he came, only to come up empty.
He glanced down at the dirt around the tree, immediately noticing the prints leading up to it, but nothing leading away. What he did see appeared to be a pile of leaves and grass, out of place. Against his better judgement he reached out a talon and grabbed some of the leaves. What he pulled back was a ghillie suit. Staring at it in confusion was all it took. Before his mind could even register what it was, Bookie was on him.
In a flash, the lasso was around his neck. He dropped the discarded camouflage and reached for the rope as he heard a soft thump behind him. The moment his talons slipped between the rope and his neck it drew tight, not so tight as to choke him but tight enough for what came next. With a snap the rope coiled around his forearms and chest, cinching tight and pinning his wings as well as his arms, bent at the elbow uncomfortably against his upper chest.
With a triumphant shout of “Gotcha!” Bookie dove on his back. Wrapping her hooves around his barrel. Gunny dropped his haunches, coiling his back legs to buck her off. He wasn’t done yet. With a powerful push, he tucked his head and flipped his back half over it, in an attempt to throw the pony on his back. But she suddenly wasn’t there.
The breath was knocked from his lungs as he landed hard on his back and it took him a second to realize what had happened. The delay was all it took, as Bookie used the rest of the rope to wrap his hind legs together and secure them to his already bound wings and arms. On his back, effectively hogtied, he was done.
Standing over him, his hat somehow on her head, Bookie looked down, her bright green eyes digging into his deep gold. “Are you evergoing to catch me, you old bird?” Not giving him a chance to reply, she caught his beak in her soft lips, pulling him into a deep and passionate kiss.
He lost again, but that was ok.
