“Happy Hearth’s Warming!”
Gallus glanced down the street and saw a bunch of ponies laughing and hugging each other on the porch of their house, exchanging gifts and greetings before finally making their way inside to enjoy the warmth of a fireplace and hot food.
Similar scenes played out in front of all the houses in Ponyville, only with minor variations on the number and tribe of ponies that made them up.
All smiling.
All celebrating.
Gallus flicked his tail and peeled his eyes away from all the happy faces.
He shivered, puffing up his coat and feathers as he ploughed through the thick layer of snow, towards the quieter side of town. He could’ve flown to avoid all the trouble, but his wings simply didn’t feel up to the task.
The lights on the east side of Ponyville were sparse and pretty dim, but he didn’t really need them to see his way around—not with the mostly cloudless sky overhead, filled with rivers of stars flowing around a forlorn moon that washed everything beneath it with a pale blue light.
If he squinted just right and tuned out the distant singing, he could almost see himself back on the icy streets of Griffonstone in winter, surrounded by crooked houses with rotting timber and mouldy thatch, black and filled with shadows. No screeching out of one’s wares, no roaring over cheats at dice; nothing but the grumblings of empty bellies and the scritch-scratch of claws on wood and stone, searching for rats and bugs…
Gallus shook his head to banish the memory. It belonged in the past.
Naturally, Grandpa Gruff hadn’t visited.
Not that Gallus really expected it of him or wanted him to, but a tiny part of him had kind of hoped that maybe he could’ve at the very least sent a letter asking if he could drop by, or just asking if he was doing okay in school. Gabby had sent him a Hearth’s Warming card, but she sent those to everyone, so that didn’t really count for much.
Berry Punch’s tavern was extra loud tonight.
Someone was belting out a very interesting rendition of Frosty the Snowmare, scratching just about every note in exactly the wrong way that made his ears twitch non-stop, whilst cheerful bellows and guffaws rang right through the thick timbers. A few mares and stallions were sitting on the hay bales outside, chatting up a storm as they nursed their steaming mugs.
He paused for a moment, wondering if he should quickly duck in and buy something to warm his belly – going out in the snow without even a scarf probably hadn’t been the smartest move – until he remembered that he’d left all of his bits safely hidden under the tiles beneath his dorm bed.
Well, so much for that idea.
He trudged on, leaving the voices and the lights behind as he reached the end street and crossed onto a well-worn dirt path leading to the apple orchards. Presently, said path was completely covered in snow, with only the tallest blades of grass poking through.
His eyes quickly adjusted to the ambient light, so he had little trouble navigating the curves and slopes of the path as it went around boulders, trees and ditches. Before long, Gallus found himself in a secluded clearing on the border of the Apples’ farmland, with only a few skeletal trees for company, separated from the uniform rows of apple saplings by a wooden fence.
There was, however, plenty of snow around.
Heaps of it, in fact.
More than enough to keep him entertained.
Gallus glanced around and sighed when he saw only one set of tracks in the snow.
Well, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.
He started by shoving heaps of snow into a great mound, which he packed tight and tamped down over and over until it felt almost like coarse ice. At first, it had the general shape of a snowmare or snowgriff, but somewhere along the way, he discovered that he’d begun shaping it into something that more closely resembled some eldritch sludge horror, like the one Headmare Starlight had accidentally summoned when she tried to teach them about the dangers of extradimensional communication.
The sludge monster had been awfully polite and compliant when asked to leave, though.
In any case, Gallus’ abominable snowmare seemed to have taken on a lumpy life of its own and completely overtaken his original designs for it.
Shrugging, he abandoned all pretence of giving it any symmetry and simply slapped on more snow onto it and shaped them into whatever kind of limb he fancied. Tentacles, misshapen arms and featherless wings took shape on the main heap, and he randomly stuck pebbles and rocks into it for its eyes. A nearby tree provided plenty of twigs and a few loose branches, which he stuck into the pile to give it horns and spines. One particularly long stick went into one of its stumpy arms, and it instantly reminded him of the training dummies he’d seen in lying around in Starlight’s secret store room.
Gallus stepped back to admire his work, and a short, sharp huff of breath escaped through his nares when he realised that the arrangement of stones on his snow monster’s body had given it a menacing expression, as if it was in the middle of unleashing a blood-curdling roar from its lopsided mouths. When combined with the long stick held in its arm pointing right at him, Gallus could almost feel his hackles rising in response to the feral challenge.
He snapped another stick of comparable length and straightness from a nearby tree, and after swinging it around for a bit to get the feel of its weight and balance, he padded over to the snow monster and struck a noble pose before it. Standing on three legs, he puffed out his chest, flared his wings and pointed his makeshift sword straight at it.
In his mind’s eye, the eldritch abomination reared up on its misshapen bottom and whipped its tentacles and warped limbs at him, the one griffon who dared to challenge it: the legendary King Garthur, wielder of Exgalibur and First Knight of the Round Table.
He ducked and weaved under crushing blows, dodged and rolled away from toothed limbs dripping with deadly venom, deflecting weaker strikes and lashes with his blade. He dove in to stab its bloated body and leapt back with a great sweep of his wings as its wounds spurted caustic ichor. He hacked off limbs and tentacles with mighty swings, and he parried its vicious club with skilful flourishes of his sword.
Then, for his finishing move, King Garthur leapt up high, casting a great shadow upon the abomination with his flared wings, sword held above head with both arms—
“Hi-yaah!”
—before he finally came crashing down with the force of a hurricane and split its grotesque head in half.
It was over.
The Dreaded Horror of Griffonstone was no more.
“Well, that wasn’t very fair.”
King Garthur blinked, and he was Gallus once again, standing in front of a snow monster with dozens of holes poked into its body, chunks of snow gouged from its limbs and a stick lodged in its chest after having cleaved its head in half, right down the middle.
He whipped around and saw the dark figure of a stallion leaning against the fence, painted with an ominous, gnarly pattern of black shadows by the tree’s naked branches overhead, watching him from a dozen paces away.
“Who’re you?” he called out.
The figure stepped out of the tree’s shadow, and Gallus quickly realised his mistake.
There weren’t many mares who could match or even beat stallions in stature, and this one in particular came in a very unmistakable shade of dark purple, with steely, teal eyes and a crest-like mane that would make a cockatoo jealous. The broken horn was a dead giveaway, too. And although she wasn’t wearing her customary armour, that plain black scarf and steaming mug she held did very little to dampen her air of authority.
His heart rate kicked up a notch as she approached him.
Tempest Shadow, the once disgraced commander of the Storm King’s army, now the personal bodyguard of Princess Twilight Sparkle. He’d never spoken to her directly, despite seeing her constantly shadowing Twilight whenever she returned to visit the school. Silverstream always kept her distance from the mare, and Gallus had never really felt the need to change her mind about that.
He involuntarily took a couple of steps back, then blinked again as he tried to remember her words. “What did you say to me?”
“I said that wasn’t a fair fight. You didn’t stand a chance.”
Gallus tilted his head. “Wait, don’t you mean the snow didn’t stand a chance?”
Tempest Shadow took a long, slow sip from her mug and then smirked at him. “Did I stutter?”
“I—but…” He snapped his beak shut, then frowned at her and continued, “That doesn’t make any sense. I mean, look at it. I’m pretty sure that counts as dead, even if it’s all pretend.”
Tempest chuckled. “It might be dead, but it sure as hell took your dignity down with it, Gallus.”
Gallus stared at her.
What the hay was she on about? Was she just trying to ruffle his feathers for no reason? He didn’t remember the Storm King having any animosity towards Griffonstone or griffons in general, so what was her problem? After a full ten seconds of staring, his brain still hadn’t come up with any answer, and neither had she seen fit to tell him why she was being kind of a jerk.
And also—
His eyes widened. “Wait, you know my name?”
“I know all the names of Twilight’s associates and underlings.”
Gallus frowned, wondering if he should ask which category she’d dumped him in, but decided that he probably didn’t want to know.
Instead, he glanced in the general direction of the Canterhorn and asked, “What are you even doing here? I thought Princess Twilight was spending this Hearth’s Warming in Canterlot.”
“She is.”
His frown deepened. “Then why—”
“I’ve been ordered to take the week off, and Ponyville’s citizens are a relatively tolerable lot.” Her eyes drifted down to her mug, which she then raised and wiggled in the air whilst inclining her head towards it. “Berry Punch makes decent drinks, too.”
“I… see.”
Tempest continued looking him like an old griff trying to decide whether something was worth haggling over. It made his feathers itch.
Gallus glanced around and shrugged. “You know what? It’s getting kind of late, and I’ve got chores to do tomorrow. I should go.”
He spread his wings and crouched, but he stopped just short of leaping into the air when a stick whipped into his field of view, aimed right at his heart as it hovered in a blue aura of crackling magic. It was longer and straighter than the one he’d used as a pretend-sword, and it looked like it had been freshly snapped from a tree, with its secondary twigs and branches cleanly sheared off.
He flicked his gaze to Tempest – she had a really good poker face – then looked back at the stick, which then wiggled in the air before him.
Tempest’s expression hadn’t changed.
Slowly, without taking his eyes off Tempest, Gallus folded his wings and gingerly took the stick from her magic. It might’ve been a trick of the light, but he could’ve sworn that the corners of her mouth curled up just a tiny bit when he accepted the stick.
But before he could figure out what that meant, Tempest downed the last of her mug’s contents, levitated it away and placed it on top of a fence post. Then, she turned back to face him, and another stick whipped up and out of the snow from behind her and interposed itself between his stick and her.
“Shall we?” she asked.
“What’re the rules?”
“Disarm me or hit me. The game ends when you accomplish either one, and I won’t teleport or use any shields.”
Gallus raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? No rules about not poking eyes out and stuff like that?”
As soon as the words had left his beak, he remembered the severe scar across her right eye, and a lump formed in his throat as he anticipated a look of disgust or a harsh word in reprisal. But nothing of the sort happened; if Tempest thought that he’d made a joke in poor taste, she didn’t show it.
“I know how to spar without injuring my opponents.” She smiled thinly. “As for you, if you do manage to poke my eye out, I’ll take full responsibility.”
“I… okay.” He wriggled his arm to loosen up his muscles, gave his stick a few experimental swings and pointed it at her with a nod. “Ready when you are.”
Tempest’s stick suddenly whizzed into a blur. He heard a loud clack as fiery pain erupted in his scaled fingers, and the next thing Gallus knew, he was clutching his hand and hissing whilst his stick lay in the snow about five paces away.
“You said you were ready,” Tempest drawled as she spun her stick in a lazy circle.
Gallus growled to himself and snatched his stick up from the snow. He then spread his three grounded legs a little farther apart and kept his wings half-cocked, ready to shift his balance on a moment’s notice. His fingers still smarted from getting the stick bashed right out of his grip, but he bulled through the pain and kept them tight around the solid wood.
“I am now,” he said.
Whack.
His stick went flying again.
On the third try, he kept his beak shut and held his stick closer instead of keeping it way out where she could easily knock it out of his grip. Tempest hummed, though whether in satisfaction or puzzlement, he couldn’t tell.
This time, she advanced on him before striking.
Gallus barely had enough time to backpedal and raise his stick to block the swing that would’ve smacked the left side of his head. The impact jarred his fingers and wrist, but he barely had enough time to even think about how close it’d come to hitting him before Tempest swung her stick around to hit him from the right side instead. He blocked that one, too, but just barely; taking the hit on the far end of his stick transferred an awful lot of force to his wrist. He couldn’t see himself keeping this up for long.
Tempest swung again, this time going for his left foreleg. He blocked that as well, and managed to readjust his grip a split-second before she jabbed at his neck.
Gallus cringed and swatted her stick from an angle, then blinked when he realised that he’d turned it away fairly easily.
From then on, he did his best to deflect her strikes rather than outright blocking them.
Tempest kept up the barrage at what felt like a very specific tempo.
Inhale. One step. Exhale. One strike.
Left, right, high, low.
Each step was steady and measured, calm and deliberate.
Even though each cycle gave him barely enough time to step back and deflect her attacks, Gallus found himself settling into the rhythm, feeling like he was dancing with Silverstream back at the school ball. No time to think. Just react.
The staccato of their weapons clacking against each other was oddly soothing, too.
At least, until his tail lashed against something hard, and his hind legs suddenly bumped into a cold and unyielding surface. He flailed his wings, but it was too late to stop his backwards momentum, and his paws didn’t have room to find purchase and brace. He stumbled, and Tempest whacked him on the shoulder just before he went down like a sack of potatoes.
“Ow!”
Tempest loomed over him. “Be mindful of your surroundings. Your opponents will use it against you.”
Gallus rubbed his shoulder and scowled at the remains of his snow monster, now mashed and trampled beyond recognition. “Got it.”
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his stick and got back up. He circled around her, making sure that he had the clearing to his back. The last think he needed was to get herded into the fence or a tree.
Tempest had that thin smile on her muzzle again. “You can walk. Now, let’s see if you can dance. And you’d better start trying to hit me soon, or we’ll be here all night.”
Their sticks clashed to a quicker rhythm than before, but this time, at least a third of them were his strokes instead hers. Gallus was pretty sure that she was deliberately leaving herself open to attack, but he wasn’t going to complain. It wasn’t as if it made much of a difference anyway; he still found himself mostly on the retreat.
At times, he was tempted to call her magic cheating, but she never used anything more complex than basic levitation, aside from idly fiddling with her stick in between rounds, twirling and spinning it whilst she waited for him to get up for another beating. Her reach never extended beyond what could’ve been done with a regular arm or foreleg, either.
On top of that, he noticed that the stick wasn’t quite as stable as before in her crackling magic. Loose sparks spurted and fizzled from her broken horn at irregular intervals, and the twitching on her cheeks and under her eyes betrayed her discomfort.
But even with that handicap, she still thrashed him.
“Keep a narrower profile. Open wings are easy targets!” she barked, jabbing her stick into his chest.
“Ow!”
Her stick thwacked into his ribs. “Don’t spin and leave your flank open to me!”
“Gah!”
She raked her stick across the underside of his wing. “Watch your footwork. You need to be in measure before committing to a swing. But don’t overextend, either!”
“Ouch! Did you—I think you broke my feathers!”
“I’ll break more if you aren’t quicker!”
“I’m trying!”
Again and again, in spite of his best efforts to keep an eye on his surroundings and obey her instructions, each round ended with him takings hits and landing none, usually with his butt in the snow.
“How long can you stand up on your hind legs?” she said after he’d gone down for the sixth time. “Perhaps Minotaur Stance will be more suited to you.”
Gallus tilted his head. “Wait, that’s a real thing? I thought it was made up for Daring Do!”
“You’d be surprised by the number of things those books manage to get right.”
“Huh. Okay.”
He slowly picked himself out of the snow and reared up onto his hind legs, wincing as he did so. His tail and wings instinctively stretched out to act as counterweights, putting an end to his wobbling. It felt weird to hold that posture, like he was going to topple over at any second, and his paws sank deeper into the snow than he would’ve liked, but after taking a couple of experimental steps, he found that he could twist and turn more much more quickly than when he was on all fours.
The difference was especially stark when he was carrying a weapon. Freeing up his left hand to help with holding the stick gave him a lot more control over it; he could adjust its angle, direction and momentum more quickly and with far less strain on his wrist.
“Hey, this is actually not bad,” he said as he gave it a few practice swings.
“Good. Show me.”
Gallus quickly realised that his newfound height and greater reach allowed him to keep Tempest at bay; she came at him less frequently, and even when she did, he had an easier time defending and then counterattacking. He nearly nailed her a few times, but she always managed to deflect or sidestep at the last split-second. Only once, he got lucky enough to clip the trailing end of her scarf, but that obviously didn’t count for much.
The rhythm had changed. There were longer pauses in between strikes, but when they did, their sticks clashed either with greater force or in rapid succession.
Tempest suddenly came at him with a low swing, sliding it past his badly-angled block. He yelped when it struck his shin, and he was quite sure that he’d heard his bone produce a hollow clack.
Clearly, all that extra mobility came at a price; he had to worry more about his exposed hind legs. Still, he found it a lot easier to hold his ground, or at least to sidestep and circle around her instead of constantly retreating.
“T’chaak!” he cried when she struck the leading edge of his wing.
“Again with the wings. Use them for balance, but angle them back so I can’t reach them. Same goes for your tail,” she said. Then, she raised an eyebrow and paused for a beat. “Also, are you aware that that’s the changeling word for—”
“I know what it means,” he growled, massaging his wing. “Ocellus told me. Who do you think we learnt it from?”
Tempest chuckled. “Just making sure.”
Gallus sighed and held his stick at the ready.
Whack.
“Ow!”
Thwack.
“Nngh!”
Tempest shook her head. “You’re telegraphing and over-swinging.”
“What does that even mean?” he cried in between gasps.
“Smaller movements; tighter swings and quicker thrusts. Conserve your energy. Keep me guessing until it’s too late!”
Gallus nodded.
His breath came out in foggy puffs as his heart hammered away in his chest. He could feel sweat slickening skin underneath his coat and feathers. His muscles burned in his thighs, arms and even his toes. Blood pounded in his ears and throbbed in all the spots where she’d hit him. And despite his best efforts to keep it steady, his stick constantly trembled in his two-handed grip.
He needed to get lucky real soon, before he collapsed.
Gritting his teeth, he feigned with a step to the left, raising his stick high on the right whilst his right paw went forward to bring him into striking range. Tempest raised her own weapon on her left, ready to deflect his incoming downward blow, but instead of bringing his weapon down, Gallus maintained its original momentum, angling it back and coming in low so that it was in position for an uppercut.
Time seemed to slow.
Tempest’s eyebrows rose when she realised what he was trying to do, but her stick was out of position, whilst Gallus was ready.
Grinning, he swung upwards with all his might just as his right paw went into the snow. But his grin turned into a grimace when a muscle in his right paw twinged with agony, sending a spasm up his leg. He stumbled, and his stick went flying out of his grip as he pitched forward into the snow.
Tempest managed to intercept it with the tip of her stick, but his accidental throw had put it into a spin, so it went right past her defence and smacked her across her right eye. The one with the scar.
“Balls!” she cried as she leapt back, squeezing her eye shut whilst she held up a foreleg to shield her face.
“Oh, pluck me, I’m so sorry!” Gallus winced as he scrambled back onto all fours, but he didn’t dare go any closer whilst she had her stick pointed at his face. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right. I did say I’ll take responsibility for it.”
Tempest stabbed her stick into the snow and slowly turned back to face him, blinking profusely. Her right eye was already bloodshot and tearing up, but that didn’t stop her from grinning at him and saying, “Well, shit. You got me after all.”
“Yeah, on accident.”
Sighing, he sat on his haunches and winced as he massaged his right paw. One toe was still trying to curl up, its tendon as taut as a guitar string.
Tempest scooped up a hoofful of snow and pressed it against her eye. “True, but results are results. Besides, you did—”
Gallus didn’t catch the rest of her words.
A sphere of light turquoise magic flashed into existence just a few paces away from them, and Headmare Starlight Glimmer popped into real space, creating a small crater in the snow. She was wearing a sweater and a floppy Hearth’s Warming hat, both of which were cyan in colour and embroidered with kite patterns in Professor Sunburst’s shades of orange and yellow.
She beamed when she spotted him. “Gallus! There you are. Caramel said he saw you heading this way. Maud’s having a party at her place, and I was wondering if you wanted to…”
Starlight’s voice trailed off as her eyes roved over his body, no doubt taking note of his panting, his sweaty coat, ruffled feathers and swelling bumps all over. Her gaze then flicked over to Tempest – who casually discarded her makeshift icepack – then to their battered sticks, along with all the grooves, depressions, streaks and holes that their flailing limbs had dug in the snow.
“Wait, what’s going on—were you two fighting?” A thick vein pulsed on her temple as she rounded on Tempest and shrieked, “Were you hitting my student?”
“No, no, it’s fine, Professor!” Gallus cried, waving his arms. “This isn’t what you think it is!”
Starlight frowned. “Oh? Then what happened?”
“I, uh…” He glanced around, then faced Starlight and said, “I walked into a tree.”
“A tree,” Starlight deadpanned.
He shrugged. “It was a very stealthy tree.”
Starlight narrowed her eyes and jabbed a hoof at Tempest. “And what about her?”
“Tree got a lucky hit on me as well.” Tempest gestured at the stick she’d planted in the snow. “Had to spend a whole hour teaching Gallus how to evade and deflect branches coming his way. He’s a fast learner.”
Starlight continued scowling. “Gallus, are you sure everything’s all right?”
“Yes, we’re good. There’d be blood everywhere if we weren’t.”
“I see… Just be careful, okay?” Her scowl softened to a worried frown. “You can find me, Trixie and Sunburst at Maud’s. If anything’s wrong, just yell and—”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Professor.” He gave her a thumbs-up and grinned. “I’ll be okay, really. I just don’t feel like hanging around crowds tonight.”
“I… okay.” Starlight sighed, then turned to Tempest and growled, “Twilight’s going to hear about this.”
Tempest nodded and gave her a wry smile. “Send her my regards.”
Starlight snorted, then vanished with a pop and a flash of light.
Gallus stared at the steaming crater left in the wake of her teleport, then flopped chest-first into the snow as if it was his bed, sighing as the cold powder sapped away the oppressive heat from his overworked body.
“I didn’t get you into trouble, did I?” he asked.
“No.” She loosened her scarf, then added, “But you will if you don’t get out of the snow. It’s really not the best way to cool down if you don’t intend to continue fighting.”
Gallus reluctantly extracted himself from the snow’s chilling embrace and quickly brushed off the melting crystals before they could soak into his fur and feathers.
Meanwhile, Tempest had retrieved her mug from the fence post and came plodding back to him. “Let’s get to Berry’s before you freeze solid. Come on.”
“Uh, I think I’ll just head back to the school dorm.”
“Suit yourself. But Berry’s is closer, and she’s got the drinks to warm you right up.”
Gallus frowned and raised a talon to object, then slowly lowered it. When compared to the prospect of spending Hearth’s Warming all alone in his room, with nothing to distract him from thoughts of his absent friends having a great time with their families, maybe hanging out with the former commander of the Storm King’s army wasn’t the worst idea. At the very least, she was bound to have some interesting stories, right?
“Are you buying?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. With any luck, his hopeful smile would be a little more on the charming side than the ‘Grandpa Gruff smelling a bargain he could wrangle from a weak-willed salesbird’ kind.
“Smart griff.” Tempest chuckled and turned to march back to town at a sedate pace.
Gallus frowned and shuffled after her. “I’m serious. I don’t have any bits on me right now.”
“You’re covered. Let’s go.”
“Nice!”
He plodded along, hugging himself with his wings and shivering whenever a breeze stole more warmth away from the damp patches in his fur. Flying straight to Berry’s probably would’ve been the smart thing to do, but the thought of leaving her behind, even temporarily, didn’t sit right with him. Tempest eventually took notice of his chattering teeth and wrapped her scarf around his neck without saying a word.
It helped with the shivering, but he had to try very hard not to think about how the scarf smelled faintly of grapes and strawberries.
The silence followed them all the way back to Berry Punch’s.
Most ponies took one look at Tempest’s bloodshot eye and gave her a very wide berth. Gallus also got a few stares and whispers behind his back, but he was otherwise free to follow in her wake without hindrance. The chatter and singing soon resumed, washing over him together with the blissfully warm air inside. All the tables were taken, so they had to sit up on the high stools right at the counter, which thankfully only had a couple of stallions sitting off to one side.
When Berry Punch came to take their orders, she only paused for a couple of seconds to take in their ruffled states before her muzzle twisted into a scandalous smile. “Hayseed, Tempest. Isn’t this guy a little young for you?”
“He’s a sparring partner.”
Berry’s eyes flicked to the scarf around Gallus’ neck. “Same question.”
Tempest placed her empty mug on the counter and slid it towards Berry. “Same answer. In the most boring context you can think of.”
“Scouting out new talent, then?” Berry took the mug and gave Gallus another once-over, humming appreciatively. “All right. What can I get you fine soldiers tonight?”
Before Gallus could open his beak, Tempest answered for him. “One buttered rum and one hot cocoa. My tab.”
“Got it. Be right back!”
As soon as Berry had left them, the silence somehow returned, despite the rich mixture of chatter, laughter and the clinking of earthenware on wooden tables surrounding them. He almost felt as if he was stuck with Tempest in one of Starlight’s noise-cancellation bubbles. She seemed quite content to sit there as if he didn’t exist, judging by the way she casually observed Berry mixing up their drinks. Either that, or she was mentally cataloguing all the wines they had on the wall rack. It was hard to tell.
He drummed his talons on the counter for a moment or two, then turned to her and said, “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but… why are you doing this?”
“Hmm?”
“At first I thought maybe you just wanted to kick my butt with a major reality check, but you were… actually teaching me, I think.” He rubbed a nascent bruise on his shoulder and grimaced, sucking a breath in through his nares. “Ouch. Anyway, you don’t just go around giving fighting lessons to random strangers in town, right?”
He scratched a talon on the counter, tracing a groove in the woodwork, before he looked her in the eyes and asked, “So… was Berry Punch right? Were you actually looking to, I dunno, recruit me for the army or something? Did you come all the way here just for that?”
Tempest chuckled. “No, I just happened to be in town when I saw that your friends had ditched you—”
“They did not ditch me,” Gallus huffed, feathers bristling slightly. “They’ve all got families to go home to, and they can’t stay here just to keep me company every single Hearth’s Warming. Well, Sandbar usually does because he lives here, but his family had out-of-town plans this year.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I see. And none of them invited you over?”
“They all did, but I can’t crash at their family reunions like that; I’ll stick out like a broken feather! It was awkward enough the last couple of times I tagged along.”
Tempest was silent for a moment. She averted her eyes and looked around instead, sweeping her gaze over the groups of smiling ponies at the tables.
Eventually, she looked back at him and nodded. “Fair enough. I’m familiar with the sentiment.”
“Familiar with what?” asked Berry Punch as she came trotting over with a tray of mugs balanced on her back. She set two mugs down onto the counter and pushed them to Tempest, then winked slyly at Gallus and said, “Boy, you really must be someone special. There are very few people whose company Miss Shadow over here is willing to tolerate for more than a few minutes, let alone buy a drink.”
Before either of them could answer, someone behind them hollered, “Yo, Berry! Another round over here, please!”
“Be right with you!” she cried, waving a hoof. Then, she turned to Gallus and Tempest and smiled ruefully. “Excuse me. Duty calls.”
Gallus stared as Berry Punch trotted off to one of the tables with the remaining mugs bouncing precariously on her back. He still needed a little more time to process her remark, but all of that had to be put on hold when a rich, buttery scent laced with mildly alcoholic fumes wafted into his nares.
Glancing down, he saw that Tempest had pushed one of the mugs right under his beak.
“Uh, I think you got our drinks mixed up. This isn’t hot cocoa,” he said after sniffing at it.
Tempest paused with her own steaming mug halfway to her lips, and then quirked an eyebrow at him. “I know. Is there a problem?”
“Well, this smells a little strong, and I’m still a few moons away from coming of age. Students aren’t allowed to drink until then.”
“My mistake. Here, let me fix that.”
Tempest thumped her mug onto the counter and then gripped both of their mugs with her blue, crackling magic. They slid over the wooden surface and swapped places, but just as Gallus stretched out his talons for the hot cocoa, they swapped places again. She then picked up her original mug and began sipping without a care in the world.
Gallus stared for a couple of seconds whilst his brain played catch-up. When it finally caught her drift, he cracked a grin and raised his mug to Tempest, and she clonked her own mug against his with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
The rum was quite hot, but not scalding. The first gulp filled his mouth with an explosion of flavours—sweet, buttery, salty and a slightly bitter edge, but mostly a pleasant burning sensation as the liquid went down his throat. The mild burning had little to do with the temperature, but it nevertheless provided quite a kick to the chill that had permeated his body.
He tugged at the scarf to loosen it as the warmth spread rapidly from his chest and belly, until it reached the tip of his tail and toes. Even his cramped and pulled muscles seemed to loosen up a little. He then sagged against the counter and hummed appreciatively.
“Oh yeah, that hit the spot right there,” he murmured. “Thanks, uh… Miss—”
“Tempest is fine.”
Gallus nodded. “Thanks, Tempest.”
“Cheers.”
They knocked their mugs together again and drank.
The warmth of the moment didn’t quite last, though. Tempest went back to crowd-watching, though Gallus did notice her eyes darting his way every now and then whilst he nursed his drink, and he could’ve sworn that she had a couple of false starts, as if she wanted to ask him something but changed her mind just before opening her mouth.
He decided to give her a little more time. Professor Fluttershy had taught that it was usually better to give people space to breathe and open up before encouraging them directly.
A couple of minutes later, that lesson paid off.
“Griffonstone’s still a long way from being like this place, huh?” Tempest eventually murmured.
Gallus nodded. “Yeah.”
He knew that look. That dull hollowness in her eyes that any Griffonstoner had when they were thinking about times best left forgotten. He could almost smell the stink of the hole she probably used to live in, feel the twisting hunger in her belly, the itch of parasites in her coat.
“Where was it?” he asked.
“Kludgetown. Rat’s nest if there ever was one. But hey, I survived the streets. And so did you.” She leaned close to him and whispered, “To answer your original question, let’s just say that I was in town minding my own business when I spotted a fellow survivor playing soldier, and I wanted to see what he was made of. Turns out, I’ve discovered someone with potential.”
Gallus blinked. “So, Berry Punch was right? I thought I was awful!”
“We all start off that way,” she murmured with a distant look in her eyes. Then, she met his gaze and added, “You’re worth teaching. That’s more than can be said for most griffons your age.”
“Wow, you are serious.” He scratched the back of his neck and fluttered his wings as he glanced around, half-expecting the stallions in the bar to turn around and start laughing at him. “Lots of ponies around here are tougher than me, though. Won’t they be a better fit in Twilight’s army?”
“Twilight already has plenty of soldiers. She doesn’t need more arrow fodder.”
“Huh?”
“Any meathead can be trained to hold a weapon and stand in line, but it’s much harder to find someone who can follow orders and also think on their feet. And since you’re from the School of Friendship, that probably covers the matter of chivalry as well, which is rarer still.”
Her steely eyes bored into his. “Also, you know what it’s like to live in a nation of has-beens and have-nots. Most ponies won’t ever understand it, but our memories of the hard times are the backbone of our strength; we’ll fight to hold onto the good we’ve found in Equestria, harder than anyone born with everything they ever needed within arm’s reach.”
She then leaned back a bit and sighed. “Besides, I used to have a competent griff for a lieutenant when I served the Storm King, and I’ve yet to find a suitable replacement.”
“You’re specifically looking for a griffon?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a little racist?”
Tempest rolled her eyes. “It is, and that’s the point. In certain circles, there are things people will say around griffs that they’ll never say around ponies. There will be things you can do, places you can go and people you can connect with that ponies simply cannot, and unlike the Storm King, Twilight is critically short on operatives like that.”
“So… someone like a soldier but a little different?” Gallus paused for a moment to sift through memories of ancient griffish stories that every kitling in Griffonstone had dreamed of living at one point or another. He then couldn’t help grinning as he met her eyes. “You mean like a knight? Maybe a Knight of Friendship?”
Tempest grumbled a little, but she nodded anyway. “Hmph. It’s not the worst suggestion I’ve heard. When you’re done at the school, come find me in Canterlot. If you survive being dragged to Tartarus and back, I promise to make you worthy of duty and the sword.”
“Cool!” He gave her a thumbs-up, then downed the last of his rum and belched.
“Good stuff?”
He nodded, then glanced at Berry Punch. “Do you think I could—”
She snorted. “One more. Someday you’ll get to fully explore your limits, but that’ll be on your own budget and not on my watch. I do not need the paperwork if you’re found somewhere puking your guts out.”
He belched again.
Frowning, Tempest turned and waved at Berry Punch, muttering, “Let’s hope you’re not a lightweight…”
Whilst they waited for a second round of drinks, Gallus took the opportunity to observe Tempest watching the ponies around them again. This time, whether it was by some insight unlocked by the effects of the rum or a moment of inspiration, it finally clicked.
It was longing. She wanted to be a part of the festive mood just like everypony else. Probably.
Which was pretty much the same thing he’d been doing all day, he realised.
They just didn’t really have anyone close to do it with.
Which suddenly seemed kind of stupid, since the tavern had a whole lot of ponies hanging out with ponies outside of their usual group of friends and family, and still having a good time, if the smiles and laughter were anything to go by. Who said that there was a rule that Hearth’s Warming could only be enjoyed between creatures who were already close, anyway?
Maybe it was time to actually put some of the stuff he’d learnt at school to use.
“Uh, Tempest?”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Yes?”
“I just want to say thanks. For the company, I mean. And for offering to, uh… take me under your wing, in a way.”
“Oh.” She blinked a couple of times. “You’re welcome.”
Gallus raised a hand and swallowed, and then leaned over to hug her before his nerves got the better of him.
She froze at first – he couldn’t help noticing that her tense muscles felt like steel wires underneath her coat when they pressed against his bruises – but she quickly loosened up and returned the hug, gingerly at first, but with increasing strength and genuine warmth as the seconds went by. Someone might’ve aww’ed at them in the background, but he ignored the warmth spreading to his cheeks and held on.
As if on cue, Berry Punch chose that exact moment to trot over to them. After setting down their drinks, she raised an eyebrow and smirked at Tempest. “So… are you sure that there’s nothing going on over here? Because from where I stand, it sure does look a whole lot like—”
“Piss off, Berry. We’re just being a couple of sentimental slobs right now.”
Berry cackled. “Hah! I sure hope so. How do you think I stay in business?”
They released each other as Berry went to take someone else’s order, and Gallus quickly took another gulp of the hot rum in the hopes that it would take the edge of the burning in his cheeks.
He needed it for what was coming next. There was a distinct lull in singing and conversation in the tavern, so he probably wouldn’t get a better chance than this.
“By the way, can you sing?” he asked.
“I’m a pony,” Tempest deadpanned.
“Right. Dumb question.”
Gallus tapped his talons on the counter, breathing steadily in and out as he drummed up a sedate rhythm for himself. Just this once, maybe he could do something that Sandbar did on a regular basis. It felt a little different from all the other times he’d stalled and backed down when he had to do it alone. Maybe this was why ponies called booze liquid courage?
Whatever. He had to focus.
“Gallus, what are you doing?”
He took a deep breath and raised his voice, just loudly enough to carry over the general murmur of conversation:
“When family cannot be here
“Having journeyed far and wide
“We sing a song to honour them
“To remember days gone by,”
Heads turned. Tempest was staring at him. So many eyes were on Gallus that he almost stalled at the next stanza. But luckily for him, a couple of voices joined in, and he felt an involuntary smile of relief coming on as he continued,
“So take your cup and raise it high
“Just as surely I'll do mine
“And laugh we will at stories told
“As we smile at days gone by
“As we smile at days gone by,”
Gallus gave Tempest a sidelong glance and beckoned her, making an upward motion with his hand whilst more ponies added their voices to his.
“For family not here, my dears
“Having journeyed far and wide
“For loyalty and kindness both
“We smile at days gone by,”
Tempest’s eyes were glistening a little, and she glanced nervously around before she swallowed and joined in with a steady and strong voice,
“Our paths will cross again one day
“In time to reunite
“For family is always near
“Even when the seas are wide,”
Ponies were leaning against one another and swaying gently to the tune. Gallus and Tempest didn’t lean, but she did let him hold her hoof under the counter.
“So take your cup and raise it high
“Just as surely I'll do mine
“And make a toast for family
“And the tales of days gone by,”
Gallus smiled as he met Tempest’s eyes, and though the right, scarred one was still bloodshot from his little accident, he never would’ve expected her to have such a captivating smile. It wasn’t radiant like Rarity’s, cheerful like Pinkie’s or cute and pretty like Silverstream's, but she more than made up for it with the simple sincerity that came from a lifetime of hardship.
“For family not here, my dears
“Having journeyed far and wide
“For loyalty and kindness both
“Take joy at days gone by,
“For loyalty and kindness both
“We smile at days gone by…”
A chorus of cheers and clapping hooves rose up in the tavern. Couples kissed. Friends and new acquaintances hugged. Others raised their drinks and toasted.
And in the middle of it all, Gallus sat back down, sighed with relief and took another swig of rum to calm his nerves. His paws were trembling a little.
“Thank you,” Tempest whispered as she wiped her eyes. Then, she smiled and added, “Also, not bad for a griffon.”
He grinned and saluted her with a wing. “I had good teachers.”
As far as Hearth’s Warmings went, it was definitely one of the better ones. He’d discovered a new friend, and maybe even a new career path for a future beyond his time in the School of Friendship.
He whooped and raised his mug, shouting in unison with everyone else.
“Happy Hearth’s Warming!”
Author's Note
Written for The Discovery – A Young Six Writing Contest.
