The Rose Way

Much like the rest of the Garden of Love, Raindrop Dancer’s house wasn’t merely built atop or at the foot of a hill, but nestled into it. In fact, his grandpa, Rolling Fields, used to boast that his grandfathers had dug out with their own two hooves.

Considering Rolling, himself, was a damn big stallion, Seed was quite inclined to believe him.

His hooves carried him down the winding roads, the cobblestones stained a rosy pink here and there by the vineyard’s rosy wines spilled upon them over the centuries, some by accident or leaky casks, others in jubilation as the villagers sang and danced and made merry on their holidays.

Others, still, by the power of the Garden Rosethorns and Rosewines, rising to defend their home against those who would disturb the peace.

Seed forced a smile as he nodded to a group of foals, laughing and playing under the watchful eye of a bonded trio laying upon an outside lounge cushion. These days, defending the peace meant fighting his fellow Merriers rather than the old Rose Shadows or the Dammeguards, or merely trying to hold the terror Prim Lace could be back long enough for others to escape her reach and hinder her enough so her fabled “walks” took her away from the village.

Those days always seemed so terrifying and wild in history books. But, honestly, Seed wasn’t so sure he’d have preferred facing them rather than those of Merrie.

Some, at least. There were special cases.

His insidious aunt should have been born with tentacles rather than hooves, for she’d all but strangled every bastion of the softer side of Rosethorn’s teachings out of government, out of all the high places in the City of Delights and filled its veins with poison. That so many were happy to take the chance to let hedonism and power fantasies grant them control over those without the gifts of scent magic disgusted him to the core.

“Just how much would you rage at us if you came back to see?” Seed mused, not for the first time. “And how quickly would you join Damme in deposing Roseate and ending this war?”

Treasonous notions, probably. If he ever voiced them in Merrie. That much was plain enough when he’d learned that Kiss and others had been shouted and screamed at for swearing oaths to the city rather than Roseate herself.

“Hey there, Seed!” Rumble Wagon’s call snapped the stallion out of his musings.

The Rosethorn stallion started and turned toward his friend’s voice, and found Rumble trotting through the modest yard, carefully skirting around his wives’ flower garden lest he incur their wrath for disturbing their ongoing joint project. A wise move, Silver Drop on her own was dangerous enough.

Smiling, Seed turned up the path to meet Rumble with a hug and a kiss upon either cheek. “How’s he doing?” came his question.

“He awoke an hour ago,” Rumble replied, his ears lowering a touch. He motioned for Seed to follow, and led him up the pathway toward their front porch.“Little tyke is still worn out. But he’s up and got some food in him, so that’s something. Has a bit of a case of the sniffles, but he seems well.”

“Something good, I should think.”

“Definitely. But …”

Seed swiveled his ear toward his friend, waiting for him to continue.

Rumble seemed to hesitate. A rarity, for a stallion as bullheaded and forward as he. His lips pressed together and ears splaying flat, he trotted the path mostly in silence broken only with awkward attempts to speak again.

Only once they reached the porch did Seed finally stop and turn to face him fully. “Rumble,” he prodded. “We’ve known one another how long?”

How Rumble’s ears splayed further, Seed would never know. “Since we could barely walk,” came his answer.

“Exactly. So, whatever it is.” The taller stallion’s tail flicked. “Tell me. That colt is like a nephew to me, and I don’t have those. None of my kin in the Garden have foals themselves.”

That he didn’t give a damn about blood relations to those of Rosary, Rosewell, or Rose Powder went unsaid between them. What sane pony would claim any with those three?

Rumble blew a sigh through his nose. “Remember how I told you he was still holding onto that helm while he slept?” When Seed nodded, he said, “Won’t let it out of his sight. And he noticed a bit of scuffing on it from where it hit on the bridge, and pestered Silver about finding a way to clean it for when we give it back.”

“Why not let him? It’d be a nice gesture, and it’s perhaps natural he’d hold onto that as a bit of a safety blanket.”

“Well … perhaps. I can ask Kiss for his kit, maybe.” His old friend held up a hoof. “We had convinced him to wait just in case, but … well …” Another sigh. Rumble shrugged and trotted over to open the door, beckoning Seed inside. “It’s best you see yourself.”

His curiosity quite piqued, Seed followed, pulling the door closed behind them as he trotted through the modest living room and into the home Fertile’s family had, quite literally, carved out over the course of generations. He could smell all the distinctive scents of the family, Silver’s still fresh, a break in her routine trips to her forge. The metalworks would keep, Dancer, however, was one of a kind in her world.

Silver Drop’s head poked around the kitchen bannister, her ears perking when she saw Seed making his promised visit. She flicked a look back into the kitchen, the subtle sounds of a muted debate between parents and foal floated to them through the air.

Which meant it was a good time for every foal’s favorite silly adult to visit and check in on him.

Sure enough, as soon as Seed entered, he found the lucky colt and both parents seated around a table. Upon it, like a set piece that had been dragged close by an impetuous foal, that black Dammeguard helm rested. Little Raindrop Dancer had turned it so its empty face were facing him, and in between pleading looks and huffing submission before his mother’s tired sternness, he would splay his ears and slump in his seat, and then look into where the Dammeguard’s eyes should have been.

Interesting. Seed’s brow arched. Do you see his eyes beneath that helm? Or are you trying to imagine it? A more cynical side of him wondered if Dancer knew what that helm once represented to Merrie and Damme.

“It’s scuffy,” Dancer muttered words he must have argued a dozen times by now. The little colt paused to sniffle, then added, “And it needs cleaning.”

“Dancer, please give it a rest!” Raindrops Flowers groaned and covered her eyes, though not before Seed noticed the dark circles beneath them, telling of a stressful, sleepless night.

“But you always say Dammers can’t stand anything being dirty or unorga—orga—not always the same way, mommy!” The colt pulled the helm closer, pressing his forehead against it. Right against, in fact, where the worst of the scuffing showed its impact upon the bridge. “He won’t like having a scuffy, broken helm back!”

“Honey, his helm isn’t broken. Look. It’s just the strap. It’s just popped out.”

“He can’t wear it like that, though!”

Here, Fertile Soil came to his wife’s aid. “He’s not coming by today, little guy,” he said. “I’m sure we have enough time to wait and see what it is Seed wants with it.”

Tiny hooves clutched tighter around the helm. Almost like a security blanket, Seed realized. Oh, irony.

“But if it’s scuffy and broken, he’ll be sad and get in trouble,” came the colt’s last-ditch plea, complete with a rather admirable attempt at a quivering lip. “And he won’t even let me hug him thanks because Prims don’t like big cuddles—you both said so.”

Such a cue was too perfect to ignore.

“In my experience,” Seed mused, “Prims and Dammers don’t really mind cuddles, or even big cuddles. You just have to make sure they’re comfortable with them first.”

Raindrop Dancer jolted and turned, his little ears perked and eyes alight. A smile tugged spread across his features, coupled with a merry swishing of his tail. For a moment, the helm took a step back in importance. “Mr. Seed!” He hopped out of his seat, helm heavy and fumbly in his hooves, and wrapped the stallion’s legs in a hug. A painful one, thanks to that heavy metal thunking hard against his left shin. “Mr. Seed, did you find him? Is he here?”

Seed had to disguise a wince beneath a rather strained grin, but he managed. “I’m afraid I have to say no to both, Dancer. Sorry.” Before the colt could complain, he lit his horn and let the veil and scent shield around his bounty of sweets fall, and floated it near Dancer’s left ear. “But I brought you some sweets from Rosie Nights, and I was hoping you’d tell me how you were doing today.”

With a merry squeak, Dancer set the helm to the side, within easy reach, and plucked the offered bag out of the air with a rapid-fire chorus of gratitude before he undid the crimson ribbon bindings and bit into a sugar-crusted firebird dahlia petal. Sweet, but with a spicy kick, his very favorite.

Smiling as he watched the colt dig into his treats, Seed turned his gaze upon Fertile and Raindrops. “Would you mind if I spoke with Dancer? I’d hoped to see how he was doing.”

Fertile bit his lip. The setting of his ears told quite a bit of how he felt letting Dancer out of his sight for even a second.

Not unreasonable. Stars, forbid anypony think otherwise.

“Just a quick word right here, if that’s okay. I won’t bother too much.” Seed reached for the helm to set it back on the table, but stopped short.

Dancer’s eyes had already snapped from his next candied petal to Seed’s, wide and full of worry, and a protest already on the tip of his tongue by the looks of him.

“Just putting it back up here for you,” he said softly, lifting it up and setting the one lingering trinket the Dammeguard had left down for him to see.. He affixed a sunny smile to his face, adding, “And you never answered my first question.”

The colt swallowed the sweets already in his mouth and thought a moment. He sniffled. “‘M okay,” he muttered. His ears flattened to his mane. “How come you didn’t find him?”

“Raindrop Dancer!” his mother warned.

Seed held up a hoof. “Lady Rosewater and I tried, Dancer. We asked Lord Collar, but he said he’s not too sure and he’ll have to look. You’ve met my Aunt Rosewater, haven’t you?” At the colt’s nod, he smiled. “And you know Lord Collar is a rather nice stallion, yes? I’ve met him a couple times.”

“I hear he’s strong and fights a lot.” Dancer flicked a look to his parents. “Is it true he doesn’t hate us?”

“Of course he doesn’t. His father is a Merrier.” A small tidbit most seemed to forget, and some quite deliberately. Seed gestured to the helm. “He said you were welcome to hold onto that while he looks, though, because I told him I thought you might like to give it back yourself.”

Dancer hummed and nodded, his ears still laid flat to his mane. “But shouldn’t he know his Dammeguards?” came his innocent prodding. “Lady Rosewater knows most everypony here, and she’s not been here long.”

Here, Fertile Soil gave his son a little nudge with his elbow. “Lady Rosewater used to visit a lot more, back when Mr. Seed, papa-Rumble, mommy, and I were all younger.” Despite his exhaustion, a playful smile tugged at his lips. “She used to foalsit for Mr. Seed, Miss Petal, and Miss Rosemary.”

“But he’s seen his Dammeguards longer! She’s been gone since forever ago!”

“Hey, just how old do you think we are, buster?”

Dangerous grounds. Seed should know, he’d been the one making those little comments around his mother and aunts for years.

The angelic smile Dancer plastered upon his face worked about as well as it had for Seed back in his day, but it was a good try.

Chuckling, Seed patted Dancer on the head and said, “Yes, well, Lord Collar is quite a bit more involved in Damme’s running than Rosewater. But he’s nice, just like her.”

Dancer didn’t seem entirely convinced. “How come he doesn’t know, then?” he asked again. “He had to have seen!”

Now, Seed felt himself stuck in a rather difficult position. Fertile and Raindrops, he knew would keep a secret to the grave if he asked. They were fine ponies, loyal to a fault.

The little colt sitting before him with that look of earnest upset plain upon his face, however, was a bit of a wildcard. He had a number of friends around the village, and they each tended to chatter.

A lot.

So he affixed a smile to his face and decided to tell a partial truth. “I think Lord Collar is worried somepony might try to hurt your Dammeguard,” Seed answered. “And I think he wants to make sure he’s not sending him someplace before he’s ready after he had such a fright with Mr. Kiss and the Merrieguard.”

“But why would somepony wanna hurt him? He helped.”

Damn. The problem with foals, especially those like Dancer, was they tended to be perceptive and thoughtful as soon as it wasn’t wanted. Merrier foals just had a way of twigging onto all the social ones.

He looked to Fertile and Raindrops for help. The poor mother gave a small shake of her head, a pleading look in her eyes telling that she didn’t want him to know all the intricacies of the war’s political side.

So, Seed sighed and said simply, “There are some things that I can’t tell you right now, Dancer. Because even some of us don’t quite understand yet ourselves.” He offered a small smile and nodded to the helm. “I wanted to ask if you might let me borrow this for a moment just so I could try to get your Dammeguard’s scent, so I can remember it the next time I visit Damme.”

Tiny ears perked up. “You’re gonna go look for him?”

“No, sadly,” Seed said with a shake of his head. “I promised Aunt Rosewater that I’d give Lord Collar until the Primrose Gala to find your Dammeguard. Until then, we have to wait.” He winked, adding, “But that doesn’t mean I might not run into him since I know his scent.”

It took all of three seconds before those coltish eyes sparked with understanding.

Dancer giggled, his tail swishing. “You’re sneaky, Mr. Seed!”

“I learned from the best.” Waggling his ears, Seed added, “Fortunately, mom’s not hear to twist my ears for tricking her, and I had her too distracted with early morning guests to twig on.”

The bag of sweets fell to the floor with a rustle as Dancer quickly hefted the helm in his hooves, a mighty effort for forelegs not quite fully developed.

“Here,” the colt said, sniffling for a third time. “Just to be sure.”

He wanted to be sure Seed got a good whiff.

Seed thanked him with a nod and leaned in, mindful of the colt’s attachment to the trinket. His Rosethorn markings, a deep red, barely a touch lighter than his aunt or cousins’ bloody crimson, began to glow as he tapped into the gifts passed down from Rosethorn the Wise himself. He closed his eyes, blocking out all distractions so he could breathe in and focus on each part of that scent.

And it was a strong one. The Dammeguard had worn it for some time, and worked hard at what he did.

The musty scent of a stallion’s sweat mixed with that familiar musk of pegasus, like that of cirrus and ozone before a particularly nasty storm. Rather typical of weather teams—in Damme, that could well mean one of the Primfeathers or their branch families. That heady dose of cirrus only added to the suspicion.

But then came something different. A citrus-based scent, more like oranges than lemons or limes from abroad. No, not quite oranges—stars, he could hear Rosewater chuckling and nipping his ears for taking an easy guess on a test. The scent carried that same tangy, citrusy kick, but with a bit of a floral touch, and a definite wafting of soap suds.

His ears perked. Orange blossoms, mixed with rainwater. Seed opened his eyes and stood tall, a smile playing upon his lips. Stars above. A Dammeguard who likes to smell fragrant, so he washes with orange blossom and rainwater based soaps and shampoos.

He motioned for Dancer to set down the helm, and tussled his mane. “Well,” he mused. “I can certainly say your rescuer knows how to pick a good fragrance, little one. I should think that one would be quite distinct, among Dammers, let alone Dammeguards.”

“So he’ll be easy to find?” Dancer asked, hopeful.

Seed gave him a chiding tap upon the head. “Remember, I’m not really searching until after the Gala, and only if Lord Collar doesn’t find him for us.” He waggled his ears. “I’m just going to take a few walks and see if we bump into one another. Totally different.”

“Semantics,” Fertile drawled with a roll of his eyes. “You and your loopholes.”

“A Gardener complaining about loophole exploitation? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“There’s exploitation, and then there’s abuse. Don’t think I don’t remember the ‘breeze knocked over the cookie jar’ incident.”

Chuckling, Seed stepped back toward the door. “A classic. Enjoy your sweets, Dancer. I hope to see you dancing in our gardens again in spring—ah! One more thing.” His ears twitched as the realization hit. The Rosethorn stallion aimed a pointed look at each of the family in turn, then pointed to the helm, all signs of play vanished from his face. “That. That does not leave the property, for any reason, until it’s time to return it to the Dammeguard.”

Raindrops Flowers started. “Such a shift, Seed.” She rose, tilting her head. “He wouldn’t go showing it around the city, I should think wearing it for play might be fine.”

“In better times, it might be.” Seed put aside pretense and raised the helm in his magic, turning it about so he could look into its empty face.

In it, he could see those stormy eyes, hardened in focus that still sent shivers to his tail. Then, fear dropped a weight into his belly.

He gave a faint snort. “You did have a striking gaze, Dammeguard,” he murmured. With a shake of his head, Seed banished the vision and set the helm atop Dancer’s head, smiling when it slid over his eyes. “I worry not that any Dammer will take offense or that anything might happen to a foal, but I would rather hold off questions about its origin as long as I can. To give us time to ensure his safety once he comes to retrieve it.”

For a moment, Raindrops seemed unwilling to believe it. She looked to Silver and Rumble for support, her ears splaying flat when she found two pained grimaces instead.

And in that instant, Seed knew, the Garden of Love’s neutrality would be tested once again.

The rest of the day passed with little incident of note. A small mercy after the previous and ensuing morning.

Petal, Bliss, and Roselyn had seen to Rosewater’s shopping, as he’d asked. It’d cost him a lengthy night, whether most would be spent on his back or with his hooves wrapped firmly around each mare’s waist in turn remained to be seen, but he’d at least managed to convince Petal to take his side on delaying repayment until after their meeting with Lord Collar.

It just wouldn’t do to show up actually being half-asleep. No matter how perfectly crafted that image truly was.

Tonight, though, would be a return to some semblance of normalcy.

Seed entered the living room with Petal by his side, and smiled at his lovers all gathered and laying together on the floor, on cushions, and on the fine chaises adorning the room. He took a moment to appreciate the sight and his own fortune to be part of their lives. And, for the trio of Prims present, he felt blessed to have had the chance to help them find a place to call home.

Once that moment had passed, he asked, “Would any of you care to join Petal and I on our evening walk?”

Several among them glanced up and then back at the lovers they cuddled with, their want to remain together plain even before they voiced a polite declining to his offer. But others rose and stretched and kissed those they chose to part with, promising affection upon their return.

“I could definitely use a good walk,” Prim Dazzle said, his crooked smile plain on his features and telling of mischief as he lit his horn. A second later, White Rose shrieked and tried to swat at his rear, her face a deep crimson.

Prim Prism shook her head. “One of these days, Dazz,” she said, tweaking his ear with a little jolt of magic. “We’re all going to make you shriek yourself hoarse for that teasing.”

“Oh, please! You know that’s my favorite kind of night—ah-ahhh!”

On either side of him, a pair of smaller mares brushed their bodies along his, their gazes heated and smiles promising delicious fulfillment of that wish. Rosie Bliss’s magnificent purple feathers teased his scrotum between three delicate primaries, then ventured along his sheath.

“You forget, my sweet,” Bliss crooned, licking his collarbone. “That I can have you writhing in bliss with a mere feather teasing. But worry not. I’ll remind you this night, and our Roselyn Dream can lick you clean before we start again.”

Roselyn leaned up to nibble his jawline. “Mmmm, glazed stallion cock. I must’ve been a good little mare if Blissy’s letting me have my favorite dessert tonight. Anypony else having some or do I get it all to myself?”

A burly earth pony padded up behind Dazzle, his steps surprisingly soft for one of his size. Winking at Roselyn, he ducked low and nipped the mischievous unicorn’s dock, drawing a yelp and a jump. “Oh, I think I’ll share a bit with you, fire starter.” Sweet Grape grinned and laid his chin atop Dazzle’s head. “And I’d like a walk, I think. Slower paced, though, my hooves have been killing me since that last trip down from the vineyard house.”

Seed nodded. A nice, slow walk would be great after these past couple days.

And it’d serve his purposes well.

Once he and his merry band said goodbye to those who’d chosen to remain, they set out, each wrapping scarves tight around their neck, the Prim pair making sure to choose their familial blues and purples much to the traditional needling and playful efforts to switch them for Rose red and pink. The only exception, of course, was Bliss. Her natural resistance strong with her pegasus heritage.

“One of these days, I’m going to hide all your silly Prim blues and purples,” Petal mock threatened as they set out from the villa and passed through the archway of climbing roses. “And I’m going to have carmine roses sewn into each and every piece of fabric you both own.”

Dazzle and Prism shared a look, and then shuddered as one. “The horror,” he whispered. “You fiend, you know our poor Prim sensibilities won’t allow us to even look at a rose let alone smell or wear one’s color.”

An old joke, the oldest, in fact, between Dazzle and the Gardeners living in the villa. He’d been quite skittish himself, at first, still reeling from the death of his mother and caring for a younger brother and grieving father. His own grieving swallowed, buried beneath duty to family and liege lord.

Seed could only thank the stars he’d noticed the poor stallion on Rosewine Bridge during trade day, and decided to drop the lazy act to sidle up and offer him a drink and an ear for looking so down. What was that ridiculous one-liner he’d opened with?

Ah, yes. “Those lips of yours tempt me to ask for a kiss or if you’d like a glass. How about a bit of the former, and if you like it, we can forget bits and talk about the latter?”

It was stupid, but it worked. It filled Dazzle’s cheeks with a beautiful blush and tied his tongue so he stammered like a lovestruck teen as he tried to vocalize his acceptance, finally opting to just give up and nod shyly.

A smile played upon Seed’s lips as the memory played out in his mind, even as he waved and smiled to neighbors, fellow villagers, and workers alike. He watched his loves all greeting them in kind, Dazzle actually exchanging a Merrier’s greeting kiss with a newly wed stallion couple he’d dined with the other night.

They’d drank together and talked about anything and everything. From the similarities in how valued family was to Dammers and Merriers to the vast differences between Tussen Twee and Principes, a discussion which turned quite passionate, but intermixed with laughter and sincere intrigue, to even a hushed confession, whispered like Dazzle thought Lord Collar might throw him over the side and into the Merrie if he ever heard.

“I always thought Merrie looked beautiful at night,” he’d said, ducking his head. “Like something out of a book, prettier than Damme. And the Garden of Love in springtime, I hear, is beyond compare.”

Seed recalled leaning in close and whispering, “I’ll guarantee your safety if you’d like a tour.” And then, feeling daring, he’d slid his tail up Dazzle’s thigh. “And a warm bed, should you decide to stay over …”

That blush burned a deep crimson for a second before Dazzle ducked his head and murmured, “I-If I asked you to kiss me … and—and not just for that glass …”

The Rosethorn stallion drew himself forth from memory and turned to catch Dazzle’s lips in a deep kiss, just as he’d returned to their side.

Blinking, Dazzle hummed and smiled against his lips, nibbling softly before they parted. “What did I do to deserve that?” he asked, grinning. “I wanna do it more!”

“I was thinking about our first night together,” Seed replied, his voice dipping an octave. He ran his tongue along his lips like he was savoring some sweet taste. “And thinking about how fervently you whispered my name as I licked your shaft and took you into my mouth.”

Dazzle didn’t quite fluster like he once had, though his cheeks did color beautifully. Instead, he stepped closer and leaned against Seed, laying his head upon the larger stallion’s shoulder.

A good stallion with a heart as big as his mischievous streak. Any he decided to settle down and mate with would be lucky.

And they’d probably need great patience so not to pull out their mane.

With Dazzle leaning against one shoulder and Petal chuckling as she brushed hers against his other, Seed led the troupe down the path, and as the cobblestones changed from wine-stained pink to creamy yellow, Rosewine Bridge and the sandy shores of the Merrie River came into view.

A brisk breeze played through Seed’s long pink mane. He took a moment to smile and drink in a deep breath. Right now, he needed this. He deserved this small respite.

Once satisfied, Seed trotted down the steps, smiling as his hooves sank into the cooling sand, and turned to walk the beach toward Primrose Bridge. Their usual path.

His horn lit, a fuchsia bubble shimmered around them for a moment. “Check the skies over Damme,” he murmured once certain the silencing shield was up and took hold enough to at least distort his words should Rose Crown be listening. “Casual glances, like normal.”

“Our messenger?” Roselyn asked.

He nodded once. “Broad wings and gray-blue coat, and flew like a bolt of lightning while the air shrieked. If it’s not him, I’ll proposition Rosejoy.”

His loves blanched as one. “Stars above, please don’t,” Prism groaned. “I just ate.”

“Sorry.” Seed let his shield dissolve into a warm pink mist, then turned to offer a sympathetic smile. “Let’s just see if that dashing pegasus of ours makes an appearance. These hooves could certainly do with an urge to prance again.”

Smiles joined with a couple throaty purrs, Bliss even gave her wings a little flexing and ruffling as if she quite hoped he not only flew this evening, but looked in her direction and found new reason to cross.

That would be most convenient. For multiple reasons. Only a few, Seed swore, involved a want to ply a bit of flirting to see if the Dammeguard might be receptive and interested in a bit of companionship. Only a few.

He stole a quick glance himself, and sighed. Nothing yet, but mother would scold him and say good things came to ponies who wait, and good lovers came for ponies who bared their hearts and touched them tenderly. And then she’d wink and saunter off to find his father.

Come now, Dammeguard, he called in his mind. His rosy eyes flitting this way and that, searching out a glint of light off black armor. Prove me right. Prove it’s you.

With every step they took along the beach of the Merrie River, each second which passed without a glimpse of black armor glinting or those gray blue feathers, Seed felt an odd mix of conflicting emotions. One part, disappointment that he and his loves should miss a glimpse of their favorite messenger, and a point of fancy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed took notice of a flash of black scurrying along the road before it dashed up the staircase spiraling around the outpost, rising to the top.

His gaze lingered until he saw the figure appear atop the lookout post and touch its hoof to its peytral, then seemed to exchange something with the Dammeguard occupying it before it zipped back inside.

“Next outlook post,” Prism said.

Humming, Petal nodded. “Stole a glimpse of the path before—there they are. Bliss, can you tell?”

“Earth pony stallion,” came her reply. Bliss watched the stallion slink along, nearly invisible against the ominous black stonework which harkened back to Damme’s old defense structuresl. She folded her wings against her side, sighing. “Quick little devil. Though not as quick as our lovely pegasus flies.”

Dazzle snorted a laugh. “That’s hardly fair. Most pegasi aren’t as quick as that boy, nor as sleek.”

So Dazzle had been eying him too. It tracked well, he had excellent taste.

Every now and again, that Dammeguard would flit along the buildings. He would scurry along from stop to stop, his breathing steady even as he ran along. A testament to their conditioning and endurance training in the Dammeguard.

Any pegasi seen wore the traditional Dammeguard blue and purple. Not the defanged Rose Shadows turned messengers, then.

Bliss sighed and shook her head, disappointment shone on her face.

Roselyn brushed a shoulder against her. “What’s wrong, dove?” she asked, giggling as she accepted her well-deserved punitive nipping to her ear.

“You know better,” Bliss chided. “And I was watching each pegasus. Not a one is him. He’s not here.”

“You’re certain?”

“You can fake many things, but not flying technique. He’s not there.”

A slow smile spread across Seed’s features. Excellent news. This was absolutely fantastic, really.

He felt Dazzle nibble his shoulder. “What’re you grinning about, you fox?” the shorter stallion asked. “You adored watching that pegasus.”

“I quite do, yes. As did each of you.” He leaned down and took Dazzle’s ear into his mouth, and suckled it briefly in reply. Again, his horn lit, and they were engulfed in a quick privacy dome. “It means my suspicion has legs. Or wings, more to the point. Now.” His shield dissolving, he nodded onward. “Come along, we’ve still quite a way to Primrose Bridge.”

Never before had a meeting with the liege lord of Damme seemed quite so enticing. Tomorrow promised to be quite intriguing.