“Greetings, Decurion,” Tribune Narada called to Gilda as she entered the infirmary for the second time that day, with Captain Moran coming in behind her. “How do you feel?”

“Sir… beg to report… human medicine is uncomfortably and embarrassingly intrusive,” she replied with severely strained humor, but only after she managed a salute with some difficulty. “Because it turns out there’s a second tube in me. And you don’t want to know where it goes!” she explained in disgust, nodding down to where the second clear tube disappeared under the blanket in the vicinity of her hindquarters.

“Well it’s either that catheter, or let you piss yourself while you’re sleeping and into a bucket I hold for you when you’re awake?” the unsympathetic human healer pointed out dryly. “If it makes you feel better, putting it in wasn’t exactly titillating to me.”

“It doesn’t!” Gilda exclaimed, then coughed hard and shivered.

“Good to see that your famous bedside manner remains intact, Staff Sergeant,” Moran told him, though Gilda saw there was no salute exchanged between them. She had noticed earlier that the Marines didn’t salute each other indoors; only griffon officers.

Maybe there’s some rule against that and they only salute us to accommodate us? she wondered idly, more for distraction than any real curiosity.

“And good to see your personality is as open and friendly as ever, Decurion,” the Tribune rejoined, to which Gilda could only groan. “Was the reading material I sent you any help?”

“Not really…” It had been twelve hours since she had awoken, but she felt scarcely less ill than before. This despite the assurances of the human healer, whom they sometimes called ‘Doc’ instead of his rank, that they were almost finished stepping down the dose of cider and fertility potion.

The latter had come from the kingdom pharmacies, while the former, she’d been told, the Council of Crows had obtained by having their agents search the black market that could be found in the seedier lower-level areas of the city. “I tried to read, but it just made me nauseous and dizzy.”

“She’s not lying. She nearly fell off her cot at one point. We tried to show her some videos on our tablets instead, but the display had the same effect,” the dark-skinned Staff Sergeant added; his normally gruff tone turning something close to sympathetic. “You’ll have to forgive her for being short-tempered, Captain and Tribune. She’s had a rough day.”

“Understandable,” the Tribune said solemnly. “But perhaps I can cheer you up a bit. I came by to give you an update on where things stand with the Ibexians.”

“I’m listening…” Gilda replied. Her eyes focused on the Tribune with difficulty, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to the withdrawal symptoms or because of simple bleariness.

“To begin with, the Queen has issued a proclamation decrying the ‘poisoning of the Gryphon Kingdom’s guests and soldiers’, naming the Ibexian Ascendancy as responsible. She has ordered ‘all efforts of the Kingdom’s intelligence and military’ set towards finding the adepts who infiltrated the Inn and recovering the lost human property.

I am told through my informants at the Council of Crows—yes, I have a few, and I will thank all present to not tell the Senior Sparrow about them—that the Ravens have picked up their trail and believe them to still be in the city, which strikes me as odd. If it was me, I would have left Arnau quickly with my stolen prizes and made for the Ascendancy immediately,” she mused, making Gilda wonder if she’d just imagined a brief but sly smile breaking out on the features of Captain Moran behind her.

“I am further told by Ambassador Strenus that we have sent a strong warning to the Ibexians through the Saddle Arabian embassy, who as you know, does maintain relations with them. The warning is very simple: surrender their adepts and the items they stole immediately, or ‘twill be considered an act of war—a deliberate attack with lethal intent on our soldiers and the civilians of a foreign embassy we were hosting.”

“And do you think that will work?” Captain Moran asked idly. “From what little I know of the Ibexians, they don’t strike me as easily intimidated.”

“Be assured, they are not, and there is good reason the Kingdom considers them such a dangerous and implacable foe. As for the question of whether it will work, the short answer is—it depends. The Ascendancy prefers covert action and proxy warfare to direct conflict as a rule; they have backed down before when their machinations were revealed. But they have a powerful military and will go to war if forced to—if they believe the prize, which in this case is human technology, is worth fighting for.”

“Can’t say I’d mind…” Gilda spoke up with another cough and shiver. “By the Ancestors, I owe them payback for this.”

“You and me both,” a new voice spoke up, causing all present to turn towards the entrance.

“Sergeant Reyes?” Captain Moran called to him. “What are you doing up?”

“Can’t sleep, and I’m sick of being sick,” he replied, looking very drawn. “Guess I was hoping to talk to the Decurion there now that she’s awake. But if you’re busy with her, Captain, I can come back later.” He turned to leave, nearly falling as he did so, causing Staff Sergeant Cullen to steady him.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed, you dumbass,” he scolded.

“Good evening to you too, doc,” Reyes replied sullenly, wearing only a plain olive-hued undershirt to go with the usual splotchy green pants they wore. “I’ve had enough of beds and IVs. You said I’m weaned off that cider shit now, so at least let me try to be mobile again?” he requested shortly with a pleading look at Moran. “Come on, I’m not going to get my strength back unless I start moving!”

“Let him be, Staff Sergeant,” Moran directed. “And if you wish to talk to the Decurion, I’ve no objection. Have you told her what you need to, Tribune?”

“For now,” she answered evenly. “If you’re still having trouble remembering things, I’ll come back to deliver the news again tomorrow morning. And hopefully have more progress to report on the pursuit.”

“I look forward to it,” Gilda answered politely, swallowing a fresh urge to cough. She saluted again and waited until the pair of officers had departed before turning to Reyes.

“Sergeant,” she acknowledged after finally releasing the cough. She shifted her head to face him, wishing she could at least turn the pillow around to present its cooler side on her hot head. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit. I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I’m pretty sure I know.”

“You seem to be holding up better than me,” Gilda noted weakly. “I think I remember that you were there at the start. You had the cider, right?”

“Just a couple mugs of it,” he recalled, rubbing his temples briefly. “That’s why they got me weaned off it quicker, but it was enough. About five minutes after I left you guys, I got so horny I couldn’t see straight. Started fantasizing about screwing everything from the Caleponian cleaning mares to the Innkeeper’s wife. Or Uxor, I think you call them.”

“Sounds about right,” she groaned. “I’ve had that stuff before—well, the zap apple part, anyway. It’s illegal in the Kingdom because it enhances sensory perceptions while destroying inhibitions—which can be a very dangerous combination to a griffon.”

“I noticed, believe me.” He rubbed his eyes. “And I can confirm it works equally well on humans. Unfortunately, just like Lieutenant Nantz, I didn’t have enough to forget what happened. Or what I did. The memory is hazy, but it’s there.”

“Dare I ask?” she inquired idly, not certain if she was asking out of curiosity or the remaining cocktail in her system was still tilting her thoughts towards more sensual ends. “Only if you want to tell.”

“Misery loves company, eh?” He sipped at his mug of water. “At first, I tried ignoring it, but it was getting a little hard when… well, I was hard. So I then tried some self-service, which only worked for about a minute before I stiffened again. Then I tried distraction, watching some videos and listening to music in the lounge, but it was getting really difficult to hide my… you know.

“After an hour of this, I was about to go to Doc here and beg for a strong sedative, but then I found an open door to a room suite we were using as a classroom. I felt like I was overheating, so I went out on the balcony to try to catch some breeze on my sweaty face, and…” He had to look away.

“And the griffons outside saw you,” Gilda guessed. “I think I remember the Tribune saying that they were affected too.”

“Right in one,” he confirmed with a fleeting smile. “I got pounced, pinned, and rather forcibly undressed by this very amorous serval-spotted and falcon-headed eagless speaking broken English. ‘You! Me! Rut! Now!’” he mimed, then shook his head.

“I might have fought back, but in the state I was in… I didn’t want to. Needless to say, she had her way with me, and then some,” he admitted wanly, pulling his collar away to reveal beak nips on his neck, followed by shifting his shirt enough for Gilda to see a set of healing talon scratches on his chest.

“Sorry about that,” Gilda offered on behalf of her fellow female. “As I’m sure you’ve figured out, an ‘amorous eagless’ can be a little rough. And very insistent.”

“At least she was satisfied,” she heard the human healer point out from behind her, earning a glare from Reyes. “I mean, if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t have come back to the Inn asking for you, stud. And what was her name again?” He gave the Sergeant a wink as he walked around the front of Gilda to adjust what might have been a valve on the tube leading to her arm. “Cock Lover?”

“Kaiko Louvre!” Reyes corrected sharply, but he then blushed, which looked odd against his darker skin. “She came by to apologize and ask me if I wanted to see her again, but do things ‘more properly’ next time, by which she said she meant a mating round. Worse, Captain Moran was translating for her when she asked it in front of the Doc and sentries here! So the entire fucking platoon knows by now!” He glared at the guards by the door, who gave an unrepentant grin.

“Ain’t our fault you’re always so popular with the local ladies, Sergeant,” the amused human ‘medic’ replied. “And sorry, but not sorry—the Captain didn’t order me not to tell anyone, and that intel was too juicy not to spread!” he added with a nod at the goggle-wearing guards standing to either side of the door, who broke their stony bearing again long enough to smirk.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Doc. But me? I’m still trying to figure out what to do about her. And I guess I was hoping you could help, Decurion,” he admitted.

“Why? Because you want to see her again?” she asked in some annoyance. “You’ll understand that I am really not interested in playing matchmaker for you.”

“I don’t know if I do. Ask me again in a week,” he said at some length. “Because right now, I don’t even want to think about sex.”

“And I wish I couldn’t…” Gilda replied shortly, trying not to visualize the various illicit acts she feared she might have already performed under the influence. “There’s still some of that crow-begotten magic mix in me.”

“Twelve more hours, and we’ll reduce the dose to zero,” Staff Sergeant Cullen told her as he injected a fresh vial of liquid into the odd, upside-down clear bag that was feeding her tube with a fluid that was only slightly brownish—diluted cider? “This is your second-to-last dose, at 20% strength. Your final dose in six hours will be at 10%. Your healers promise us the urges and withdrawal symptoms should disappear entirely within a day or so after.”

“Great. So that means I only have to lie here doing nothing but fantasizing about sex or annihilating the Ibex for another day!” she groused.

“And that, Decurion, is why the Marines like you,” Reyes told her with a grin. “You take no crap, and you back it up. I wouldn’t want to get between you and those Russian mountain goats right now.”

“Thanks.” Had no idea the Marines liked me… she thought, even as she wondered what ‘rush in’ meant in this context. “So if not to set you up with her, how do you want me to help you?”

“Well… put simply, how do I say no, or at least not now, without offending her?” he asked, to which Doc snickered, earning another glare. “With all due respect, Staff Sergeant, do you mind?”

“Listening in? Not at all,” he replied jovially. “But fine—I guess I can visit my other patients for a bit. The sentries stay, though.”

“Whatever,” Reyes replied in the same tone Gilda wanted to, waiting until he had departed before turning back to her. “So, what do I tell her to let her off easy?”

That, at least, was a question Gilda could readily answer. “The truth. That you’re not in any shape for a round right now and won’t be for some time. She would certainly accept that. An eagless would only want you at your best, or else it’s not a fair or stimulating fight.”

He stared at her dubiously for a moment. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she confirmed with a fresh shiver. “And for what it’s worth, be flattered that she wanted to go again even after knowing what happened. That means she likes you.”

“Wonderful.” He rubbed his eyes and groaned. “What it means is that regardless of what happens, I’m never going to hear the end of this from any Marine.” He motioned with an opposable Talon back at the sentries standing watch at the door, who exchanged a quick glance and grin.

“Sorry. Any news on Chris, Tara and Marco?” She decided it was best to change the subject.

“Nothing new. They’re still asleep in the next room over, having their doses stepped down at half the rate you are,” he told her. “I checked on them, and they’re all looking very ill. So listen—it’s not our call, but if the Kingdom goes to war over this, we’d be ready to join you for this ‘Ascendency’ of theirs trying to kill our civilians in hopes we’d blame it on you.”

His gaze narrowed and lips went tight; for the first time, she saw a genuine battle gleam in the eyes of a human. “We like them, and an attack on our friends… well, we consider it an attack on all of us.”

“Then you do think like griffons,” Gilda shifted enough to offer him a fistbump, trying not to cough and shiver again. “And I’m glad. You’ll forgive me for hoping we yet get to fight alongside you, and not just to see what those weird weapons of yours can do.”

At her words, Reyes glanced back towards the sentries behind him. She didn’t sense any overt reactions from them, but he sighed and nodded. “We know you’re interested in them, but with apologies… I can’t tell you anything. I think it’s stupid and pointless, but orders are orders.”

“I know. I don’t hold it against you. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry we spied on you,” she said, deflating slightly.

“Don’t worry about it. The Captain may be pissed, but we’d probably have done the same in your place,” he conceded. “We know how the game is played, Decurion. And who knows? Maybe you’ll get your wish and we’ll finally get the chance to show you what we can do before all is said and done…”

Gilda woke the next morning feeling at least slightly better.

Upon waking, she’d been told that she had taken her last dose of cider overnight and was now fully weaned. “Congratulations, Decurion; you’re a free bird!” Staff Sergeant Cullen had told her in an oddly amused tone upon coming back on duty midmorning. She was more than ready to depart, but not before some unpleasantness had to be resolved first.

“And that means, it’s time to remove your tubes.” He donned a pair of thin green gloves with a sharp snapping sound as he spoke.

“Be careful where you touch me, Staff Sergeant,” she warned him with a weak trill as he rested a hand on her flank, letting her feathers ruffle.

The Marine healer was unimpressed. “Believe me when I say I’ll enjoy this just as much as you. Now hold still!” he ordered her, reaching beneath the blanket to grasp the tube leading to her private areas. “I promise this’ll be quick…”

To her surprise and relief, it slid free with a minimum of discomfort. “That’s done. Now for your fluid feed…” He turned her foreleg over, causing her to tense hard and pull it back as she sensed his intention—if there was anything she’d been dreading, it was having the needle there removed, fearing it would cause her to pass out or would be plugging some hole that would then release a gout of blood.

“Oh, will you relax? It’s not that bad,” he told her in the air of a parent speaking down to a cub. “I’ve seen you guys fight with blade and beak, and yet you’re scared of a little needle? Trust me, you’ll hardly feel it.”

She exhaled slowly, wanting to retort badly even as she acknowledged she was acting like a frightened fledgling over such a small thing.

“Fine. Just… get it over with.” She presented her foreleg, trying not to look or think about it as he unwrapped the area, laying it flat on the table beside her. That accomplished, he pressed down on the insertion point with one primate paw while placing his other hand at the base of the needle, preparing to yank it.

“Ready?”

“No. But do it anyway.” She closed her eyes and clenched her beak.

“Will do. On the count of three: one… two…” He yanked it then, before she could fully tense.

“Hey!” she protested as a wave of nausea shot through her when the needle was suddenly and unexpectedly withdrawn, leaving a brief burning sensation in its place that quickly faded.

“Sorry about that. But it hurts less when you’re not expecting it,” he told her unrepentantly, instructing her to press her other set of talons into the piece of thick woven bandage he placed against the wound.

“You’re devious, ‘Doc’,” she told him as she obeyed, noting she’d at least regained enough strength to sit up slightly. “And your bedside manner leaves much to be desired!”

“Why thank you,” he replied with a twinkle as he finished wrapping the area. “As of now, you’re released from treatment—you can return to your quarters to convalesce there. Keep the bandage on for at least four hours. And don’t be surprised if there’s a little blood in your urine from the catheter, but it’ll pass—pun intended.”

“Dweeb.” Gilda was so shaky she couldn’t think of a better retort as she forced herself to rise, trying to will her weakened limbs to still their shaking.

“And proud of it. Do you need help getting back to your quarters?” he asked in a more serious tone, offering a set of blunt talons to help her down from her cot.

“I’ll manage…” she growled, trying to sit up and resisting the urge to peck at the offered paw.

He watched her stumble as she eased herself down and frowned. “You need an escort,” he announced in a tone that brooked no argument; not for the first time she noticed he had two modes he could switch between—commanding and joking. “In case you fall and can’t get up.”

“Fine…” she reluctantly agreed as he picked up a blocky communication device and called into it, realizing she didn’t trust her wings or her legs to take her the distance. Walking is hard enough, so I definitely wouldn’t want to try flying right now!

“You know, we could just carry you there on this cot if you like…” he mused as he watched her awkwardly ease herself down to the floor, noticing her trembling legs.

“Forget it!” she snarled at him as she willed her limbs to still and the door opened to admit two Marines. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’ve been embarrassed enough for one day…” She forced herself to stand and took a couple halting steps, praying her body wouldn’t buckle.

“Suit yourself,” he told her as the new pair of uniformed humans entered, each looking so young that they would have barely shed their fledgling feathers if they were griffons. “Private First Class Munoz and Lance Corporal Shriver, please escort the Decurion here to her room. Help her if she needs it, but only if she needs it, and watch where you touch her,” he reminded them both.

“Don’t worry,” the higher ranked of the two said, possessing what looked like one and a half inverted-V stripes on his sleeve instead of the single stripe on his partner. “None of us want the same treatment as Flip-Boy.”

Gilda kept to herself the thought that she wasn’t capable of giving them that treatment just then, and that she wasn’t at all certain what ‘treatment’ she may have given Marco during her forgotten night. Don’t even want to think about it… she decided, at least grateful that with the cider and fertility potion purged from her system, she no longer felt compelled to fantasize about sex.

To her credit, she made it halfway down the hall before her weakened legs collapsed and the two Marines had to carry her the rest of the way.

At least they had sense enough not to make jokes, gently laying her on her bed while promising they’d bring her some soft foods and fluids later.

By late afternoon, Gilda had almost recovered enough strength to sit at her desk and write again, able to at least pick at some soft sausage and sip from a bowl of cool water without throwing it back up.

All she could think to do to relieve her boredom and distract herself from her continuing weakness—to say nothing of worry over the fate of her partner and human friends—was write a new report, this one detailing all she’d learned about human medicine.

She’d barely started to scratch a few observations onto a fresh sheet of parchment when there was the distinctive rap of griffon talon knuckles on the door.

She looked up sharply, having not expected any visitors now that her dinner had been delivered. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Fortrakt’s slightly raspy voice startled her. “They released me two hours ago. I’m still too queasy to eat and can’t sleep. Can we talk, Decurion?” he asked her, and she was surprised to pick out a pleading note in his voice around the formal tone he took.

“Sure,” she said, shuffling heavily towards the door to admit him. When she opened the door, she couldn’t help but stare at him, noting he looked even more ragged than she felt.

He, in turn, flinched slightly at the sight of her, and she certainly understood the impulse—seeing him sparked lurid memories from deep within her psyche, but they simply could not rise to the surface, as if they were hitting an airborne inversion that kept updrafts from breaking through.

“So how do you feel?” was all she could think to ask as she poured a fresh bowl of water for him—she didn’t trust her still-unstable system from drinking anything except that for the time being, and she couldn’t imagine it would be any different for him.

“Like every crow in the Kingdom has been endlessly pecking at my head,” he told her as he chanced a sip but couldn’t take another one, his stomach visibly turning over to judge by his sickened expression. “Plucking memories out of me one by one all the while beating my skull like a war drum. I have the hangover to end all hangovers, and worse, I don’t remember anything that happened that night.”

“Neither do I after the start of the movie,” she agreed, rubbing her head. The sight of him kept trying to stir her memories of that night, but she simply couldn’t grasp them no matter how hard she tried. “Did they tell you what—”

“Yes,” he said shortly, his green eyes turning dark. “Ibexian spies hit us with some crow-besotted concoction of zap apples and pony fertility potion. You, me, and even Giraldi when he came to find out about the fried chicken. They were trying to get us to…” he couldn’t even finish the sentence, but his talons curled hard against the wooden floor.

“But we didn’t,” she reminded him. “Chris, Tara and Marco are fine except for severe magical withdrawal symptoms.”

“That’s not what I heard,” he replied shortly, his beak starting to quiver. “They said Tara had talon slashes on her back. So tell me the truth, Decurion—was it me? Did I hurt her?” he raised his emerald eyes to her gold-hued ones, tears starting to well in them.

She opened her beak, only to shut it again, closing her eyes in turn as she realized there was no way to honey-coat it. “All I can tell you is—the talon patterns on her back didn’t match Giraldi’s,” she forced herself to admit. “I’m sorry.”

“Then it was me…” He slumped hard, burying his face in his talons. “Ancestors forgive me… I hurt her…” He began to give mewling sniffles.

For the first time since she had known him, Gilda was surprised to feel a strong measure of pity for her junior partner, recognizing how he had lost the eagless of his dreams before he could truly have her. And worse, he had no memory of their all-too-brief time together, left only with the evidence of the damage he’d done to her. “I’m truly sorry. For what it’s worth, I don’t believe for a moment you meant to hurt her, even under the influence,” was all she could think to offer.

“It’s worth nothing to me! So what do I do?” he asked her forlornly. “I don’t think I can be around her now knowing what I did. By the crows, I don’t even know that she, Chris or Marco would want us around them!”

“I don’t know either, and until they wake up, we can’t ask them. But it may interest you to know that the Marines want us to stay.”

He looked up in surprise. “They do? Why?” he asked, though he didn’t lose his forlorn tone.

“They don’t seem to blame us for what happened. They blame the Ibex, as they should. In fact, from what Sergeant Reyes told me, they actually like us. He even said they’d fight the Ascendancy alongside us for this if they were allowed to.”

He stared at her in disbelief, tears still glimmering in his green eyes. “Even after what we did?”

“We don’t know what we did,” she reminded him sternly. “And call me dweeby if you want, but at this point, I don’t think I want to know. Look—we were all under the influence and not in our right minds through no fault of our own, so maybe we should just brush it off as a one-time thing. Try to let it go like Marco and Tara once did.”

“And you really think it’s that easy?” he asked her with a bitter laugh. “Just pretend that I didn’t hurt her?"

“No.” She shook her head. “But if I know Tara at all, she won’t blame you, and if she and Marco got over something like this before, then we can too. And besides, if we just up and quit, then the Ibex win. They caused this, and I’ll be damned if I give them the satisfaction of even a single victory out of this.” Her gold eyes flashed.

A shadow of anger crossed his forlorn features again. “I was told what they did by the Tribune. And by all our Ancestors, I have never wanted to do violence to another being as badly as I want to do to them right now.”

“You and me both,” she confirmed, feeling so drained she couldn’t even growl. “Look, Fortrakt. Whatever you did—whatever we did—the Ibex made us do it. The dose of that accursed cocktail we got was so strong that nocreature there could resist it. I don’t know if you spoke to Sergeant Reyes, but even he couldn’t fight it after just two mugs of it!”

“Reyes? I didn’t even know he was there that night. What happened to him?”

She considered not telling him out of concern for the Sergeant’s privacy, but then decided that since the entire human force already knew, there was no point in withholding it. So she told him, eliciting a blush.

“Whoa…” he admitted, trying another sip of water and, judging by his slightly less sick expression, his stomach was at least a little more accepting of it. “I don’t know whether he’s lucky or not.”

“He doesn’t either,” she recalled. “He doesn’t know what to do about her and asked for my advice.”

“Oh? And what did you tell him?”

“To make clear to her that he wasn’t in any shape for it, physically or mentally. Any Griffon should accept that, especially knowing what happened,” she mused.

“Sounds about right.” He shrugged tiredly. “And sorry if I don’t offer to help. They say I’m weaned off that crow-cursed cider, but I still feel like I’m coming off two weeks of the Feather Flu. Right now, I don’t even want to think about rutting, ever again.”

“Me too,” Gilda agreed. “And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried that even if we recover physically from this, there’ll be emotional scars and ugly memories rearing up if we ever try to be with another griffon.” Or human… she couldn’t help but have the thought, her memories stirring slightly again.

“I’m worried too. So what do we do?” he asked her in renewed depression, his feathers dull and drooping. “I feel like I can’t even show my face to other griffons after what happened, let alone to Chris, Tara and Marco right now.”

“Our duty,” she told him firmly, resisting the urge to lay a set of talons on his chest in a sisterly gesture. “To the Kingdom and to our charges. And crows take the reactions of other Griffons—they can’t condemn us after what the Tribune said happened outside.”

“Outside?” he echoed in confusion, to which Gilda froze.

He doesn’t know about what happened outside? That probably means the Tribune also didn’t tell him about Tara and Giraldi. So should I...?

Not coming up with an immediate answer—she knew that unwelcome news should come from them instead of her, but if she didn’t tell him, there was a chance he might overhear it from the Marines, or worse, the griffons of their old Turma—she decided to play it safe for now.

And besides, there’s probably a good chance Tara won’t remember it either and have to be told by somecreature else… Gilda found herself fervently hoping that somecreature wasn’t her, scarcely able to imagine how she would take being told she’d been rutted by a male of another species as other griffons watched.

You know, even Rainbow wouldn’t tease you over that! She idly wondered what her old friend would think of what happened to her. Then again, she might even know if Princess Twilight told her…? “From what the Tribune told me, fumes from the cider steam went up the exhaust pipes over the stove and… was inhaled by all the griffons who had gathered over the Inn attracted by the scent of the fried chicken. You can guess the effects.”

“I’d rather not right now,” he made the same face Gilda would if she was sick to her stomach and caught the aroma of spicy food. “I guess at the very least, the Council of Crows will stop pressuring us for information on humans, now.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But the point is, we weren’t alone in this, and it’s not like other griffons were able to successfully resist it—the Tribune said half our Turma was affected! That alone means I’m not quitting my post over this.

“And in the immortal words of our guests, fuck the Council of Crows and their spying on humans—if I stay in this post, it’s for the express purpose of protecting them,” she said emphatically, oddly reveling in her first use of the human curseword—or was it? That one was for you, Marco! She mentally saluted him. “Look—I can’t order you to remain in light of what happened, but I think you should stay. That's all we can do, Second Spear.”

He considered her words carefully, deflating slightly. “Maybe you’re right, but—”

“No buts,” she cut him off. “If you’re with me, we’ll tell the Tribune tomorrow that we don’t want to quit. Hopefully Reyes and the other Marines will convince Captain Moran to let us stay, even though he now knows we were spying on them.”

“And just when I think I can’t feel any worse, I do.” His wings and tail slumped further, confusing her—why did that make him feel worse, given they’d already talked about the spying?

His next words explained it. “It’s still our fault, you know—just like the Council of Crows, we got so concerned with observing them or ‘enamored of their technological toys’ that we forgot we were there to protect them,” he quoted the Senior Sparrow, staring numbly into the clear contents of his half-full bowl. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about hiding it from them now. But Chris, Tara and Marco—will they allow it? Will they even want us around?” he begged her to supply an answer.

“I don’t know,” Gilda said equally numbly, knowing she had none to give. “And there’s no way to know until they wake up and have had some time to absorb this. In the meantime, we wait for word from the Council of Crows that they’ve found the Ibexians who did this to us. Hopefully we’ll get to see them tried and executed, if nothing else.”

“Would that the Ancestors grant such a thing,” he finally conceded, replacing the bowl in her sink; to his credit, he’d managed to down a little over half the liquid. “Thank you for your time, Decurion. I really needed somegriffon to talk to.” He began shuffling slightly shakily towards the door.

“You’re welcome. So did I. And Fortrakt?” She called him by name instead of by rank.

He stopped, stumbling slightly. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry I teased you when you got excited before. I promise I won’t again, after this.” Wow. Here I am apologizing! She wished Rainbow could see her then.

Unaware of her thoughts, he gave a short laugh without turning back to her. “It’s fine. Because for as sick as I am and as bad as I feel about hurting Tara, I don’t think I’ll ever be excited again.”

The next two days passed both slowly and swiftly for Gilda.

She gradually recovered her strength to the point that she was able to walk, eat light meals and even chance short flights again, though her stamina was so poor she could barely stay aloft for even a minute. The Magus healers she spoke to promised the effect would pass and she would feel her strength restored over time, admonishing her not to press herself too hard lest she set herself back.

When Gilda groused in their presence about her slow pace of recovery, they offered to use their healing auras on her. But she emphatically declined, wanting no more magical influences on her.

To her great annoyance, she even received a query from a pony doctor writing from Canterlot, saying she and her comrades ‘presented a unique opportunity for research’. The unicorn mare had dweebily followed that up by asking if she’d noticed any ‘surprising or lingering aftereffects’ of having so much fertility potion boosted by zap apple essence.

Great. So I’m now officially a magical ODDITY! was the first thought Gilda had upon reading it, wishing the mare in question was in front of her so she could offer up a profane and well-deserved earful. Unable to do so, she’d crumpled up the missive and thrown it in the garbage without replying to it, wondering if it wasn’t just Pinkie Pie who had no respect for others’ feelings.

Surprising or lingering aftereffects… sure, if you count feeling so sick and weak you can’t eat or drink even a crow’s worth of fluid for days, and then not wanting to even THINK about sex ever again! she answered the question derisively in her head, wondering what response the mare healer thought she would get.

At least she had some company to commiserate with. Fortrakt was no better, and perhaps even worse, either from a stronger addiction or the fact that Tara and the others remained unconscious, taking six days to fully wean off the tainted cider instead of three.

Steeling themselves, she and Fortrakt had gone into their recovery room to check on them the day after they’d been released, only to find that, as Sergeant Reyes had said, they looked deathly weak and ill, swathed in blankets with the color having faded from their cheeks. They were all hooked up to the same tubes she and Fortrakt had been, and the upside-down bottles that fed those tubes still bore half-strength cider and fertility potion.

It was unquestionably difficult to see, though the least Gilda could say was that the sight of them provoked no memory flashbacks given their severely sick state. Fortrakt had then requested to see Tara’s wounds, which Staff Sergeant Cullen sharply advised against. But when he insisted, he sighed and pulled back her blanket to reveal not one, but two sets of angled slashes only slowly healing on her upper back. They started near the neck and went diagonally down across the shoulder blades towards her sides, and worse, the leftmost set had bisected her flower tattoo, ruining it.

Though the slashes weren’t as deep or bad as Gilda might have feared, they were still quite visible, and Fortrakt could only stare numbly at them for a moment before he hung his head and left, exiting the infirmary without another word and refusing to even acknowledge Gilda as he shuffled back to his room.

He did not emerge again until the next day, and only after being ordered to by Tribune Narada. She then rebuked him sharply not for hurting Tara, but for conduct unbecoming a soldier of the Kingdom for moping and holding himself responsible for her minor injury, especially when worse had happened to many outside griffons.

“And your mind was even more compromised than theirs! So stop beating yourself up, Second Spear! You’re useless to both her, and the Kingdom in such a state!

“B-but I—” Fortrakt went flustered.

“Crows take your excuses! Do you think they matter in battle? If we go to war with the Ibexians, we’re going to need sharp minds and blades; not the mewling self-pity I see from you now!” she excoriated him in front of Captain Moran, who smiled and nodded slowly to himself. “Now by my order, pull yourself together and stop acting like a twelve-year old tiercel pining for his first crush!” She surprised Gilda by knowing the Equish word for adolescent desire.

It worked, as Fortrakt acted like he’d been slapped and instantly snapped to attention, firing a salute and stammering an apology to her. But the Tribune was unimpressed.

“Save it! The next time I see you, Second Spear, you’d better be in armor and properly groomed! I will not have my soldiers acting like whimpering cubs or appearing around our human guests out of uniform in such a slovenly state—and the same goes for you, Decurion!” She rounded on a surprised Gilda next. “Regardless of your lingering weakness, I expect my Guards Griffons to both look and act the part of proper soldiers! Is this understood?”

“Sir! Yes sir!” They chorused as they both stood to rigid attention and fired their crispest salute in response.

* * * * *

Though Gilda had never thought the Tribune one for motivational speeches or Gauntlet-style chewing out of her soldiers, her words had the desired effect as a fully groomed and dressed Gilda exited her quarters the next day to find that Fortrakt looked inspection-ready, bathed and groomed with his pauldrons polished to the point of gleaming and his wingfeathers each individually preened.

At a summons from the Tribune, they’d then presented themselves to Narada and Captain Moran in the latter’s office, which he had inherited from the still-absent Lieutenant Nantz. He let her take the lead as she gave Gilda and Fortrakt a formal and very thorough inspection, giving the latter a great deal of extra attention.

“Sir! I am ready to resume my duties and act the part of a proper soldier, sir!” Fortrakt had shouted like he was a fresh-out-of-training fledgeling again when Narada had pressed him over Tara. “If we go to war, then I will volunteer to be on the front lines!” he announced vehemently when she asked him if he was truly ready to fight, and his delivery combined with his raised hackles and ruffled feathers seemed to confirm to her he meant it.

She’d relented after, at least somewhat, as she and the human Captain related the latest news. While Moran told them that he’d been overruled by Goldberg in his desire to remove them from their posts—Might be the one good decision that dweeby human has made, even if he’s just hoping for another incident to send the civilians home, Gilda thought darkly—Narada brought them up to date about the progress of the diplomatic pressure the Kingdom was applying to the Ascendancy, and the search for the Ibexian adepts.

“The Council of Crows believes they remain in Arnau, perhaps because the alerted countryside is now too dangerous for them to travel in, even disguised,” she mused. “Or perhaps because they’ve been instructed by their superiors to stay put.”

“Why would they do that?” Moran asked her.

“We’re not sure. The Ibex have been acting oddly,” the Tribune answered, all traces of her earlier show of temper gone. “According to Ambassador Strenus, who was dispatched to Saddle Arabia three days ago to present our demands to them, they initially and quite heatedly insisted they launched no such operation and that we were lying to gain favor with the humans.

“When presented with indisputable evidence to the contrary, their diplomats—which, it must be said, are all intelligence agents anyway—seemed genuinely surprised and asked to report their ‘findings’ back to their leadership.”

“Which means... what?” Gilda asked over a bowl of plain tea Moran had given her. It was the first thing other than water she’d been able to drink since being released from treatment, and she found herself savoring even its weak flavor and mild aroma.

“Possibly good news. The Crows believe this means the Capricorn Conclave launched an unauthorized operation—it wouldn’t be the first time—and that the Ascendancy is now trying to find a face-saving way out of this short of admitting responsibility or surrendering their adepts,” she recited.

“Sounds strangely familiar…” Moran mused over crossed arms behind his desk, mostly to himself.

Narada gave him a glance before continuing. “It might be wishful thinking, but the fact that they’ve only gone on defensive deployments across the Pearl Mountains suggests they don’t want war over this. That usually means they’ll back down in the end.”

“Pity. For making me hurt Tara, I’d tear out the throat of every Ibex I see!” Fortrakt all but snarled; his earlier despondency having turned to outright anger whenever he thought of Tara over the past day. It left Gilda wondering why she felt nothing more than a dull ache whenever she thought about what happened, which only seemed to get stronger when she realized how much of it she couldn’t remember.

Crows take it… she thought to herself in renewed annoyance and confusion as they departed the office. Fortrakt then announced his intention to stand vigil over Chris, Tara and Marco, in the stated hopes that he’d be there when they woke up.

“I want to tell them what happened myself, and apologize to Tara personally,” he explained when she inquired, making Gilda wonder what was in the Tribune’s tea that she’d been able to turn Fortrakt from sad sack back into a determined and duty-conscious soldier with just a few choice words.

However she takes her tea, I should too! While he did that, promising at her request to summon her instantly if they should awaken, she was able to catch a slowly recovering Giraldi alone before he went home to his wife and cubs to convalesce. And to her surprise and his great credit, he took things in far better wingstride than she or Fortrakt had, chatting with her as she escorted him outside.

“It happened, Decurion. It wasn’t by our choice, so I see no reason to beat ourselves up over it,” he told her simply before gingerly entering a small carriage he’d been forced to charter to get him home to his family aerie on the outskirts, located cliffside several leagues from the city walls.

It was harnessed to a pair of Sevastoponians who were to pegasi what the Caleponians were to earth ponies—slightly sleeker, thicker-furred and generally more rugged-looking versions of their Equestrian counterparts. They spoke Aeric with the same inflections she would expect from griffons who lived in the southeast parts of the Kingdom; they even had what looked like surplus griffon military rations in their vest pockets—dried meats, fruits and scones—for their longer journeys.

As the topic of their discussion was private, Giraldi switched to Equish so neither the Aeric-speaking pegasi or the griffons around them would understand his next words. “It must be noted that whatever we did would seem to be both mutual and enjoyed given our guests suffered little to no injury, except to Miss Fields’ back.

“And even that appears to have happened in the throes of simultaneous passion given the odd mating position involved,” he noted idly, causing a brief stirring in Gilda’s memory that infuriatingly, she once again couldn’t grasp.

“The Second Spear may comfort himself with that knowledge, if nothing else. Perhaps the unspoken truth to this whole sordid affair is that we proved ourselves physically and culturally compatible with the humans, which bodes well for an eventual alliance—as does the fact that they took as grave an offense at the actions of the Ibexians as we did.”

Though she didn’t want to, Gilda had to admit he had a point. She replied in Equish as well—and was it her imagination, or had one of the two pegasi stallions briefly pointed an ear towards them? “I guess. But nothing that happened that night was natural, First Spear,” she still felt compelled to point out like she had to Narada, only to receive much the same reply the Tribune had delivered back.

“I disagree. From what I was told by Sergeant Reyes and what little I recall, we seemed to discover and enjoy each other’s affections quite easily, regardless of any foreign magical influence or the annoyance of my Uxor over not testing my ‘human eagless’ properly.

“The good Sergeant, by the way, has asked me for training in fighting griffons in case he does choose to be with her again,” he noted in some amusement.

“Oh, really?” For the first time since she’d awoken in the infirmary, Gilda’s trademark smirk showed itself.

“Really. If it is truly his wish, then perhaps I will. Perhaps, like him, I at least know I enjoyed what happened, and might seek to do it again,” he mused aloud. “So let me say this in parting, Decurion—despite how ill I remain, I do not regret my time with Tara Fields. And be assured, I will duel and defeat anygriffon who thinks me less a tiercel for being with her. I only wish I remembered more.” He closed his eyes in regret.

The dull ache in Gilda’s gut got more pronounced at his words, making her realize that part of her pain came from the same source. “At least you remember something of that night, First Spear. I barely even remember seeing you!” Gilda noted, surprised to hear a forlorn tone in her voice.

Wait—am I actually frustrated over that? Trying not to think about it, she told Giraldi that Fortrakt still didn’t know he’d been with Tara, to which he closed his orange eyes again and nodded slowly.

“Not surprising. I’m sure the Tribune thought he deserved to hear it from the parties involved and didn’t need that burden on top of learning he’d clawed up her back. So if Miss Fields does not do so first, let me tell him when the time comes and we are both fully recovered. I will give him the chance to challenge me for her affections if he wishes—and Miss Fields allows. In his place, I believe I would do no less,” he reasoned.

“Are you sure?” Gilda had to ask.

“Yes. Whatever my motives or the magical influences I was under, there is no denying I did steal from him the opportunity to be her first griffon, and he will have every right to demand satisfaction from me.”

“Can’t argue,” was all Gilda could think to say, though she didn’t honestly think Fortrakt stood a chance against the veteran earth gryphon soldier, who she knew had already fought and won many a duel. “If you’re not back before then, is there anything you want me to tell Tara when she wakes up? There’s a good chance she won’t remember what happened, either.”

He was caught short, but only briefly. “Tell her that my only regret is that I do not remember more of the proceedings, and that I hope she feels the same way,” he recited easily, then turned back towards Gilda. “Assure her that I am not avoiding her, but spending time with my Uxor, who understandably demands my presence after this whole cider-soaked affair.”

“I will,” Gilda promised with a nod, wondering if she’d ever get to the point where she was able to take things so easily. Is this just a product of his maturity, or is it simply his personality? She hadn’t known him long enough to guess. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” he decided after a short pause, a gleam growing in his eyes. “May both my Uxor and my Ancestors forgive me, but I also hope very much we can have more readily remembered proceedings again later, when we feel more ourselves again,” he finished with a salute of her. Once she returned the respect, he closed the carriage door, asking the waiting pegasi in Aeric to take him home.

“Will do, sir,” one of them replied in accented Equish with a smile and wink, causing them both to start. “And for what it’s worth? In your place, I’d feel the same way.”

A speechless Gilda watched them kick off and pull the chariot into the air.

She didn’t return inside until he was out of sight over the city walls.

Author's Note

Well, sorry for the delay on this one, folks, but I ended up making a slew of last-minute additions again totaling about 1200 words, thus needing additional prereads and editing passes on them. This wraps up the bonus arc, and marks the point where we can merge back with the original story. I’ll start editing the old chapters again, and yes, you’ll hear more about the aftermath in the updated versions, as well as what happens when Chris, Tara and Marco wake up.

I’d like to thank everyone for indulging this flight of fancy. It’s been fun to write, to introduce all this new lore and characters into the existing story as well as fleshing out what was already there. The side story will continue to receive new chapters, and for those of you reading it, you’ll find out the real story of how Tara received the talon scratches in due course. Needless to say, things are not as they first seem to be!

Thanks as always go to AJ_Aficionado, Silentwoodfire, and Silverblade5 for the prereads on this one. Be following my blog for news on updated chapters from the original story, which I am still not allowed to post here. Like Reyes says, I think it’s stupid and pointless, but rules are rules.