Author's Note

Welcome back, folks! After six all-new chapters, it’s finally time to resume editing the original story, and thanks to the decision of the mods, I can finally post these revamped original chapters directly to the main story instead of storing them off-site on Google Docs!

This chapter is a heavily edited, expanded and updated version of the first half of Feathered Heart: Chapter 4. As always, you are not only invited but encouraged to check out the original. Be advised there’s at least one brief area of suggestive content here, but nothing that exceeds a T-rating.

This chapter seemed to go over well with my prereading crew of AJ_Aficionado, Silentwoodfire, and SIlverblade5. Thanks as always, guys! And without further ado, enjoy.

—Firesight

12: Lockdown Lifted (T-rated)

A full week after their release, Gilda was happy to see that Chris, Tara and Marco were finally starting to seem more themselves.

Just like her at that stage, their appetites had improved and their energy was starting to return in earnest, even though they still tired a little too easily and didn’t wander much further than a trip to the market under escort—something that was only possible given the crisis with the Ibexian Ascendancy appeared to have ended.

Faced with imminent capture and possible execution for the attempt on the lives of the humans and their griffon escorts, their elusive Capricorn Adepts had indeed surrendered, but not to the Ravens or any other griffon authority. They had instead taken refuge in the Saddle Arabian embassy and were refusing to obey orders from their government, saying they would only give up the location of the items they’d stolen upon a signed guarantee of amnesty from Queen Molyneux herself and safe passage to the Ascendancy.

To that end, they’d revealed the location of a small cache of human gear, where the Council of Crows found Tara’s ‘backpack’, which contained her books and sketchpad as well as her magnification spyglass. However, the more important items, including the portal devices and human weapons, remained hidden; the adepts had even gone so far as to forcibly wipe the memories of their contacts to make sure they wouldn’t be discovered.

Despite the attempt at extortion, the Queen openly stated that she had no intention of acceding to their demands. Her latest posted proclamations declared that “the Gryphon Kingdom will not agree to anything under duress” and further insulted the Adepts by stating that “their dishonor is only exceeded by their cowardice.” Unable to enter the embassy to get them, she had ordered the Kingdom’s security forces to simply wait them out until they could get the less-than-happy Saddle Arabians to expel them.

It unquestionably put the latter in a bind, as unlike the Kingdom, Gilda knew that Saddle Arabia wanted good relations with the Ascendancy; a major trading partner who paid richly for their goods as well as passage to their ports on the Marabian Sea. But nor did they wish to antagonize the Kingdom, who kept the Harpie pirate clans in check who might otherwise harass their borders and raid their shipping.

“I don’t see any way out for them,” Tribune Narada had responded when Gilda asked that morning if the Ibexian Adepts could yet slip free of the trap. “Never mind the Council of Crows, Ravens and Paladins, but the entire populace of Arnau is after them. I’m having to deploy extra Auxilia around the Saddle Arabian embassy to keep the protests peaceful and angry griffons out.”

“They should be angry,” Gilda grated, gratified that griffons as a whole had taken the attack on the humans as an attack on all of them. “So why are the Saddle Arabians sheltering them?”

“Because they’re between a storm and a gale right now. They don’t want to upset either side, and are currently in some rather urgent talks with the Ascendancy, whose leadership continues to insist the Adepts are not obeying their orders. For whatever it’s worth, the Council of Crows thinks they’re telling the truth but doesn’t know why.”

“Then they should have no objection to the Saddle Arabians surrendering them,” Fortrakt pointed out with a sneer. He had come back from his two-day leave that morning somewhat distracted but in a generally good mood, leaving Gilda guessing that his first-ever round with the Talon eagless he asked out weeks earlier had gone well.

“Unless they know the Adepts can spill information they don’t want revealed,” Narada pointed out dryly. “Information like past operations, who gave them the order to attack the humans and steal their gear, their contacts among the criminal underworld of Arnau… even if they’re not obeying orders, the Ascendancy has plenty of reason to keep them quiet and try to negotiate their return. For this reason, Ambassador Strenus remains in Saddle Arabia for now, but he hopes to return in two days’ time. Negotiations with the humans will restart then.”

“So where does that leave us?” Gilda asked. “With respect, it’s been over two weeks since the attack, and it looks like the odds of war are ebbing—pity,” she couldn’t help but add with a growl, flexing her talons against the floor. “Can we let their civilians out of house arrest, yet?” She wasn’t happy about having to keep them inside the Inn, doubly so since they were starting to go what she’d heard ponies refer to as stir-crazy as their energy and appetites returned.

“You may,” Narada said, presenting a signed and sealed order for them lifting the restriction. “But they are to be kept together and escorted at all times by both of you when outside the Inn, and you are to inform our outside forces of your intentions so they can be shadowed.”

“By whom? The Council of Crows?” Fortrakt asked grumpily. They had not seen the Senior Sparrow in days, for which Gilda was glad; she’d been told earlier by the Tribune that Talia Tarseus had been informed by no less than the Queen that if she wished to keep her post, she would not rest until the Ibexian assassins and their stolen human equipment were found.

“No. I am told by my contacts that after the failure of the Council of Crows to do their jobs, the Ravens will protect them now. If all goes well, you’ll never see them, but they’ll be watching and will intervene if necessary. Needless to say, do not inform the humans about this.” She raised an eyeridge at them both.

Gilda exchanged a startled glance with Fortrakt. She felt a slight chill go through her at the idea that the Kingdom’s most skilled and lethal warriors short of the mythical Talaeus were going to be watching over them from here on out. I don’t need to be ordered not to tell Chris, Tara and Marco about this, though. Don’t want to make them even more paranoid than I am right now!

“What about continuing to gather information on them, given they now know we were spying?” Gilda had to ask. “I have no objection as long as we make their protection our top priority, but it’s a little more difficult now. Their Marines like us, but Captain Moran still seems suspicious of us. He tried to get us dismissed as liaisons, but the human ambassador overruled him.”

“I would be both surprised and disappointed if he did not,” the Tribune said easily. “In their Captain’s place, I would do no less. Fortunately for us, their Ambassador seems resentful of implementing advice from his soldiers. In that, at least, he is not unlike our own elites,” she mused with a shrug. “Regardless of his reasons, you will continue to gather whatever information they will grant you, but from here on out, be open about your intentions. Perhaps the ponies have it right and the humans will give up more to friendship than to subterfuge.”

Gilda agreed with the statement, though she wondered how Narada would take the news that the civilians were hiding a mysterious cache of items. The morning after learning about the protective enchantments on their gear, they’d discussed over breakfast trying to use them to capture the adepts by simply taking the three humans far enough outside of Arnau that they’d trigger the spell parameters. But in the end, they had decided against it for three reasons.

First, they weren’t in any shape to travel for several days as they continued to convalesce. Second, as Marco somewhat ruefully pointed out, they would have to take their hidden chest with them lest its enchantment be triggered by distance—Gilda was surprised to learn they’d done just that for their initial field foray where Chris and Marco had been attacked, where it had been concealed in Tara’s backpack. Regardless, this would result in them likely being instantly expelled by Goldberg when they were forced by a no-nonsense Captain Moran to reveal its contents—whatever it was, they were worried it might even affect Tara’s asylum claim.

And third, it would likely get Twilight Sparkle’s apprentice, Starlight Glimmer, in trouble back in Equestria, given she’d helped them smuggle the items into the Kingdom even knowing what they were, casting the spells without her mentor’s knowledge.

“There’s also the fact that the Marines haven’t tried this already given Twilight Sparkle probably did something similar for their gear,” Tara added. “Whatever their reasons, if we reveal what we had done to our stuff, they’d have to do the same, and that might force them to give up more information than they want. I just don’t think we’d be helping them—or us—by doing that.”

In the end, they’d decided to keep things quiet, swearing her and Fortrakt to secrecy. “Much as I want my laptop back and those fucking goats served to me with curry sauce, it’s not worth the expense of being kicked out of the Kingdom and hurting Robbie or Tara here in the process,” Marco decided with a sigh, explaining that Sergeant Reyes alone among the Marines knew what they’d brought and had helped them smuggle it through the portal initially.

Although Gilda didn’t like the idea of keeping things from the Tribune, she and Fortrakt agreed to stay silent unless she thought it was in the Kingdom’s interest to tell. We’re keeping stuff from them, so I guess it’s only fair that they be allowed to do the same, she decided as the Tribune dismissed them to begin their latest day with the human civilians.

They saluted and parted with her after that, taking flight for the Inn; she’d been flying extra wind sprints in her off-hours trying to recover her lost wing strength and stamina. She wasn’t there yet, and neither was Fortrakt, but if she were to guess, she would say they’d recovered around 70% of their pre-cider stamina.

They weren’t the only ones exercising. Once he’d felt able, Marco had started to avail himself of the human exercise equipment the Marines had brought—some padded benches and old iron weights, mostly—and began working out alongside them. He was being drilled by Sergeant Reyes, who was in turn being trained to fight griffons in his off hours behind closed doors by Giraldi, who’d received special permission from the Tribune to do so.

“I won easily at first, but he is quickly getting better at our bouts. He is not as strong as me physically, but his body has some surprising heft he is learning to use to good effect,” Giraldi commented to them when she asked about it. There’d also been at least one private meeting between him and Tara in Doc Cullen’s presence, which Tara would only say had been ‘amicable’ and that anything otherwise stated was between the two of them.

Whatever they discussed, the meeting left her deciding she would start working out as well, understanding by then that the griffons she was going to be living among valued strength and fitness. This had in turn induced the slightly overweight Chris to start exercising alongside his friends, not wanting to be left out and perhaps shamed by what he found to be an inferior physique.

Their workouts, when she was allowed to see them, consisted of a mixture of repetitive movements with the weights or simply their own bodies designed to build strength quickly, usually overseen by Reyes when he was off-duty.

Sometimes they struggled with weights and movements that would be ridiculously easy for a griffon, like when they attempted to push off the floor with their forepaws while keeping their legs and back straight. Other times they did things that would be very difficult for a griffon, like hanging their entire wingless body off a bar and pulling themselves up with the strength of their forelegs alone. Only Marco could do the latter at first, while Tara and Chris could barely hang off the bar.

A curious Giraldi found he could do a few ‘reps’ of it with great difficulty, as griffons weren’t used to supporting their weight without their wings by the use of their foretalons alone. But Gilda and Fortrakt could barely manage one “pull-up” as the Marines showed they could do a dozen or more at once, even with the weight of their armored vests.

“Our bodies are built for lifting,” Reyes replied when a panting Chris complained that he couldn’t heft the weight he was given. “Now, lift!”

They’d also learned that unlike griffons, who could simply flare their wings and splay their feathers wide into the air to rapidly vent excess heat, humans cooled themselves off through sweat, leaving them glistening and their clothes soaked through in places. The odor it generated was a bit pungent but not unpleasant; there was a distinct spoor to it that told her their sweat was salty, leaving Gilda wondering idly if it would be good to lick.

And so it went. Lacking much else to do except eat and watch their human charges workout, they’d filled the rest of the time with more movies. They’d seen perhaps a half-dozen human films courtesy of Marco’s ‘backup’ device; some centered around fighting and some not. The latter had included a rather interesting film called “Apollo 13” that showed some impressive human technology—the rumors were true; they had actually traveled to their moon!—and how they’d recovered from an accident that endangered the lives of their ‘astro-knots’ through ingenuity and resourcefulness.

It had been both shocking and fascinating seeing the wingless humans float in the air of their ‘spaceship’; they had been told that it was because they were somehow weightless. She had known that the air got thinner the higher you ascended, but it never occurred to her that there was a point it became an airless void in which flight was impossible and gravity did not exist.

A realm the humans called ‘space’ that they had somehow learned to travel through using massive pillars of fire and small ‘capsules’ that maintained an atmosphere for them. But they could only survive in them for as long as their air and food lasted, and their supply of the former had been limited by their crippled ship.

There were some things of military interest in it, including the massive ‘helicopters’ that could hover and pluck their returned voyagers out of the ocean they’d landed in, and glimpses of giant metal ships. The latter kept sparking slightly nonsensical images of metal birds in her head that seemed strangely sourceless; she could only guess they were related to her still-missing memories of their lost night.

Even after all this time, neither she nor Fortrkat could remember much; the best she’d been able to recall from the night was not sex, but an odd flash of memory regarding an army of red-caped and quite chiseled humans wielding spears, shields and swords.

“300!” Chris and Tara chorused in recognition when she’d wondered aloud what it meant.

At her confused look, Chris explained: “It’s a movie about an ancient battle. Marco must have shown it to us that night. But why would you remember that instead of…?” The rest went unspoken, and Gilda had no answer.

She was tempted to ask if they could watch it again, but she hadn’t yet. She knew she was being dweeby, but she also wasn’t certain what she was more afraid of: That it wouldn’t spark any additional memories of that night…

Or that it would.

She’d even pulled Marco aside at one point and asked him what ‘Midway’ meant, to which he froze and stammered, leaving her initial guess that the reason he was so nervous was because it was something sexual.

“It’s another movie…” he finally admitted, visibly choosing his words with care; she had noted earlier he kept refusing to meet her eyes and seemed to be otherwise avoiding her. “I guess I showed it to you guys under the influence, but, uh… I really shouldn’t have. I can’t say more. And before you ask to see it, I don’t have it or that 300 movie Chris and Tara mentioned you remembering any longer. They were on my laptop that the goats stole, but not my backup device.”

She let it go then, her mind turning as Marco made an excuse to leave her presence, saying he was overdue for another workout with Sergeant Reyes.

So, there’s something in that ‘Midway’ movie we’re not supposed to see? I’m guessing it’s related to those ‘rules’ they keep talking about. Meaning it reveals something about modern human weapons or warfighting, she guessed. Nothing for it, though. Wonder if that movie was what I was trying to report on that night? She still couldn’t believe she’d been so dweeby as to write a report while she’d been in the middle of…

To her great frustration, she nearly grasped a memory again only for it to once more slip free of her mental talons, crumbling like a clump of wet sand. Whatever it was, it caused a sudden rise of arousal within her, for which she quickly excused herself to visit the latrine lest her rosy cheeks or surge of scent gave her away.

“Crows take it…” she muttered to herself. It had happened repeatedly around Marco and Tara; the latter was certainly understandable to her but the former…?

Ancestors above, what did we DO? And why is Marco avoiding me? she still had no immediate answer, and no way to find out the former.

But the latter?

She decided she would attempt to resolve it after they watched their latest movie.

The thrum of bass was subtle, mixing well with the soft sound of the trumpets as Gilda watched the crowd murmur amongst themselves. Two onlookers wearing peculiar hoods watched anxiously as a male human, clothed in red, spoke out.

“The prisoner wishes to say a word.”

The crowd, initially antagonistic, began to murmur “Mercy”. The lilting music started to ascend, getting louder as the prisoner, a rugged-looking human with long hair, struggled to take a final breath; his muscles twitching as he gathered what little strength he had left. His death close but defiance unbowed, his throat expanded as he shouted a single word:

“FRREEEEEEDDDDOOOOOOOMMMMMM!”

Gilda would have found the whole scene quite moving despite it being so incredibly brutal. Even if the prisoner was not of her species, she felt she could respect the human just from his sheer audacity of staying strong in the face of the most barbaric torture. They had him strangled, mangled, and if Chris was telling the truth, even removed his sac, yet he did not beg for mercy. It was so odd to see how similar humans and griffons were in a lot of regards, yet strangely different at the same time.

Of course, Fortrakt had to ruin the moment. Ever since he saw the humans in the movie riding what he called ‘huge, ugly ponies with very large muzzles’—unintelligent Terran horses, they were told—he hadn’t stopped giggling. Honestly, there were many things in the movie he found funny (like the odd Equestrian accents the ‘Scottish’ and ‘English’ humans had; he’d clearly never been to the Pony town of Trottingham or visited Shetlandia between the Celestial and Lunar Seas) but it was the horses they rode that definitely got to him.

Most of the time, he was trying to muffle his beak with his claws, but he was fighting a losing battle. Every so often, she’d hear a snort of air, and a few moments afterwards, loud giggling if not outright cackling.

And now, here it was again. When the human prisoner shouted his last cry, a sharp snort escaped him and Gilda closed her eyes for a moment, counting the seconds before she heard Fortrakt laughing.

“Sorry, sorry!” Fortrakt apologized placatingly as he began to retreat away. It was a smart move, given Gilda had already thrown a sofa pillow at him and she was seriously considering throwing the round table, which had Marco’s backup portal device, speakers and projector on top of it, next.

Marco chuckled from where he was sitting. “You’re really tickled by the horses, eh?”

Fortrakt snorted again. “Can’t help it… they look so ugly and funny!” This time, his laugh afterwards was unrestrained, causing Gilda to release a sharp sigh. Even with the film depicting the human prisoner being beheaded, her immersion and mood were shattered and she lost interest, turning on Marco in annoyance.

“You just had to remind him,” she muttered.

A ghost of a smile touched Marco’s lips before he looked away from her gaze. It was an act that was getting a little too familiar these past few days, as was the irk of irritation his obvious aversion to her generated. It caused Gilda to narrow her eyes as Marco began to once again ignore her.

“Come on, dude,” he began, lightly tapping Fortrakt on his chest with the tips of his blunt talons. “Let’s go to the pantry and get dinner started. Think I promised you we’d try some Caldereta next….”

As the two made their way to the other room, her junior partner’s laughter faded to silence. Without the distraction present, Gilda tried to focus on the film but found it impossible. As the movie ended with the band of ‘Scottish’ heroes doing one last charge against their enemies, her thoughts again strayed towards Marco, causing her wing to twitch and feathers to ruffle slightly.

“You okay, Gilda?” Tara asked; she’d learned along with the rest of them that ruffled feathers indicated annoyance and anger. “You’ve seemed a bit moody of late. Are you still having trouble dealing with what happened that night?” she guessed.

With effort, Gilda forced her feathers to furl. “It’s not that, it’s…” Gilda looked towards her, wondering for a moment if she should speak her mind. While she toyed with the idea of just brushing it off, with Marco gone, it was the perfect opportunity to get some answers from his friends. “Honestly? Yeah, a little. It’s frustrating not being able to recall it. But that’s not what’s bothering me right now.”

“Then what is?” Chris asked her from his couch. He’d been careful not to talk about anything he remembered, she’d noted, though she wasn’t sure if she was imagining that he kept throwing odd glances Fortrakt’s way.

Steeling herself, Gilda took the proverbial plunge, feeling like she was diving off a cloud into a deep but narrow ravine. “Is it just me, or is Marco avoiding me?”

Instead of answering, Tara turned her gaze towards Chris, as if to ask if he wanted to answer. Gilda watched with some fascination as the male human sighed and mumbled, running his hand over his head to brush his red hair back before finally speaking.

“So you noticed too, huh?” he asked, his tone neutral. He’d been suffering the worst under the intense workouts Reyes was putting them through, walking very stiff and stilted after them. But to his credit, he hadn’t given up and was starting to show the beginnings of more sinew on his previously weak frame.

“It’s a little obvious.” Gilda couldn’t see how anycreature who wasn’t blind could fail to notice. It had started the second time they’d seen them awake in the infirmary; he’d looked at her once, flinched, and then never locked gazes with her again.

Since then, he seemed to be doing his best to avoid her; even going to lengths his friends said he normally never would. The first of his twice-daily workouts were at dawn; they had him eating breakfast with the Marines before Gilda and Fortrakt could arrive from their morning briefing with Narada—a slightly bemused Chris had mentioned that Marco was never one to rise before the sun. And even when she was around, he behaved neutrally to outright cooly towards her, sticking closely to Fortrakt while generally not looking in Gilda’s direction.

Adding to her moodiness was the strange certainty that something had happened between them that night; more due to a feeling than any flash of memory that fed it. There was no direct evidence of it like there was with Tara, and yet, the idea alone kept sending a thrill through her; that she’d somehow allowed him access to her.

And when she asked herself why she would be even remotely interested in the brown-skinned ape—and she increasingly found herself sharply rebuking her own thoughts for assigning him that insulting label—she surprised herself by coming up with several possible answers, from his ability to cook (griffons who could do so well were seen as artisans and thus worthy of respect) to his honorable actions to defend Chris.

To say nothing of the fact that he had honored her by bringing the weapon he used, a steel baton, for use specifically against her.

She was certain he did it by accident. He didn’t know enough about the Kingdom’s culture to realize that a weapon brought against a gryphon conveyed a good measure of respect. While she granted it was an old tradition—and yes, he used it against another griffon instead of her—she couldn’t help but feel a bit… flattered, which only added to her frustrations and conflicted feelings. Especially as she acknowledged that there were valid reasons for her to like him.

But rut him?

“For what it’s worth, I know how you feel,” Tara broke into her thoughts. For a moment, Gilda thought the human eagless was opting out of the conversation and leaving the room, but instead, she made her way towards the kitchenette and grabbed a pot from a machine that emitted a familiar bittersweet smell.

“How do you take your coffee, Gilda?” Tara asked.

“With extra sugar and cream.” I don’t even know how anycreature could want it black!

“Coming up.” Tara stirred two mugs and a bowl before laying them on a tray, bringing them to the table. She gave the latter to Gilda, who sniffed and found the coffee more sweet than bitter, which was how she liked it. “It’s not just you, Gilda. Fortrakt’s doing the same to me and Chris. Honestly? The way those two are acting around us is just like Marco did around me after we had our little fling.”

“You just had to remind me of that…” Chris groused as he accepted his mug. “When I close my eyes, I can still smell the vomit from that night.”

“Sorry, Chris,” Tara grimaced. “It wasn’t our finest hour as friends. But with regards to Marco and Fortrakt, I don’t know… maybe they just regret it?”

“I’m not so sure. It’s hard to regret what you don’t remember,” Chris replied, holding his mug in one hand while rubbing his temples with the other.

“Unless that’s what he regrets,” Tara pointed out idly. “Marco really did want to befriend you, Gilda. And maybe he thinks that’s all out the window now.”

“Maybe,” Gilda granted as she dipped her beak in her bowl. “It’s definitely frustrating not knowing. But as for Fortrakt, I think he’s avoiding you because he doesn’t want to be hurt again.”

“Understandable,” Tara said with a sigh. “It wasn’t fun telling him that you and Giraldi got to be with me.”

“So he thinks that means he didn’t. It was hard on him, Tara,” Gilda said, taking another slurp.

“He doesn’t know that…” Tara trailed off as she visibly tried to recall the later events of that night again, only to sigh as she yet again failed. “And neither do we.”

“It doesn’t matter. He feels like he wasn’t the first or second choice of you, and that’s a hard thing for him—for any young tiercel—to accept.”

“Just like the guys back home…” The human woman sighed as a glance at Chris showed him with a pensive expression. “Guess we’re not that different after all. But didn’t you say he was going to be with some eagless on his leave?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t asked him about it. I was worried that if it went badly, it might set him off,” she explained, reflecting that had his round occurred before that night, she wouldn’t have hesitated to tease him about it. But now…?

But now, it’s just hitting too close to home, and I really don’t want to hurt him further, she decided, finding her feelings towards him had turned something close to sisterly.

“You seem very quiet, Chris,” Tara changed the subject. “Something on your mind?”

“Oh! Uh… no,” he stammered slightly as Gilda looked up to see he had gone flustered. “Or, well... nothing important. I was just, uh, thinking what Dana would have done if all this happened while she was still here.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Tara’s eyes narrowed along with Gilda’s, who reflected that it had been a very good thing that Dana had not been present that night, or the Ibex might well have gotten their wish that a griffon murdered a human. “Far as I’m concerned, she’s just a bitch in designer clothing.”

“’Bitch’? You have diamond dogs in your world?” Gilda asked at the odd use of the term.

Tara blinked, her expression bemused. Then she laughed, to Gilda’s mild annoyance..

“‘Bitch’ is a term of insult,” Chris explained. “It roughly means a very mean, stupid or unpleasant person. It’s used mostly for women with a bad attitude, but not always.”

“Ah.” Gilda nodded as she sipped from her bowl, mentally adding another term to her growing catalog of human cursewords. “From what little I saw of her, that certainly does describe Dana. Crows know I was ready to tear her up after insulting me to my face.”

“And we wouldn’t have minded one bit,” Tara replied, taking another sip from her cup. “She did nothing but cause trouble and act like an entitled brat. But she’s gone now, thank God.”

Chris sighed. “At least you don’t have to deal with her any longer, Tara. I will when I go back home. I half-expect I’ll return to find I no longer have a job.” He turned pensive again.

“Hey, you could always stay in the Kingdom with me!” Tara said with a grin.

“Don’t tempt me.” He gave her a rueful look. “But the thing is, I can’t. I’ve got personal and professional obligations back home that I can’t just throw away.”

“Yeah, I understand. I guess I’m lucky. There’s no professional obligations for me other than a few classes at the university I was TA’ing—that stands for Teaching Assistant, Gilda—but I’m going to have a hard time explaining this to my parents.” Tara turned downcast. “At least my brothers might think it’s cool. I imagine they’ll want to come visit. I’m worried Dana will turn her attention on them, though, to try to get back at me.”

“Is she really that petty?” Gilda asked, even though she thought she already knew the answer.

“Yes,” the two replied thinly, their eyes narrowing before Tara continued for both of them. “She made it a sport of ruining people back home for ridiculous reasons, and she could get away with it because of her daddy and that she championed online mobs. I mean, come on—she’s only here because she’s well-connected.”

“A little hypocritical of you to say that,” Chris replied with a sly smile, to which Tara rolled her eyes.

“Okay, maybe I do have to thank a certain someone—” she gave Chris a mock glare “—for pulling strings, allowing me and Marco to accompany him to an alien world in the first place. So do I want to know how you did it?”

“You’re welcome, Tara,” he said, pointedly ignoring her latter question, though his sly grin did seem to grow. “Well, I do admit that having two of my friends with me sounds much better than being accompanied by random strangers. It also helps that both you and Marco have enough qualifications to justify your presence, particularly given we complement each other well.

“You’re working on your master’s degree in Geology while Marco’s a soil specialist. That pairs well with me being about plants and climate when we’re trying to figure out what minerals can be mined and what crops we can grow here.”

“Exactly,” Tara said, crossing her arms over her chest. “In other words, Marco and I have some usable skills for what we’re supposed to be doing here. A privileged bitch like Dana? Not so much.”

Before Chris could reply further, Gilda asked, “What do you mean by ‘privileged’?”

“Her dad’s a Senator,” chorused Tara and Chris. There was no follow-up explanation afterwards, as if their single sentence alone would suffice. And oddly enough, for Gilda, it did.

Given how the typical cub of a Senator acts here—entitled and bratty like everycreature else is beneath them—guess it’s yet another example of how uncannily alike our societies and culture are, she decided as a stray memory suddenly clicked.

“Dana… oh! Gimli!” she suddenly exclaimed, causing the other two to look up in confusion.

“Huh?” Chris asked, his face and hand frozen in mid-sip.

Gilda chuckled. “Sorry, I just remembered something. When you three first arrived in Arnau, Marco started spouting some nonsense about a sword, and then I got really confused over your names.”

Chris snorted and almost spilled the contents of his mug, while Tara’s laugh came unrestrained.

“I’m sorry,” Tara said at Gilda’s slightly peeved look, which quickly melted away—just like with Rainbow before their friendship ended, Gilda had a very hard time staying angry at Tara for anything. “I guess that was a bit confusing to anycreature watching.” She surprised Gilda by using the griffon term.

“Very. I mean, Dana started berating Marco when you first arrived in Arnau, right?” Gilda recalled. “And then Marco called her ‘Gimli’?”

“Yup,” Tara chuckled and grinned. “So at a guess, you thought that was actually her name?”

“Uh... well, yes,” Gilda began, which elicited a fresh series of chortles from Tara followed by a flush from Gilda’s cheeks. “Can you blame me, though? I couldn’t figure out why she got called Dana at one point and Gimli at another. All I could figure was that one was a title or rank or something. It didn’t help that Marco also identified himself as ‘Aragorn’.”

“Yeah,” Chris nodded with another chuckle. “Sorry to have confused you, and sorry to laugh. ’Gimli’ and ‘Aragorn’ aren’t ranks or titles; they’re characters from another movie series we know. I guess we should show it to you eventually—if Marco’s still got it on his backup hard drive, that is. But honestly, he was just trying to annoy Dana enough to make her go away.”

“By making thrusting motions with his hips towards her or ogling Tara’s flank?” Gilda replied with a pointed look. “I get why he did that now, and I also get that you’re okay with it, Tara. But that didn’t exactly endear him to everygriffon watching.”

“I guess not. But It worked, didn’t it?” Tara countered. “She left.”

Gilda snorted. “Yeah, it worked, but it really painted Marco in a bad light with not just me, but pretty much every eagless there.” She remembered all the ruffled feathers around her. “It convinced me he was a pervert. It was part of what set me off that night when he touched me—I thought he was trying to grope me.”

The two looked up, no longer laughing. “I didn’t even think of that,” Chris granted somewhat ruefully. “Yeah, based on what we know now, I guess it wouldn’t exactly endear him to the average griffon.”

“Still worth it just for getting rid of her,” Tara grumbled. She punched a fist into the palm of her other hand, like she still seemed to do whenever she thought of the other female. “For the record, we tried to be nice to Dana at the start, but she threw it back in our faces. Didn’t want anything to do with us.”

“It wasn’t just us, either—even when we were back in Equestria, she did nothing but complain,” Chris added. “Honestly, I admire the ponies for not losing their temper over her. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t have TVs, satellite, or social media.”

“Maybe, though I think Starlight Glimmer might have gotten back at her for us that one time,” Tara smirked. “Remember at the Grand Galloping Gala, when Dana suffered that little wardrobe malfunction after she was rude to us? The strap of her gown broke while she was getting her picture taken with Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis. She flashed a boob at everyone.”

“Just as the cameras clicked, too.” Chris grinned at the memory. “Starlight winked at us after that.”

Okay, I really want to meet this mare! Gilda decided. Seems like she not only had Rainbow’s sense of humor, but also stood up for her friends! “Sounds embarrassing. But what’s a ‘boob’?” Gilda asked, even though she strangely sensed the answer, which Tara then confirmed by squeezing one of her chest-mounted mammaries. “Oh. I take it those aren’t supposed to be seen?”

“As a matter of modesty, no,” Tara confirmed with a glance at Chris. “But also as a matter of practicality. If they’re large, they tend to flop around a bit when they’re not secured by special undergarments called brasseries, or bras.” She pulled aside the shoulder of her shirt to reveal a strap, tugging on it gently to make clear that was what she meant.

She then shifted slightly uncomfortably. “And I’m starting to think I might need some new ones. I’m not sure why, but mine have been too tight ever since…” The rest went unspoken except for the blush of her cheeks and a furtive glance at Gilda, who blushed back.

“Interesting…” Wondering what they looked like—and part of her even wondering what they felt like!—Gilda found herself eyeing the prominent mammary mounds from just a foreleg’s length away, watching in some fascination as the hidden teats that capped them visibly engorged under her scrutiny from beneath the shirt the human woman wore. She dimly noted that neither Chris nor Tara said anything as she stared, as if waiting to see what she would do; she wasn’t sure, but she thought Tara tugged on her shirt to show off just a little more of her flesh.

Her head drifting closer as she swore for a moment she could all but see and feel them again—again?—she didn’t realize what she was doing until she leaned far enough forward that she spilled coffee from her bowl and then fumbled it onto the floor, causing its porcelain to shatter on the stone surface and all present to flinch at the sharp noise.

“Crows take it…” she growled, the moment broken, getting a dishtowel to wipe up the mess after throwing the broken pieces of the bowl into the trash. Not finding another one—they were overdue to wash dishes—she grabbed a mug instead and filled it from the coffeepot, deciding it would be best to sit further away from Tara.

“So… why is hiding those a matter of modesty?” Gilda had to know, covering up her embarrassment and suddenly heady thoughts with a fresh question. “I only ask because, well... Griffons don’t hide themselves.”

“Well…” Tara squirmed slightly as Chris blushed hard against his normally pale cheeks. “What you have to understand is, they’re considered sexual. Our breasts are an erogenous zone, and as such, they’re considered attractive by our men.” She spelled it out, eliciting an intensified flush from all present. “For many guys, the bigger the better, too. They’re placed to catch the eye, and in most human cultures, you only show them when you’re being... intimate,” she explained carefully with another glance at Chris, who was pointedly looking away.

“I see…” Gilda couldn’t shake the feeling that she had asked these questions before and that she already knew their answers. She couldn’t fathom why she would be attracted to teats—certainly, she’d never seen her own as anything sexual! And yet… “So this ‘Starlight’ embarrassed Dana by showing her teat to everyone,” she summarized.

“Yes. But in all fairness, I can’t entirely blame her for her bad attitude. Dana didn’t take well to being disconnected,” Chris replied, quickly changing the subject. “That’s understandable, given we had some issues, too.”

“Maybe…” Tara muttered, taking what seemed to Gilda a very deliberate sip of her coffee to cover her thoughts. “But come on, Chris—we were specifically warned that Equestria didn’t have a lot of human conveniences. I mean, I miss home too! I miss dabbling on Facebook and playing Minecraft; I miss going to movie theaters—at least when they’ve been open—and going online to troll my favorite Reddit forums! Have I acted like a spoiled brat, though?

“And look at Marco—Goldberg’s been riding his ass this entire time, but have you seen him bitch and moan?”

Facebook? Minecraft? Gilda filed those words away, also noting the use of words like ‘bitch’ and ‘ass’ in a different context. But before she could ask about them, Chris spoke up.

“Point. All I’m saying is she had some valid reasons for being… whiny.”

Tara snorted but kept quiet while Gilda encased the mug in front of her with her claws. She delicately lifted it to her beak and slowly tilted it, careful not to spill. “I understand that she came here through family influence, but it sounds like she was just making herself miserable here. Why would she even come to this world, then?” she asked as she took a cautious sip.

“For the prestige of it,” Chris answered. “it would get her more attention and acclaim when she came back. She might even be called to testify in the Senate before her father. She’d get plenty of good press and publicity along the way, which she could then parley into greater influence in the… social circles she travels in,” he finished carefully.

Gilda sensed there was more he wasn’t saying, but she’d figured out by then that of the three, Chris tended to be the most circumspect about things and least likely to say something he wasn’t supposed to. “Okay. So why did the three of you want to come here, then?” she asked next, genuinely curious as to the answer.

“Well…” Tara paused as she took another sip of her coffee. “Speaking for myself, I just wanted to escape home for a bit and do something different. It was also kind of a fun thing to think about; being a pioneer in traveling to an alien world…” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at Gilda, surprised to see her drinking from a mug in her talons instead of a bowl. “Okay, how do you do that?”

“Do what?” Gilda asked, taking another sip. When Tara pointed at the cup, she understood. “Oh. Well, it takes some practice, and the right-sized cup. I had to learn how when I lived in Equestria since they use big mugs that their hooves can hold.

“These are fine, since these rooms are meant to be used by any species from ponies to Minotaurs, but I can’t do it when the mug is smaller than my beak is wide. So kindly don’t serve me anything in a teacup.” She grimaced slightly at the memory of snapping hard at a pony waiter when that had happened in Rainbow’s presence back in Cloudsdale.

“Huh. So that’s why the mugs are larger than back home,” Chris noted. “Not that I’m complaining. Big cups of coffee do me just fine.” He emphasized the point by taking a long draw on his mug.

“Yeah. But getting back on topic? About Marco,” Gilda reminded them. “Why is he avoiding me?”

“Have to be honest. I’m not sure,” Tara told her. “The one thing I can promise is that he doesn’t dislike you. If he did, he’d just insult you or make you uncomfortable like Dana.”

“Unless he’s afraid Gilda would tear him up,” Chris pointed out. “That wasn’t an issue with Dana.”

“I don’t think so,” Tara replied with a shake of her head. “Trust me, I’ve seen him. He came by the bar I used to work at, and he’s no coward—I saw him do it to guys he didn’t like, too. Guys much bigger than him.”

“Yeah, well, he was probably carrying then,” Chris said dismissively.

“Without a permit?” Tara challenged.

“Like that ever stopped him,” Chris said with a roll of his eyes. He then turned to Gilda, who was giving him a quizzical glance. “By ‘carrying’, I mean carrying a certain class of weapon. For reasons I’d rather not get into, that’s illegal in a lot of places back home.”

Though Gilda knew that was something worth exploring for her daily reports, she didn’t care as much about that as continuing the chain of thought on Marco. “He was carrying a weapon before. Am I wrong to think he’s carrying one now?” she challenged them, to which they remained conspicuously silent. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me. If yes, then from what you’re saying, there’s some other reason he’s ignoring me.”

Chris sighed heavily. “You’re right. If I were to guess, it has something to do with that night. Maybe he remembers something. Or thinks he does.”

“Thinks he does?” she echoed uncomprehendingly.

“I know it sounds weird. But speaking for myself, I keep having these flashes of memory that… well, seem too fanciful to be real,” he told them. “I keep imagining I did things—we did things—that seem impossible.”

“Like what?” Tara asked, giving him an askance look.

“Never mind,” he said shortly, his lip tight. “What I’m trying to say is, I have these memories and I don’t know that they’re real. I literally can’t tell what’s fantasy and what’s reality—I’m worried my brain just filled in the blanks with what I wanted to have happened.” He shifted uncomfortably again and conspicuously put his hands down over his lap, still holding his mug.

“But the point is, if Marco’s anything like me? Seeing you is causing him to recall stuff he finds uncomfortable or just confusing—stuff he doesn’t even know actually happened. I admit I’m just guessing, but that might be what’s making him act this way.”

“I see…” Gilda said carefully, searching her own memories to see if the discussion had sparked any fresh recollections, only to find it hadn’t.

“Do you remember anything else from later in the night, Gilda?” Tara asked her, half-hopefully. “Because I still don’t.”

She could only sigh and shake her head sadly. “Nothing but flashes of that one movie,” she replied, though she once again glimpsed an incomprehensible vision of metal birds diving on a strange seagoing ship from which a hail of incendiary arrows erupted. She thought of asking them about it, but decided it was too nonsensical and fanciful a vision to possibly be real. “But why would that make him uncomfortable?”

“Because he may have memories of himself doing things he wouldn’t normally do otherwise,” Chris answered cautiously. “And he may feel emasculated by it.”

Gilda blinked. “Emasculated?” she repeated the odd term, rolling the word on her tongue. “What’s that?”

“Ah, crap, how are we supposed to explain that,” Tara muttered. Her hands moved slightly in a circular motion; her expression one of deep thought. “Um… in the context of what Chris was saying, it means that Marco may feel less of a man—a tiercel in griffon terms—based on something he remembers happening.”

Gilda considered that for just a moment before the ridiculousness of the idea crystalized. “That’s insane,” she muttered. “Come on, Tara—he thinks he’s not a true male? Just a couple days before that whole evil Ibex plot, he held off two griffons with just a blunt weapon and even had one praying for his Ancestors to save him! How can he feel inadequate as a tiercel—as a man—after that?”

“It’s one of those… human things,” Chris answered cautiously, visibly suppressing a shiver at the memory of his close calls. “It’s a bit complicated, I’m afraid.”

Gilda stared at him for a moment before smirking. “Are we pressed for time?”

Tara smiled in response, taking another sip from her mug. “Well, then… the easiest way I can explain it is that it has to do with our culture. One aspect of human history is that most of our societies are patriarchal—male-dominated. There’s debate on why this came to be, but a lot of theories center on the primitive development of our species.”

“Which is?”

“Well, to put it simply, in tribal times, the more physically powerful males hunted for food, providing for their family and the community.” Chris placed his cup down on the table as he spoke. “The females, in turn, mostly stayed at home, protecting, feeding and rearing the children.”

“You make it sound so sexist, Chris,” Tara said with a chuckle.

“Don’t go all social justice on me, Tara.” Chris rejoined with a wink, leaving Gilda guessing there was a joke she wasn’t getting, having no idea what the odd turn of phrase meant.

“Do you see me with purple hair, a Che Guevara t-shirt and a nose ring, Chris?” Tara jested, though her expression suggested she was anything but amused. “But the point he’s making is that in Marco’s homeland and many others, men are expected to be… dominant, both culturally and sexually. But around you, he’s been anything but.

“I admit I’m just guessing right now, but based on… well, something that happened during our fling last year, he might feel like he’s not living up to what a man should be.”

“Do I want to know what happened?” Chris asked warily.

Tara hesitated but answered, choosing her words with care. “The memory’s hazy, but… let’s just say he wasn’t exactly on top at one point.”

“TMI, Tara.” Chris grimaced, causing the two to fall silent.

Gilda had a guess as to what she meant, based on what she’d heard Tara had done with Giraldi while under the influence from some of her old Turma who had witnessed them. Then… I might have done the same with Marco...? She searched her mind again, but even with a possible hint, no scraps of memory rose to the surface. If that’s the case—and I have no idea if it is—I’d have trouble dealing with such a strange mating method after, too!

She took a moment to think back on what she had learned. “So to paraphrase what you’re saying… as human males are built to be stronger than females, they tend to take it badly when they’re overmatched or dominated by one?”

“Oversimplified, but basically correct,” Chris replied carefully. “It’s a throwback to our more primitive times. Nowadays, most of our food is grown, harvested or herded. There aren’t a lot of cultures back on Earth that still hunt for provisions, so the notion of men providing food is a little outdated. However, the patriarchal nature of our world hasn’t completely faded.”

“And Marco’s from a country with a strong patriarchal culture, so… that’s kind of hard-wired into him,” Tara finished, then took another sip from her cup. “How about griffons? Are you guys patriarchal? Or matriarchal, like the Equestrians?”

Gilda looked up at the sudden change of subject, swirling the contents of her mug with a talon to spread the cream out further. That accomplished, she shook her head. “Neither. Tiercels and eaglesses are almost exactly alike in terms of overall abilities. Males can be a bit stronger, but not enough for it to matter in most instances, especially since most of our fighting takes place in the air. Speed and skill tend to count a lot more in combat with us than raw strength, so our two genders are considered equal in capability.”

“Well, except an eagless can get pregnant,” Tara pointed out with a wry grin.

“Of course,” Gilda replied, returning the smile. If somecreature else made such an obvious statement, she would have been annoyed, but she simply couldn’t be mad at Tara. “But the point is, neither male or female griffons enjoy any real advantage over the other. Both can hunt and wield weapons; both can farm, fight, or mine. Any differences in strength are generally due less to gender than bloodline or sheer force of will.”

Chris looked up. “What do you mean by bloodline?”

“Well, for us, bloodline is mostly ancestry,” Gilda explained. “There are some families that are built to be stronger or faster, and used arranged marriages with other clans to emphasize those traits further. If I remember my history lessons correctly, that was a big reason why there are now sky griffons, earth griffons, and more importantly, mage griffons.”

“We learned that early on. Couldn’t help but note you seemed to have the same three types as ponies,” Tara said. “Earth pony, pegasi, and unicorns?”

“Not exactly,” Gilda replied with a shake of her head. “There’s an important difference between the ponies and us. The United Tribes of Equestria is made of three distinct subspecies—actually four, if you count the bat-ponies.”

“Bat-ponies…” Tara murmured, then shivered. “I saw a couple of them in Canterlot. Bat-wings, sharp teeth and cat-eyes on a pony body are just…” She shivered again. “You don’t have bat forms, do you?”

Gilda blinked at the strange question. She’d always thought of the thestrals as being slightly comical-looking herself; she knew they had a reputation of being both skilled hunters and fierce fighters, but she didn’t believe it.

Predatory ponies? Now THAT’S a lot more funny than horses, Fortrakt! she mentally told him. “There are some highly questionable legends of bat-griffons in our ancient past, but… no. Even if they existed before, they don’t today,” she reassured her human friend.

“But the point is that unlike the different races that comprise the ponies of Equestria, earth, sky and mage griffons are all the same species. But their bloodlines are… specialized to fit their lands of origins. For example, the Western Ports and Northern Mountains needed strong fliers, so most sky griffons you’d meet can trace their lineages to those places.

“In contrast, the Eastern Plains and Southern Farmlands needed griffons that were faster or stronger on the land, so the origin of earth griffons can be traced to there,” she further explained. “It wasn’t just griffons, either—the same thing happened to the Caleponians and Sevasteponians once they settled here. It didn’t take many centuries for them to start becoming distinct from Equestrian ponies, both culturally and physically. They’re not a different race, but they’re definitely a new bloodline.”

“Interesting,” Chris muttered, placing his hand beneath his chin. “How about mage griffons?”

Gilda finished her drink before she replied. “Nogriffon knows their origin. In the old days, magically gifted griffons were considered gifts by the Ancestors; revered for the many miracles they could perform. They could quickly heal sickness and wounds, bless pregnant eaglesses so they’d safely give birth, and even help grow crops.”

They were also the most valued soldiers in the griffon military as they could rain fire and lightning down on their opponents from a safe distance, but Gilda felt a bit uncomfortable revealing that to the humans.

“Wow. You learn something new every day,” Tara mused, staring into her mug as she considered Gilda’s words. “Is there any obvious way to tell you apart? Earth griffons like Giraldi seem to be generally larger, but not always.”

“Unlike with Equestrian Ponies, it’s not so obvious,” Gilda granted. “With sky griffons like me and Fortrakt, you’ll notice that we have a thicker coat and feathers so we can survive the cold winters of the north. Our wingspans are larger and our eyesight is better—you can tell us apart in flight fairly easily. We basically fly far faster and longer than earth gryphons, and in combat, our preferred weapons are steel claws and crossbows.

“On the other wing, earth griffons have stockier frames to carry more muscle. They can only fly a few dozen leagues, but are much stronger; their great strength means they excel at ground combat and can carry heavier weapons like shields and war hammers.

“And as for mage griffons… well, I guess the best way to know if they are mage griffons is if they carry a stave. One of their unique characteristics is that they can be either an earth or sky griffon. Their abilities tend to be hereditary, but not always—mages have given birth to non-mages and vice-versa.”

Chris nodded. “Okay, that explains bloodline. But I have to point out, it sounds a bit predestined to me. So far, from what I’ve seen in the Kingdom, griffons value strength. Does that mean if you don’t have a strong bloodline, you won’t be able to... I don’t know, raise your station or something?”

Gilda was impressed at the observation. “That was actually true in ancient times. Before the unification of our lands, griffons were loosely separated into four distinct tribes: the Northern, Southern, Eastern, and Western territories. They each had their own Tribal Lords called the Blessed, revered by those beneath them because of their strong Lineages.

“Of course, that all changed when the griffon tribes united under one banner. Our Primo Basileus, King Fortis Primus, established that instead of promoting griffons for their ancestry, they’d be promoted by their merits, acts, and will to self-improve. He believed that hard work, dedication, and loyalty were traits that would prove to be stronger and far more useful to the Kingdom than bloodlines.”

“Huh,” Tara interjected. “That’s very forward-thinking.”

“And now-backwards thinking for us,” Chris muttered under his breath.

“Maybe it was until the Empire took over,” she said, wondering what to make of Chris’s statement; she was getting the distinct impression that the humans were unhappy about the way things were going back home. “Then the idea of strength became all-consuming, and gryphons who didn’t meet Imperial standards of what a mighty gryphon should be were cast out of society as unworthy. As you learned at the Hall of Heroes, Gavian Ravenoff was such a gryphon,” she noted.

“Right,” Tara said somewhat shortly. “Abandoned by his own parents at age six for being too small?”

“Exactly. And I’m sorry to say, he wasn’t the only one to suffer like that. Even if they survived, those such as he had few options in life and often ended up joining criminal raider gangs out of desperation. Not because they were bad—well, some were—but because there was nowhere else they could go.”

“Sounds awful. So how did all that change?” Tara asked.

“Well...” Gilda considered what she knew of their history. “First and foremost, the Empire had to be overthrown, as it was at the end of the Great Pony/Gryphon war. Once it fell and the Kingdom was restored, our older, more honorable and more pragmatic values could reassert themselves.”

“What values were those?” Chris asked, making an odd gesture of rubbing his chin with his soft talons. They produced a slightly raspy sound; she’d noticed before that the human males seemed to grow the moustaches and beards she’d seen on some ponies over time.

“Once again, you have to go back to the founding of the original Gryphon Kingdom for the answer,” she noted, marveling that she was giving what amounted to a classroom lecture when it used to be that she hated going to school. “Before he became our Primo Basileus, King Fortis was a tiercel from a very unremarkable family and ancestry. He was, however, a griffon in possession of a particularly strong will and sharp mind.” Gilda stretched out a bit as she spoke, lounging out on the sofa beside Tara.

For a moment, their proximity seemed to spark a memory, but once again, it faded except for an odd feeling of tightness in her teats; she covered up the sudden surge of sensations their increased sensitivity produced by charging ahead with her explanation, trying to distract herself.

“His path to power was not easy. A lot of his early memoirs were mostly in regards to favoritism towards ancestry and lineages. When he came to rule, it was by default. At the time, the griffons were at war with an enemy that used our own reverence of bloodlines against us, destroying all of the Blessed along the way and nearly bringing down the entire gryphon race. What King Fortis established from the ruins was a system where griffons like him wouldn’t bow down to others just because of ancestry.”

“Huh,” Chris muttered in what she interpreted to be a degree of wonderment. “So bloodlines are unimportant now?”

“Well, not entirely,” Gilda admitted, her tail flicking once as she thought of her father; she used her anger and resentment at him to force her more lurid thoughts back to bay. “We still have to establish our family tree, and gaining officer ranks without battlefield experience generally requires sponsorship from established figures with good bloodlines,” she explained, deciding to leave out that her own sire was such a griffon.

“But it in no way affects our standing in society. Normally, every griffon starts out in the lowest position and gets the opportunity to grow—to make themselves useful to the Kingdom. In return for your hard work, the Kingdom rewards you—in the case of the military, with higher rank, and better weapons and armor.” She tapped one of her metal pauldrons for emphasis.

“Now I get it,” Tara said in some amazement. “So the amount of armor a griffon gets determines your rank! That’s why Fortrakt doesn’t have as much as you!”

“It’s the other way around, but yes,” Gilda confirmed. “When you graduate from The Gauntlet and enter the Kingdom’s military as a Fledgling, you get a single leather pauldron for your left shoulder. After a year of serving and learning, you’re considered a seasoned enough soldier to receive your first true soldier rank, which is Spear, earning a second pauldron for your right shoulder.

The next rank is Gladio. It’s the first rank where you command other griffons, leading a three-soldier Fuga—I spent a year as that, getting my first leather vest. Later, I was promoted to Decanus, which meant I commanded a ten-griffon Decade, getting leather foreleg protection added to the ensemble,” she recalled.

“And so it goes from there. Second Spears get their left pauldron upgraded to a metal plate. First Spear gets the same on the right shoulder, and after that are officer ranks, of which I hold the lowest level. Decurion means I could command a Turma of three decades. I get a stronger vest plus my leather foreleg pieces upgraded to metal vambraces,” she nodded down to where hers sat snugly on her forearms. “After that would come things like improved helms and flank protection, and when you rise high enough, steel chestplates.”

“And that command chain…?” Tara inquired, pointing a soft talon at where it ringed Gilda’s neck like a loose collar. “I get that it grants you additional authority, but I still haven’t figured out what the rules of it are.”

“It was confusing for me at first, too,” Gilda chuckled somewhat ruefully, remembering how she had repeatedly failed to recite the rules of them during inspections at Gauntlet training. She had ended up getting chewed out on top of receiving additional and generally distasteful duties ranging from cleaning the latrines to cooking endless sheets of barely edible scones.

“The first thing you need to know is that there are five types of command chains—six if you count the one worn by a Prelate, which is our highest military rank. To be one means you command the entirety of the Kingdom’s armed forces and wield authority second only to the Queen herself. We don’t currently have one, though.”

“Why not?” Chris asked.

“Because they’re generally only appointed in times of war or great danger. Outside of that, the Praetors, or service heads, command at the Queen’s direction,” she recounted.

“But as for the chains… we’ll start with mine. This is a diplomatic command chain, denoted by being made out of iron.” She hooked it with a talon briefly; she’d at least been pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t uncomfortable or chafing. It means that I act with diplomatic authority. I can use it to give orders to local security and military forces in furtherance of diplomatic goals… which in this case, is to protect you and help the trade negotiations,” she explained, waiting until they nodded before she continued.

“Understand, there are limits to what authority it grants me. I can’t command regular military forces with it like the Knights or Talons, but I can give orders to internal security forces like the Paladins or Auxiliary Guard. Any orders I issue using the chain’s authority can only be overridden by the Queen or a senior enough Legatus—our word for Ambassador—but that authority is not absolute or unquestioned.

“If I pull Paladin or even Guard soldiers away from their duties, crows know I’d best have a damned good reason for it, or I would be in trouble later on.”

“Interesting…” Chris said. “Then you can issue orders to ranks higher than the one you hold?”

“To a point, yes. But I really don’t want to do that unless I have to. That’s liable to result in a duel, or at least some very uncomfortable scrutiny after.”

“I think I get it now. So what are the other types of command chains, then?” Tara asked.

Gilda organized her thoughts before replying. “Well, remember how I said I can’t command regular military forces? There are other chains that grant that. A Talon chain, which is made from silver to mimic their armor color, grants you the ability to command Talon units—they’re our Army, basically, and our biggest service branch. That’s sometimes issued to Guard or Paladin commanders for purposes of streamlining chains of command. My Auxiliary Guard Tribune, Felicia Narada, was assigned one for the arrival of your delegation so she could more efficiently deploy forces around Arnau.

“There’s also a Knight chain, which is gold like their armor. But that’s given much more rarely, given that the Knights are the elite wing of the Kingdom’s military; they can normally command all the lesser branches. On rare occasions, you’ll see one given to a Talon commander to whom Knights are attached but a more senior Knight officer isn’t available.

“There’s also a copper chain used for military officials to be able to command civilian security forces like the Peacekeepers. That’s sometimes given to Talon or Auxiliary Guard commanders when there’s a need to work closely together. And then there’s a cobalt chain given to allow higher-ranked officers from Peacekeeping forces to command the Auxiliary Guard.”

“What about your airship navy?” Chris recalled. “Is there a chain for that?”

“Oddly enough, no, because there are practically no circumstances when lesser services should be commanding them,” she replied. “In terms of service hierarchy, they’re second only to the Knights. Airship battlegroups and flotillas either operate independently, or are assigned as support to Talon units under Knight command.”

“Odd, but okay. And you said there was one for Prelates?” Chris asked next. He was now leaning forward towards her from where he sat on the sofa.

“Yes. That chain contains links of all types, to show that such a gryphon wields authority over all security and military forces in the Kingdom. That gryphon would be allowed to make and execute war strategy on behalf of the Queen, and the post would normally only go to a masterful military mind like Salvio Gaius.”

There was a moment of silence as the humans seemed to absorb everything Gilda had said. The first reaction came from Tara, who chuckled. “Oh, wow. That’s really interesting. Marco is so going to wish he was here. He gets massive boners when it comes to military history and culture.”

“I didn’t need that image, Tara,” Gilda winced, earning a chuckle, and this time, for a moment she swore she did glimpse Marco’s malehood in her memory. But just like Chris, she had no idea if what she recalled was real—a large, smooth shaft with a slightly flared, tulip-like head and darker ring halfway down?—or if her mind was just making it up to try to fill in the infuriating gaps in her memory. “But I guess It shouldn’t surprise me that he’s into military stuff, given how much he seems to enjoy showing us fighting movies.”

“You’ve no idea,” Chris chuckled. “He loves visiting military history museums and exhibits. When we went to Cloudsdale, his insatiable curiosity over Equestrian military history and culture got him in some trouble there. And now, he yammers nonstop about what new thing he learned from Fortrakt when you guys aren’t here.”

Hearing Marco’s name suddenly reminded Gilda of the original reason the conversation took place. Her expression must have shown, because Tara stopped smiling.

“Look, Gilda, about Marco—” Tara was cut off by the eagless.

“He feels that I humiliated him, culturally if not sexually,” Gilda decided. “His ‘manhood’ is wounded, and that means that it doesn’t matter what I do next.” She slumped slightly, surprised to feel a moment of hurt.

“I really don’t think that’s the whole reason he’s ignoring you,” Chris declared, finishing his coffee. “I’ve known Marco for a good while now, and while Tara was right about him growing up in a strong patriarchal culture, he’s not that simple-minded. So if you really want to know? Ask him. Talk to him.”

“Or if you prefer, we will,” Tara offered, then crossed her arms over her chest and raised one of the curious curves of hair they had over their eyes. “On the condition that you also talk to Fortrakt and ask him why he’s avoiding us.”

“Deal,” Gilda agreed, though she wasn’t looking forward to it that much. “And we’ll start right now...” she added as she heard the door open to herald the return of the two males from the pantry.