Part 5 | 29 – Strained Overtures

Laurence's View

The van jolts like we drove over the curb, asphalt to cobblestone. I almost slip out of the makeshift harness – damn thing's near useless when sitting properly!

On the other side of the compartment Violette's still snug in her own straps, the purple unicorn resting on her belly and giving me that 'told you so' look. Well excuse me but I'd have been perfectly fine if this ride wasn't turning into cross-country rally!

“Hey, mind not breaking our necks!?”, I snap at our driver.

“Taking a shortcut.”, he not-apologizes from the front.

Ugh, these damn Parisians are absolute menaces behind the wheel! I thought we had the worst drivers down south, but they definitely have us beat! Even I did better last time I had to drive – and I already had these stupid hooves!

“Please don't take it out on him Laurence, this is stressful for all of us.”, Vi feels the need to point out. “We've never had to deal with a hostage situation before...”

“Yeah, and how did that happen in the first place, huh? It's always been hiding or fleeing with you ponies, what's gotten into that one to think they'd get away with this?”

“Something must have happened, they never went out of their way to threaten humans before... Don't worry, I'm sure we'll have our answers once we arrive.”

Nice way to say you don't have a clue either. Shouldn't 'not-dating' their boss grant you at least some kind of 'not-being-kept-in-the-dark' privilege..?

Finally the infernal ride ends with a lurch and the screech of tires. Front window whirring down, papers being shuffled. “Special intervention unit, Ministry's orders.”, our driver tells whoever's outside. “Need to unload classified equipment from the back, make room and keep the gawkers away.”

He's not just rude to us, at least. Vi's horn chimes with golden magic, unstrapping us both and draping us in the shapeless rain ponchos that make us look like fun-sized grim reapers. The van's back door opens for us lowly pieces of 'equipment', and we step out onto slippery cobblestone.

The humid, polluted Parisian air assaults my nose. I have to squint, with the police's strobing, out-of-sync blue lights reflecting over every wet surface around – including the dingy car crashed against the tall fence in front of us. Over the fence I can see the top of white prefab buildings, but they're overshadowed by the grand stone edifice rising beyond them. Its towering gray shape stands out against the cloudy sky, a great church or cathedral, flying buttresses and stained glass windows and so on... Though it's also flanked by a bright yellow tower crane, large swathes of its stonework are hidden behind metal scaffolding, and—

Oh, I recognize it now... Not the side of the building I'm most familiar with.

“Get a move on already.”, our driver says as he readjusts his tie, and we follow him toward the base camp nested at the back of Notre-Dame. The car impacted right next to the entrance door, hard enough that it's barely hanging on by its hinges. Not everybody’s been as lucky as us on the road this morning...

Getting through, we find police officers standing all around the camp, while the workers seem to have been confined to the prefabs, judging from all the faces crowding at the windows. Everyone watching us, staring at us...

Ugh... Yeah, let's get on with this mess.

A low growl makes my ear twitch. Glancing to our left, I feel Violette tense at the sight of this angry Malinois coming out from behind a prefab. The police dog pulls on its leash, obviously not pleased to see two strange new quadrupeds, so I step around to shield the unicorn, just in case. I don't have to do much to have her skitter in the opposite direction, toward Notre-Dame.

She quickens her pace, and following her gaze, I too spot the one person not paying attention to us. Middle-aged, dressed in civilian clothes, and talking animatedly on the phone, the holster of his service weapon is still plainly visible – probably the guy in charge. I let Vi take the lead, and her approaching hoofbeats finally have him turn our way. The man's first reaction is the typical shocked stare, but after a second he puts the phone away and schools his expression into something that can hardly be called welcoming.

“That's your special response unit?”, he asks our driver as we reach him.

“That's us officer,” Vi answers instead in a warm, practiced tone, “and we're here to help. What's the situation?”

He does his best to not look at her. “I called for the BRI, not your freakshow rejects.”

At that our driver simply hands him the usual paperwork – something much more productive, I'll admit, than me making him regret that insult. As the policeman glares at our government-issued credentials, my eye wanders over to his colleagues, milling around the prefabs and along the second fence separating the camp from the cathedral itself. There's tension in the air, even I can tell that, and they're all armed... I know they're just doing their job, but let's hope we won't have to deal with another trigger-happy idiot this time. At least they're keeping their distances, for now.

Eventually the policeman has enough of, I don't know, searching for some loophole in his new orders, and looks down at us. Deep frown, and the corners of his mouth tense, pulling downward – they're never happy to work with 'equine issues first responders', nothing new here... “I've heard about you lot, hoped they were pulling my leg. Do you even have any kind of training or experience for a situation like this?”

I kind of do, though I don't think that'd reassure him that much. Better to let Vi handle things anyway, being diplomatic and all is her whole shtick.

“Please officer, we're all on the same team here.”, she tells him, not letting his poor attitude affect her. “Let us do our thing, and if for some reason we fail to convince them, then we'll immediately retreat and leave it to you and the BRI. So, what do we know? The more you tell us, the quicker this can all be resolved.”

More grumbling, but he relents: “Patrol tried to apprehend a suspicious... thing during a routine check, but he rebelled and fled by car. We gave chase and managed to corner him here, but he assaulted the security personnel and now he's hiding in the cathedral. We evacuated and secured everyone, but it took time and now we're two people short. According to a crewman working on the Great Organ, the felon is armed with a knife, has taken one or more of his colleagues hostage, and sequestered himself in one of the towers.”

“I see, thank you. Don't worry officer, we'll be able to talk them down, this isn't our first rodeo!”, Vi declares with a confident nod.

Leaving our driver behind, we're directed toward a vehicle access gate built into the second fence, and—

“Stop right there!”

The running man's at our level before I've had time to look back, and puts himself squarely between us and the gate. Coveralls and dreadlocks, doubt he's with the cops. Working here, then?

“I told you to keep your ass in the prefabs!”, barks the policeman.

“And I told you, no one gets in without protection, and no animals either – not on my watch!”, Dreadlocks snaps right back. Why such a strong reaction..?

“Protection like what?”, I ask. “Hardhats and so on?”

“I, uh...” And here we go again with the staring... To his credit Dreadlocks gets over it quickly, even chuckling a little: “Well, I meant for the lead.”

“Lead?”

“Yeah, from the lead roof melting during the fire, whole site's a major lead poisoning hazard, so nobody gets in without proper gear: masks, boots, disposable clothing, nothing that can't be wa—”

“They get in and get out, just have them go through your showers like the others on the way out.”

Dreadlocks gestures at Vi: “This, uh, lady here looks buck naked under that raincoat, and that's as big a 'no' as I can imagine. I'm the one who gets the last word on this, as you've already been reminded by your bosses and mine, and I say they don't get in any more than you guys if it's not done properly.”

Appreciated. Never been a big fan of lead poisoning for some reason.

His furious glare not doing anything to deter Dreadlocks, the officer throws his hands in the air. “Whatever! Put a little bow on their tail for all I care, we can't get anything done until they've had their go, so just get to it before I've had enough of this mess!”

The policeman storms off back to his colleagues, and Dreadlocks beckons us after him, along the second fence and to one of the prefab buildings sitting against it. A sign identifies it as an 'access point'. “Protocol's the same for everybody, including whatever you are.”, Dreadlocks tells us as we're shown in. “You can stash your clothes and effects in this locker room if, uh, if you've got any. Stay right here, I'll get you what you need.”

And off he goes to rummage for that gear somewhere else in the building, leaving us alone.

“What a pain...”, I sigh, not eager to disrobe in the slightest. I wasn't expecting this kind of hassle today.

“It's just proper procedure, and for our own safety.”, says Vi as she pulls some hair ties from the satchel around her barrel, before unclasping it and levitating it into one of the open lockers along with her poncho.

“Oh yeah, no argument here. Better than that bastard who wanted to just send us in there anyway, huh? God it's like we always have to deal with at least one bad apple during these jobs...”

She doesn't contest, but still throws me a most disapproving look. “The pony probably didn't get the chance to get equipped. Poor thing, I hope they're all right... Maybe we should take a spare mask for them, at the very least?”

“Got it covered!”, Dreadlocks says as he comes back with a white bundle under each arm and a bulging plastic bag in one hand. “Also took two extra pairs of socks and boots for you, 'cause I thought that, well...”

“Very thoughtful of you sir, thank you.”

“I don't think helmets will work though, what with the ears and your horn, but considering nobody's working right now the site is, uh, moderately safe. Oh and the clothes are medium size, had to do with what we had on hand, logistics are in another prefab.”

Pulling off the wet, dirty socks from my mutilated hands, I lay the content of my bundle on the bench in front of me: white, slightly transparent coveralls, and cheap tee shirt, pair of briefs, and socks. Not even allowed to keep my own underwear, huh..? Sitting down, I toss the poncho away and struggle out of my jacket, while Vi levitates her own—

“What the... What the everloving fuck..!”

Ah, yes, bona fide magic usually has that effect on people the first few times. I turn to the awestruck man before Violette gets defensive for what unicorns are wont to do: “Thanks, can we have some privacy, please?”

My stern words pull him out of it, fortunately, and he scurries out of the locker room. “Oh uh, yes of course, tell me when you're done or if you need help!”

Good. Now let's see...

...

Dammit, if I'd known, I... Well I wouldn't have gone out naked anyway, but still!

Glancing at Vi, she's already fully dressed of course, minus the helmet and boots. Actually I don't think I've seen her with that much clothing on since, uh, well ever. Ponies and their dumb nudist urges, seriously..! I'll never understand how you can spend twenty-five years dressing like any old regular person, and then one day just forgo all that just because you're now covered in horsehair!

And I'm stalling, aren't I..?

“Can I help, Laurence..?”, Vi asks softly.

“I... I guess you can, yeah.”, I manage to admit. “Sorry...”

“Don't be; I know it's not easy.” Her golden aura pops my shirt's press studs in a fraction of the time I'd need to do the same – especially for the couple fastening the straps that form the back of the wing openings. While I free my arms from the sleeves I can feel the warm thrum of her magic working near the hole in my shorts, stretching the elastic strap to pull that stupid tail through. God if that thing didn't help shield my backside I'd just—

Magic takes hold of my shorts' waistband, and pulls them down along with my panties in one go. I've no choice but to lean on the bench and lift my feet so she can take them off me, getting my socks while she's at it, fully undressing me like I'm just a fucking doll or some child who can't even—

No! Can't afford to waste time with my issues, and she– she knows it too, so be pragmatic, Laurence!

Can feel the cold air down there, the long strands of a tail touching the inside of my heels, so very far off the ground, nails clopping against the floor, and—

And she has stopped, I'm so tense, just– just try to relax..! It's not like I'm standing naked like a beast with my back to her, and– and come on, it's nothing she hasn't seen before, it's okay! You can deal fine with all this in the dark so now be pragmatic and get on with it!!

I fight through the shudders to take the tee shirt and shove my head through. It's stretchy enough at the neck, if barely, so I can get my arms through the holes, and... Fuck, it's getting all scrunched up behind the armpits, got my sides and belly completely exposed, but whatever it's not important! Quick, get these stupid briefs and sit down and get one leg through and don't look and get them up and goddammit you stupid thing don't rip!

“Let me.” Vi pushes my hands away, seizing the briefs in her magic before I can just tear them to pieces. I've no choice but to lean forward now, so she can pull them up properly, her aura giving me awful goosebumps as they close in on my butt – god it's like I'm sitting on a hairdryer and I'm blushing like an idiot and oh thank you she's finally done!

I don't need her help for the socks, even if I have to use my teeth for the last one, and well, now there's still the coveralls. So, uh... Glancing at Vi, I think that's the zipper, running along her back? Front to back it is then. With her assistance it's not too difficult to do, as awkward as it may be. The annoying tail ends up trapped inside, down a leg, and the whole process would go without a hitch if those damn feather dusters would stay properly folded! Ugh, and each time her magic touches a feather it lights up in my brain, it tingles like when I have to use their own magic but just not quite the same, just enough to make it all the more unnerving, and the shafts prickling as she pulls the zipper up, like insects crawling just under my skin, and fucking done at last.

I SAID 'DONE' YOU STUPID THINGS, STOP RUSTLING ALREADY!!

Oh you don't like being covered!? Watch how much I fucking care!! And that's it, pull on the zipper while you're at it, you won't get me more pissed than I already am!

Uuuuuuuuugh..!

*sigh*

Stupid wings... Would've plucked you to the bone if you weren't so useful! And if it didn't hurt like a bitch.

“You're going to be all right..?”

“Yeah, yeah of course...”, I reply, dragging the boots over. “Thanks for the help. It's not that bad usually. Just not in the right mood, I guess...” Easier to confront that body when I'm too tired to care or too sleepy to pay that much attention, and in the dark. We both know that more often than not I just sleep with my clothes on anyway.

Like for Vi the boots are a lost cause, damn hooves are just too wide. I take up the mask, and– oh, right, eyepatch. Took me some time, but after two months of fiddling and cursing, I've gotten the hang of it. And as I take it off, even after this couple minutes of mental torture, the little heart sewn on the inside still manages to make me smile.

A little heart so that I'd never forget how much my sister loves me, pony body or not.

So, mask now... Before I can even try it's levitated out of my grip, and Vi adds two de-looped paperclips to the straps, allowing her to fit the thing over my face – if barely. Why did you even have that in your satchel, emergency document filing..?

“We're good!”, she calls once I've put my things in the locker next to hers.

Dreadlocks slides back into the room, dressed in protective clothing too and looking us over with a frown. “I wouldn't say 'good', but it'll have to do. Say, before we go in, are you, uh...”

Ah, the guessing phase... Took him a while to try. So what'll it be this time? GMOs? Aliens?

Vi doesn't give him the opportunity though: “I'm afraid we aren't at liberty to share details for now, and we will have to ask you to sign some forms once we're done.”

His shoulders slump at her canned response. I'd be pretty disgruntled too if I were just given a bunch of paperwork instead of proper answers... He's been pretty helpful, we could throw him a bone?

“But you've done right by us so far...”, I begin. Glancing at Vi, I wait for her reluctant nod before giving him a little something: “... So I'll at least reassure you, we're just regular humans. Or were, technically, but it's not contagious.”

“As in, you turned into that, right?”, he says, surprisingly earnest. “Like some kind of mutation or metamor—”

A door smashing open, and the head policeman barges in the locker room, shoving Dreadlocks aside and staring daggers at us: “Will you get moving or not!? Whatever asses need licking I will get Antigang here, to hell with your paper pushers!”

“Alright, alright, we were on our way in!” Dreadlocks tries to move, but the policeman grabs his arm:

“'We'!? There's no 'we' here! You did your job, now back to where we can keep you safe, that's not your problem anymore!”

“Don't worry, we've got this!”, Vi interjects as Dreadlocks' hands ball into fists. “Do as the officer requests, please.”

Fortunately her words are enough to deescalate the situation, though tension remains. Shrugging the policeman's grip off, Dreadlocks tosses us the spare mask in its plastic wrapper. I stay vigilant as Vi catches it in her magic, but though the armed officer's frown deepens, he doesn't otherwise react.

“Okay then, take one of the side entrances,” Dreadlocks says, pulling his mask down, “cross the nave to the front and you'll have the stairs to the towers, if that's where they are. Be careful.”

“We will. Keep the perimeter secure, and see you soon.”

As we turn toward the other end of the locker room, I catch Dreadlocks mouthing something to me before he's escorted away. Dammit, I don't read lips... Maybe that was just 'good luck'? Will stay extra vigilant, just in case.

We exit the prefab on the other side of the second fence, and right at the foot of marred Notre-Dame. Here from the ground it doesn't look that damaged, but the wooden supports under the flying buttresses reveal just how close the whole thing must've been to complete collapse. Weaving between piles of equipment and materials, we pass in front of a small red door on the side of the cathedral, but Vi doesn't stop until we reach much grander ones, topped by one of the large, stained glass rose windows. Going up the half-dozen steps to the ornate portal, we find the wooden doors ajar, and I go in first.

The cathedral is eerily silent. My own steps barely echo, with the marble floor covered by plywood panels, scaffolding all along the aisles and walls, and the tarps and nets overhead. Beyond the latter is the milky sky, the opening like a gaping wound that's only just begun to heal through bandages of cables and metals.

“It's sad to see her like this...”, the unicorn sighs before crossing herself, which still looks out of place for a pony. But hey, magic's real somehow, so who am I to judge? When she's done she takes her position on my right, covering my blind spot – time to get to work.

“The usual..?”

She nods... but doesn't engage small-talk mode like she's supposed to. She's waiting for me to take the plunge.

Oh come on, Vi!

I don't even have to look her way, I can picture well enough the raised eyebrow, the little smirk!

Uuuuugh, you can't get better at small talk through practice, it's something you can or can't do!

She's still waiting.

Well whatever then, not my fault if it comes out wrong! “So, uh... Oh! You think they, uh, thought asylum was still a thing or what? To hide here, I mean!”, I say, loudly enough for my voice to carry cleanly through the mask, and hoping the cringe level doesn't shoot another hole through the roof.

“Sadly the ecclesiastical right of sanctuary has been abolished centuries ago.”, she recites jovially. “Of course the right of asylum itself exists still, it's enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, but an embassy would've been a better bet than a church, and to my knowledge the Holy See itself doesn't take refugees anyway. Besides, the right of asylum cannot be invoked for non-political crimes...”

Ugh, thank god that worked... While she lectures about police and the Defender of Rights, I lead us through the cluttered cathedral. Cluttered, yet it still feels so barren – no pews, or candles, or statues. It barely feels like a church at all. A burnt smell lingers, but not the one of incense.

It's hard to see clearly what's happening in the side aisles and their chapels, some having been sealed off. Anybody could loom unseen in the shadows of the galleries above – the scaffolding stairs make it easy to go from one floor to the next. Would probably make a racket, though.

Ducking under a transverse walkway and getting closer to the front of the building, there's the first signs that something happened. While a couple of long organ pipes rest securely on the floor, another is held askew and off the ground by cables – like it was in the process of being brought down, and left hanging there. An abandoned helmet nearby tells of a scuffle, as well as a half-ripped tarp. Where to from here? The officer talked of one of the towers, but which one?

Would be easier if we had Amber... Though after the catacombs freak-out, I get that she—

“Laurence?”

“Uh, what?”

“I was saying: the highest echelons of the Ministry of the Interior are aware and supportive of pony issues, that's a fact. Right?”

“Oh yeah, sure.”

“Mmh... Sadly the rank-and-file don't always live up to their organization's ideals. For example, I didn't think I'd ever meet someone even more foul-mouthed than you, and yet...”

W– wait what? That's no proper small-talk! How does that help reassuring the pony and building rapport!? And why are you squinting at me like that?

...

Uuuuugh, come on! You're the talker, I'm the stalker – division of labor and all that!

And now the eyebrow thing.

Dammit, alright! I'll give you your small talk! “I'm not 'foul-mouthed', I'm just speaking my mind! Isn't Honesty one of these 'Elements of Harmony' things you ponies swear by? You want me to be dishonest, Violette?”

“Perish the thought!”, she titters. “I was just stating a fact.”

“Well at least I am honest and forthright, even if it hurts your delicate pointy ears. Can't say the same about that bastard who 'forgot' we'd choke on lead dust – too bad pony-sense doesn't work as good on normal humans, maybe I'd have sniffed out the trap before we—”

“'Pony sense'..?”

“Uh? Oh, uh, that...” Dammit, I just had to let my stupid mouth run! See, see, that's why I'm not cut out for this! “Well, you know, it's just that I've never been that good with feelings, and—”

“Stay back!”, comes a distant shout from up in the direction of the right tower.

“Help!”, another man cries out – our hostage!

Gotch—

“Wait!”

A third, guttural yet somewhat feminine voice. From the same area.

... How many people are we dealing with here? Oh, he did say they were two people short – two hostages then. Doesn't change the plan.

We increase our pace to reach the bottom of the dark, cramped spiral staircase. I take point, and I have to go up slowly just to not trip – this stuff's even worse than ladders, and all the ill-fitting clothes rubbing and chafing don't help at all.

“Hello?”, Vi calls. “Don't worry, we're friends, we just want to talk!”

No answer, not for us anyway – there's a lot of noise coming from above now, grunts and people flumping around, they're on the move.

We arrive at a landing, and to a large, high-vaulted room. A bunch of singed furniture here, but no-one in sight and the commotion goes on above us, so we keep on climbing. They're not seriously going all the way up, are they..? Because these damn stairs are getting even more narrow and cramped, going back down will be awful!

A sudden crack far upstairs, like wood splintering – a cry, and shouts!

Fuck! I rear up to my feet and take the steps three at a time, right shoulder impacting again and again against the circular walls and my hand pushing at the metal rail just to give me a little more momentum, barely managing to keep myself from falling over as I complete the last few turns of this infernal staircase!

I end up outside and back on all four on a decorated walkway, catching my breath. The stone railing is at eye level, or mid-chest level if I were still standing upright. In the rush the damn zipper must’ve slid down a bit – cold breeze prickles at my shoulders, and makes the wings on my back twitch. No sign of the felon yet though, only creepy stone gargoyles and chimeras... The whole walkway's covered by a tight netting, so at least no risk of that idiot hurling themselves over. I walk along to look beyond the belfry's salient corner – and still no one. The walkway acts as a bridge with the other tower, and it seems to be the only path available.

“W– wait for me..!”, Vi wheezes from behind.

I turn back to the unicorn just coming to the top of the stairs, panting through her mask... and I see that behind her the iron fence that should've restricted access to the other half of the walkway, running along the outer side of the building, has been pulled away. Getting closer, it's clearly not new, the iron's been bent out of shape by heat, the fence's probably been unsealed as part of the reconstruction effort...

... And beyond it, there's no netting at all.

“Which way?”, asks Vi.

“Not that one, I hope. Going for a look, check the other one.”

I don't have to walk far, just past the corner. A switch knife's laying on the stone, blade reddened, and right next to it the small wooden door to yet another spiral staircase, already damaged by the fire, has been forced open. Dammit.

After calling Vi I take a closer look at the knife. Not too much blood, fortunately, but there's small droplets peppered further down the walkway, away from the bashed entrance...

“Hey, someone there? Are you hurt?”

No response.

The unicorn arrives at my side, looking at the knife then the broken door. “Oh gosh... Are they up there?”

Mmh. I lean into the staircase, and—

“Stop! You're crazy!”

That was the hostage, voice faint from the distance but definitely echoing from above. Staircase it is then, but...

Vi has heard too though, and is already on her way up. I follow... but after a half-dozen turns of the spiral, I catch noise from below. Maybe it's just more echoes from the scuffle upward? Or just my imagination.

Eh, as if we were that lucky... No choice anyway – our objective is up.

We finally reach the top. Still a handful of steps but I already feel the breeze's stronger here, and there'll be no more stairs to climb. No more escape.

Well, unless they're a pegasus, I guess.

Vi has stopped on the threshold for some reason. I don't have enough space to go around her. She's tense.

“What's the matter..?”

I barely hear her reply, but it makes me pause too: “... He's not a pony..!”

...

Please don't tell me we went through all this trouble and it wasn't even our job in the first place... God-fucking-dammit! I force Vi to move a little, just enough so that I can fit against her left flank in the narrow doorway, and catch a glimpse.

No netting here either, where the public isn't supposed to go – only the gray clouds. A raised, pyramidal metal roof piece in the center of the platform, surrounded by another walkway with a railing similar to the previous one, slick from rain. And, in front of us, backed into a corner of the roughly square platform, the felon holding a man hostage.

No wonder they managed to drag that guy all the way up, or busted through that door. Under the strained, dirty clothes they look bulky and strong, barreled chest and powerful legs, their lack of shoes revealing large feline paws covered in slate fur. A long, lion-like tail coils from their lower back, with a shock of whitish hair at the tip, same color as whatever feather-like hair they still have atop their head. More worrying, though, are their hands – still somewhat human, but much rougher, almost scaly, and with wicked talons I can see growing from here. Talons pressing against the throat of their hostage.

What the hell is that thing.

“Don't come any closer!”, the creature snarls, piercing gold eyes glaring at us from a mostly human face. “Stay b—”

“Oh for Christ's sake!”, the uh, pretty angry hostage bellows, making even the creature jump at the vehemence. “That's just great! The freak drags me like a sack of potatoes all over Notre-Dame, and who do they send to help? But why, the little pastel horsies of course! Come on then, make place and give a round of applause for– for what, the Colt Corps? The Pony Platoon!? Ah, no, the Unicorn Unit, of course! This day's just getting better and better! So what's next!? Freakin' Quasimodo himself!?”

... I should've done like Amber and taken a rain check this morning.

“Will you stop whinin' already!?”, the creature snaps right back at their captive. “You think my day's goin' better!?”

The man looks unharmed for now, though his protection suit shows some tears, while the creature's a little beat up – car crash probably didn't help. No open wound I can see from here, however...

“Please er, gentlemen!”, Violette says, trying to sound calm and collected. “I understand this is a very stressful situation for everyone involved right now, but there's no need for further violence. We're here to help, we're mediators; our only goal is to keep everybody safe and make sure this all has a happy ending. My name is Vita Violette, and my friend's Laurence. What's yours?”

“Jesus, and they talk, too..! The unicorns talk and they sound like some primary school teacher!”

“Shut up!” The talons tense around the man's throat. “Just leave me alone!”

“I'm afraid we can't do that, sir. You're endangering this person's life, and yours also by staying here. I swear we just want to help, you just have to tell us h—”

“Oh yeah, by throwin' me to the pigs!”, the creature cuts her off. “Heard you downstairs, you're workin' for them!”

“Then you also know we have many friends in high places, friends who only want to help, but please, we can only assure your safety if you back down and surrender first.”

“What planet are you from lady!? What d'you think will happen!? I'm not givin' them another chance, not after all this!” They try to put more distance between us now, lumbering along the walkway with their back against the railing, and hostage still squirming in their claws.

Well, this is all going swimmingly..! Can I take them down without the guy's windpipe ending up with enough holes to play the flute? Maybe Vi could hold their claws with magic, give me an opening... Run to them while they're distracted, shove the guy away, and then... Then pummel them into submission. Cart them off to the cops. Mission accomplished.

But... It doesn't feel right.

It all reminds me too much of Dusky. They're not aggressive for no reason, there's something behind it.

Just a hunch. They may look like a mix of human and whatever else, but that ‘whatever else’ obviously includes feline – and I know cats. Angry cats don't keep their tail low and curled around themselves like this.

They're not just trying to avoid being arrested, like some common hoodlum giving the law the middle finger...

“We can't arrest them...”, I whisper to the unicorn.

I can't see her expression, but I can feel her neck straightening, her shoulder more rigid. “We don't have a choice, he's a criminal...”, she says just as quietly. “It has to go through the police first, once he's in custody we can work to have him transferred to our care...”

“Yeah I know, and I don't like it, but Vi, they're afraid, like afraid for their life..! Maybe for good reasons. We stop them sure, but I wouldn't trust that officer down there with a pea whistle, we—”

She shoves me aside to get on the walkway. “It's not ideal and I don't like it either, but we can't just do as we please..! We've worked too hard to have this system put in place to help ponies..!”

I push to get back at her side, leveling my stern face at her: “So we just don't even try..? They're still going through the same shit as us..! Is that because they're not a pony, can't you cook up some special case or something..?”

A shake of the head, hardening eyes to quell the conflict inside. “It doesn't make a difference... He made his choice, we can—”

“I didn't chose shit!” Dammit! It's windy and they don't have pony ears, how d— “What, thought I couldn't hear you babblin' over there!?”

“Wait, what? What are they saying?”

“Shut up!”

They increase their backward pace and we have no choice but to follow before they get hidden by the central roof piece. Trying to maintain the same distance between us – have to keep Vi from walking any closer, last thing we need's for them to feel threatened... 'cause now they really do look angry.

“Please, we truly do want to help, but you're not making things easier for anybody!”, says a frustrated Vi. “Taking someone hostage is a serious crime! But if you back down willingly, if you cooperate, we—”

“Enough bullshit! Stay back!”

Dammit, can't you just stop for a minute and calm down!? We're not the ones making up these stupid rules!

What should we do now? I don't want to hurt them, it feels wrong, but I can't let them hurt that guy either! There has to be some kind of...

Wait... Oh fuck, they're making us turn all the way around the roof, back to the staircase! Can't get them if they go down, but at least less risks of falling off the walkway... They're only rounding the last corner, still a dozen meters to the door, should I just go back to cut the way off? What would they do if they felt even more trapped? I can't let them—

They look behind them, toward the door, like they heard something, their head feathers bristle – oh fuck not the cops, not now!

“W– what are you doin'!?”, the creature shouts at whoever's joined us on the walkway – can't see from here yet. “Go away already!”

“Can't get out,” says that elusive, feminine third voice from earlier, “so might as well be here!”

Ah so that's who was following us, the missing hostage! And as they walk slowly into view, hands raised, there's this dash of red on the right forearm, visible under the protective coveralls' sleeve – knife wound I'd bet.

Why didn't they come out when I called then? They may've solved the issue of the escape route for now, but they're also another chaotic factor we have to juggle! Should've stayed down, or left the scene, why do they... Uh. Why do they look so weird..?

Arms look too long, and almost thicker toward the wrists rather than the elbows. Torso's too long too, I should be able to see their waist, with how tall they are – and it's not the coveralls hiding it, with the way it sags. Damn even their face looks weird, with that bushy beard stretching the mask, and the helmet barely—

Oh.

“Please miss, you need to leave! This is a very sensitive situation and you shouldn't get involved, let us d—”

Vi's words die in her throat as the newcomer pulls their mask off.

“I feel like I'm plenty involved already, thank you very much.”

There's something off about seeing intelligible sounds coming out of that brown-furred snout instead of simple barks or whines, black-rimmed lips forming syllables without any—

“It– it's a giant DOG!!”, the unicorn screeches way too loudly for my ears.

“Looked at yourself in a mirror recently, horse-face..?”, said dog-person grumbles back.

“Ah! Ah!” Great, now it's the hostage's turn to lose it. “I was right, look it's Quasidoggo!”

“Shut up, Thierry!”, their canine colleague retorts with a glare.

As if we needed even more complications today... “Wasn't there anywhere else to hide in this damn city..?”

“Hey, I'm working here! It's you guys who caused all the trouble!”

“Get outta here!”, the hostage sneers. “I think I'd have noticed a talking mutt on the roster this morning!”

“Oh for goodness' sake, I'm Chris you idiot! Christophe! We're literally on the same crew!”

“Last I checked that Chris ain't a gal and certainly not some dang furry!”

“What have you been on these past two days!? See, that's why nobody likes you!”

Vi grabs my arm and pulls me aside, even though her eyes are still trained on the dog-person. “Laurence, w– what should we do!?”, the rattled unicorn asks. “This is all getting out of hoof, I– I..!”

I force her to look at me: “Calm down, mission's hasn't changed – we're here to help, aren't we? It's more complicated than we thought but that's never stopped us.” Damn, her eyes keep on turning away, and the two workers still arguing doesn't help at all. “Vi, look at me. I need you here and now. This isn't an animal, it's a person. A person we need to—”

“Shut up, all of you!!”, shouts the cat-creature, the hostage yelping from the talons digging a little deeper through his clothes. “Get the hell out of here or I– or I'll have to force you!”

“Stop being so stubborn and let him go already!”, the dog-person replies, stepping a little closer still. “You've only made things worse!”

Dammit, you're the one making it worse now! Panic's setting in, that white-tipped tail's trashing madly, they—

“She's– she's right!”, Vi blurts out! “You've escalated whatever offenses they had against you into full-blown terrorism!”

What!? Stop pushing them, goddammit!

“I– I'm not a terrorist! That's a lie!”

“Then I must really have crap for eyes,” that stupid hostage decides to add to the fire, “'cause this is exactly what it looks like from here!”

“No! That's– that's bullshit! I just don't want to die!”, they cry out, panic overtaken by, I'm not sure, indignation, or maybe just anguish? “You think I've been draggin' this jerk around to keep me company!? They're huntin' me! But they won't shoot if I– if I..!”

The silenced sentence hangs in the air. The tail stops its thrashing, falling limp. Did... did that really work? The threatening talons and tense shoulders slacken... Can't allow us to miss this opening!

Quick, think of something! They're afraid, they didn't realize the implications, so... “Say, Vi,” I ask out loud, keeping my eye on the creature's reactions, “all this hostage talk we heard about... It was just what they thought was happening, right..? They weren't sure at all. Vi?”

No answer.

I glance at the frazzled unicorn, and her reproachful look. She knows what I'm going for, and she doesn't like it. Talk about a would-be lawyer – isn't reinterpreting the truth and bending the rules your specialty? Come on, it's our best shot at solving the issue!

At last she offers a tense nod. “Well there certainly wasn't any demand for a ransom or even a formally-issued threat in the first place...”, she says, though I can't miss that little edge in her voice. “So no, I suppose this isn't a hostage crisis at all. No act of terrorism, only an unfortunate... misunderstanding. Just one person, still a little shaken from a car crash and not thinking straight when he tried to hide here, and two concerned workers who stayed behind, and will now help him go get checked for injuries... Though as he and one of the workers present a, let's say, dangerous medical condition only us are equipped to deal with, it would be our prerogative to keep them under our care. Does that sound accurate enough..?”

Nice, I knew you had it in you! I didn't know we could do that but this might just work, and without having to throw a single punch! “Do we have a deal, then?”, I ask the creature.

Please take the deal..! I'm not sure the police will be easy to convince, but I—

“Wait, you're just going to let him get away with this?”

SHUT UP YOU IDIOT! Don't you have any sense of self-preservation!? Should've let them rip your damn throat out!

And now there's the fear again, fuck! We were so damn close!

“It's... It's too easy!”, they cry out – ugh I can feel the reluctant doubt from here, the wish to believe! “How can I know you're not lyin'!?”

Fuck it, go for broke! I just need to get closer.

“Hey listen to me!”, I call as I make a first, slow step in their direction, tearing my mask off and engaging maximum stern face. “What's your name?”

That surprises them, good. I wait patiently, and still.

They hesitate, until they answer, almost too low for me to hear: “Sofiane...”

“Okay, Sofiane. See that?” I point at my empty eye socket. “Didn't get it by accident. And you can ask her about the time she got a dirty cop's gun pointed at her head.”, I add, nodding Vi's way.

I take another couple steps forward while they look at her, as if silently asking for confirmation. I hope her magic will be quick enough.

“So yeah, trust me, I know there's that kind of bastards around, and that they don't like us.”, I say, gesturing for emphasis – and to reposition myself a bit closer each time. “But there's only a few. The others are just afraid, reacting with their guts... just like you right now.”

I force myself to stare directly at them, get them to focus only on my eye and my voice. Closer, slowly... Almost close enough.

“So come on, Sofiane. Let them see you're not just an animal they have to catch. You're a person, you have rights, and I won't let them hurt you. Either of y—”

Movement to the left. A large gloved hand grasping for Sofiane's right arm.

W— No thinking just run!

The dog's strong, pulling the taloned hand away from the man's throat, but the other clenches hard against his shoulder.

Yelp of pain. Sofiane loses balance, the pull too strong. Taking the man with them.

Still running, almost slipping – still not close enough..!

Scaly arm breaks free, feline paws find their footing again, pushing back. The canine hand reaches for the man.

Almost there..!

Human rag doll pulled off his feet between the two creatures. Talons lose their grip in shreds of cloth and blood. Stout fingers tear a damaged sleeve off.

Momentum carries him against the slippery railing.

No!

I jump over the roof piece's corner and kick back with my legs, using it to spring forth higher as the man slides over the railing, golden magic sparkles around his ankle but isn't enough to stop him, wings fight for freedom!

He careens off the walkway.

My hands reach to hit the railing and push against it, sending me vaulting after him!

Wind screams in my ears, screams from the flailing man – razor-sharp silhouette over the rushing gray of the ground. Wings burst through, slap the air, hooves outstretched..!

Contact!

Another flap – get my arms around his waist, and hold on as I force the wings wide! They catch the air, feathers rigid and supporting each other against the pressure – yes!

The heady strain of kinetic energy lessens, but the idiot struggles and yells, making us bob left and right, the wings try to compensate but I don't know if that'll be enough, ground's rushing toward us and still going too fa—

Impact and a snap, the man crumbles over himself and brings me down with h—

Feathers brush against hard ground just before my shoulder hits, let go of his waist and roll over, head hits— oww!

Flashing stars, it all blurs.

Wings against the hardness, sliding, pulling feathers, tears of fabric.

And then, at last, it ends. Blessed stillness.

...

Well ouch..!

I blink at the hazy grayness. The cold, wet cobblestone, my belly working my lungs like a bellows, gulping mouthful of rancid air, a low drone resolving into the mad thumping of my own heart, muffling the pained wails and barks from nearby. Clothes sag over my torso, and—

Something hits painfully against my chest. Shadows gather around, seem to stretch weird black eights at me..! I blink still, the world growing into focus... and the strange keyhole things resolve into the muzzles of the guns aimed at me.

The policemen shout things, but it all jumbles together with the wails. I can see their faces clearly now, though. And the way they look at me.

Anger. Fear. Disgust.

I lay where I am, and don't make a single move, despite how much I'd want to. Pretty sure Vi saw me fall, just have to wait for her to come help solve this. In the meantime the best thing I can do is to stay still, close my eye, and not give them any excuse to pump me full of lead.

Somehow I doubt a mask would help this time...

Amber Spire's View

I keep on staring at the white ceiling.

Book orbit good, wavelength and speed stable. Clockwise ball good, counter-clockwise good too. Socks wavelength... Tsk, falling off again. Here you go, back to half the book's, without losing the balls while we're at it please..!

Per-fect. Let's keep this up for another—

The phone chirps, the socks lose the cadence. Well to heck with them, I shift my efforts to keeping the rest going while I pick up the phone and bring it over. It's not even that much of an effort, as it turns out; maybe there's really something to sympathetic connections making magic easier.

So, let's see... Oh, email from Luisard! It hasn't been a week already, has it..? Ah no, previous one just three days ago, I'm not that crazy yet.

'Hey Amber, hope you're doing better?'

I'm laying in bed burning my breakfast away instead of being outside helping out... I suppose that can still be called 'better', sure.

'Still no word of the last ponies you rescued. I know I must sound like a broken record', yeah you kind of do, 'but they're lying to you, don't trust them, whatever your mom says. Please be careful, okay?'

Mmh. Broken record or not, you probably do have a point here, Luisard... The others didn't need that many days to reach Coursac, was there a problem on the road? Gosh I hope they're okay... I'll ask Mom once she's back.

'Anyways, have they roped you into any new mission since then? At least it gives you a chance to do some sightseeing, I guess.'

... Pass.

'Here it's pretty much always more of the same thing, not that it's a bad thing. Madrécrin's still trying to convince Fenchone and Sangie to build a proper lounge, as if we weren't already busy with the barn extension. After what you told me, I'm not too surprised he still managed to smuggle so many different kinds of liquor already. Musème has had a little magic mishap last night and Keensight was stuck yodeling for an hour or two afterwards, so that was fun.'

Hehe, I hope somepony managed to record that, I'm sure Mom and Laurence would love it.

'Like I said nothing special otherwise, everyone's doing fine. No nightmares since last time, at least from what I've heard.'

Good. And heaven forbid that it changes any time soon.

'Well then, don't forget to write, and you take care alright?'

...

Pffffffffff...

I don't want to...

He's not really asking for an answer right now anyway, right? It's not like he's waiting, sitting in front of the screen, refreshing the page... I mean, even if he were, even if, it's just 'don't forget to write', if he wanted a response right away he should've said so! And besides, not complaining or anything, but maybe he should use that time to contact his family instead, that's what the computer's for!

I push the phone away and... Oh come on, what am I doing? He's just concerned, and a good friend, don't be so harsh!

That little 'reply' arrow's still taunting me, though.

What could I even write him about..? It's not like since last time I've done anything other than reading more fanfics and feeling so blue I could pass for Laurence's daughter. At least my English keeps improving... Oh, maybe I could talk about fanfics and MLP, and just pull my joker on all the 'how're you doing' stuff? I'd have semi-interesting stuff to say at least, especially if I paint it as potentially useful knowledge!

Like if I'd watched the show at least up to the Crystal Empire...

Or more broadly, just how much stuff could be hidden both in the show and the fandom, only making sense to pony eyes. I could share my hypothesis about the 'Pony Last Stand' and 'End of Equestria' genres. It's not surprising those two got so popular after the show's finale, but they could very well be made up of actual ponies' memories of the real event, at least in part. Or how some fics just feel right, and fit so well with details we can see right now but weren't translated in cartoon form? I'd bet those were written by ponies-in-human-flesh, or the details came from them first then were picked up by vanilla-human writers. There could even be authentic, working spells in there!

If only the fix-it fics had been real, too...

Maybe that's just a bunch of trivia that'll lead nowhere in the end, but... I don't know. It'd be a reply, at the very least.

One certainty though: need more coffee if I am to write anything resembling a coherent argument.

Not too surprised I only managed to keep the book going through all that... Didn't let it fall on my muzzle at least this time! I set it carefully on the nightstand, put the other stuff away, and roll over the covers, slipping off the bed and down on the wooden floor. Clip-clopping out of the roo—

Blast it Amber, we said never, ever use 'clop' again in any context, it's been forever soiled! Only c-word that matters now is Coffee, and that's the only thing we'll think about! Right!? Right.

So, er, well, I walk out of the room, and down the short corridor into the small living room, to find Sweetchard and Dusky at the table playing cards. They don't look like they're that much into it though, both looking more at the little TV in the corner than at their own cards. I hurry through to not get in the way of what sounds like some poorly-dubbed soap opera, and to the kitchenette. Praise Sunbutt, for there's still some black elixir left in the thermos! Lukewarm it may be, its blessings shan't be rejected, and I can turn back to the boys with a decently-filled mug.

“So, how's training going?”, asks Chard, waiting for Dusky's turn. “Not falling asleep in the middle of it this morning..?”

“We'd have heard the yelp if she had...”, the little pegasus colt answers as he puts down the knave of spades, winning the trick.

Come on guys, it happened once... “Ha, ha, ha. It was going quite well, I'll have you know. Until Luisard distracted me, that is.”

That makes the stallion chuckle. “Oh, so he managed to wait two whole days? I'm impressed. He was asking about you in his last email.”

Dang it. “And what did you tell him..?”

“Told him you were still tired and resting. You know, either tell him he's got no chance or just get together already...”

“Ugh, I did tell him! Can't you make him understand that!?”

“Nope, not getting any more involved in that kind of business.”, he replies, taking the cards Dusky's dealing in hoof. “Already got my plate full, thank you.”

“But you just said– ugh, whatever..!” A good long gulp, to try to sooth my nerves. I don't like being like this, it... it stirs stuff I'd rather not see stirred. Only stirring that shall occur is if I go off the deep end and start adding sugar! “Still no word on Mom and Laurence?”

“Not yet.”, answers Dusky, hoof hovering over the cards held between his feathers. “Maybe they'd already be done if a certain pathfinder unicorn had gone with them instead of lazing around...”

“I'm not 'lazing around'!” You think I like being like this!? You think I like feeling worthless and powerless and– and—

“Come on Dusk, don't be mean. She had it rough last time, and if she needs the rest, then she needs the rest.”

Gosh I can't– I need to calm down, can't let a rotten surge get the better of me so easily again! More coffee, stat!

“Just saying.”, the insufferable colt shrugs. “It's not like there was much chance of going to the catacombs twice in a row.”

“Dusky, please...”

Come on Amber, just deep breaths, calm down, focus on what's in your mug, and try to take it... rationally. “Maybe not,” I concede, through gritted teeth, “but does it really look like luck's on my side? Seriously, I'd have loved to get full access to the site if it had been like, five months ago, but of course I had to get embroiled in... in you-know-what.” Coffee doesn't really help pushing away the images and feels of ghost and curses and dark magic; I shudder at the far too vivid memories. “It's just that...”

“Hey, no thinking about that anymore now, alright?”, Chard says, pulling a chair for me. “Come on, let's talk about something else.”

I jump on both chair and offer, sitting between them with my mug; at least the shudders doused the blue-purple fire inside: “All right, so, er, came across any pony news this morning?”

“Nothing through the mainstream, but that's hardly new. They really do keep that tight lid on us...”, the stallions mutters before putting down his first card, the three of clubs. “And the net's been relatively calm this week. The usual ‘Hasbro movie cover-up’ pieces. We still get pics of the American weather management pegasi, those get shared regularly, but no real buzz like for the Dust video, or the gruesome stuff from August. Came across some discussions last night of ponies being rescued and carried off to the US by some of the groups based there, though I don't know if it's legit.”

“Well, they certainly are lucky, at least...”, I sigh.

That makes Chard snort. “Nah, real lucky ones are the ones who got to the portal to Equestria in time, and don't have to deal with all the stuff on Earth.”

“Maybe that's why most people aren't really talking about ponies? Syria's getting worse, now the attack in Samaru, China, Azerbaijan, whatever's happening in Somalia, all these terrorist attacks over the summer, and that's just from last time I checked the news... The US-Canada border crisis wasn't too long ago either. It's kinda morbid, but I suppose it does help us stay a bit under the radar.”

“You really think so?” The stallion loses the trick again. “I'd bet it's still in large part because of us, they're just not saying it.”

“You really think it's our fault..?” It's true that's a lot of tensions and bad things cropping up worldwide since May, but...

“Just look at what happened here, with us.”, he argues. “Every time it's been on the news, it was explained as some sort of terrorist thing. So sure, that probably doesn't account for every single conflict or source of chaos on the planet, but trust me, a lot must still be from ponies trying to protect themselves and humans trying to kill us.”

That's a pretty depressing thought... “Maybe that's some of Discord's doing? If that was really him in the Washington videos, he could've been orchestrating things here too.”

We both look at Dusky. The colt keeps on fiddling with the three remaining cards in his feathers, but his expression grows somber. “Could be... He had his plans, not that he gave me any details.” He puts down a card, and the dark look lifts a little. “Then again, people get reckless and violent when they're afraid, or stressed, or just unsure what to do. The kind of reaction you'd get by facing something you can't fully understand. Like intelligent, magical ponies from another world, for example. Doesn't have to be a whole evil plot, or a shadow war, if just knowing an alien species exists alongside humans can make them all go nuts on their own, you know..?”

Somehow that sounds even more chilling than the other options. This demands a bit more coffee... “So what then, there'd be no way to live in harmony with humanity? Where would that leave us?”

“Depends where the pieces end up falling, once the initial chaos's passed.”, muses Dusky as he effortlessly wins another game.

“Then I'd rather believe we will eventually get all this madness behind us, some day. That's the whole point of working with the government, right?”

“Or we could bypass our kind handlers altogether, and ask one of the groups in the US to come get us.”, Chard says, shuffling the cards for another game. “I'd feel better having our fate decided by other ponies than by humans. That'd also be one step closer to Equestria once the portal's working again. Or maybe that group north of Scotland at least, that'd still be an improvement over spending two whole years cooped here... Hey, can you believe they use pegasus-pulled chariots to get around?”

“Not sure we can trust every single rumor, Chard.”

“But chariots are a thing in the show, are they not?”

“Well, er... Yeah, I suppose, but even then, I doubt ferrying both us and the more than forty ponies down in Coursac over the Atlantic in flying chariots would really work out that easily, not with—”

We all turn in the direction of the front door, at the muffled sound of approaching hoofbeats; they're back!

The electronic lock clicks and the door opens, letting Laurence's voice reach us:

“... and so there's this vague sense, can't put a finger on the parameters themselves, just get that feeling. Like a hunch.”

“And you trust these 'hunches'..?”, I hear Mom ask as they close the door and shuffle into the corridor.

“It's only anecdotal evidence, I'll give you that, but it proved pretty useful so I guess it's not just in my head.”

“It certainly doesn't make you able to magically detect lying, in any event. Honestly, from the way you describe it I'm not sure it's so out of the– oh, hello all, we're back.”

So they are, and now that they're both standing in the kitchen, with ruffled coats, wet manes, and the stink of really cheap soap, I do feel kind of lucky. Dusky jumps from his chair and goes right to hug Laurence anyway. I brace myself and take a deep breath before Mom moves closer... but then I notice how upset they both look, and realize they're coming back alone.

“Did... did something happen? Where's the pony?”

They share a glance that doesn't reassure me in the slightest. Mom switches the TV off. “We have something we need to talk about...”, she says, pointing at the table.

“So what happened?”, asks Chard once we're all seated with some tea brewing. “The cops beat you to them, that's it..?”

“Yes, well, no, not that way, thank goodness.”

“What Vi means is that the two are in police custody right now, but it's only temporary – because they're sending them both 'up north'..!”, Laurence all but growls.

What? “Up north? What does that mean?”

“It means they've got some sort of 'secure facility' to house ponies that they conveniently omitted to tell us about until today. They refused to give details, it's 'need-to-know basis', apparently! But go on Vi, tell them the bad news..!”

“Well, because of the way the morning's events unfolded, we... The Ministry believes it would be in our best common interest if we too were to go spend some time at this facility, but just for the time it takes for things to die down a little bit of course!”

“But then why don't they just send us back to Coursac, it's...” And it clicks. “Wait, did they already send Lucie and Charlotte there? So that's why they never arrived!”

“Yes...”, Mom admits, reluctantly. “But we didn't know about it until today.”

“Well that's reassuring..!”, Chard scoffs. “How many times did I told you we couldn't trust them!? How much stuff are they doing behind our backs!?”

“Please calm down, there's no reason to react like this. Coursac's exact location is a secret too, and we want to keep it that way. This is really only done to protect us, lessen the risks of—”

“What does sending us to the gulag protect us from exactly!?”

“It's not like that, Sweetchard. You have to understand, with pony matters becoming more widely discussed in the corridors of power, it's also becoming more difficult to act unilaterally and without consequences. I'm not happy about it either, but we have to keep our trust in Antoine and the Ministry. This move is necessary to appease some of our detractors, especially after this morning's outing...”

“Oh yes Vi, letting the guy go splat would've been such better optics, why didn't I think of that.”, Laurence retorts, getting a small snicker from Dusky.

“You did what you had to do, but it still resulted in a lot of people seeing you, and then assaulting that officer and everything else made other people very angry at us. Keeping ourselves away is the best solution for the time being...”

“Can't we, I don't know, make an appeal or something?”, I ask. “If they want us to lay low we could just do that here, it hasn't been a problem for the past four months!”

“Exactly what I said...”, Laurence grumbles.

Mom looks more defeated than she has any right to be. I scoot over and hug her tight, to heck with soap. She hugs back, burying her muzzle into my mane, but it's... it's like this whole thing has stolen the strength from her limbs.

“I've tried my best to argue our case, but the decision came from the top...”, she sighs, bitter. “And as long as we work with them, we have to work by their rules. There's too much hanging in the balance, too much time and effort spent building trust and sympathy, to let it all go to waste.”

I'm not sure that's not already the case... “So, what now? We just pack our things, and..?”

“And we leave Paris, yes. There's no rush though, we'll only be picked up late afternoon tomorrow, so... I suppose it gives us some time to get used to the idea.”

“And try to get as much information as we can about where they're sending us.”, Laurence adds. “'Cause her Antoine didn't know about that facility either...”

It's... it's all so sudden! “But what if there's more ponies who change and need help here? We can't abandon them!”

“We've been told that they have enough of our mission records to establish appropriate procedures for the police. There'll still be oversight of course, but...”

Chard snorts. “So yeah, that's not protecting us at all. That's putting us out to pasture now that we're more an inconvenience than an asset.”

Mom winces at the blunt summary, but she can't contest: “... Yes, pretty much.”

*sigh*

Well Luisard, I suppose I will be doing some more sightseeing, may I want it or not...

Sweetchard's View

We drive past the road sign, and...

You're kidding me. Goshdarnit, it really is called Écuries!

Good job guys, really. Absolutely hilarious, reeeeaaaaal subtle. Let's send the ponies to StableTown, they'll be too busy laughing when you lock the cages and throw away the keys! Seriously, how long did it take you to find the place?

I turn to the others: “Hey, I didn't want to believe it, but it's really called—”

“Yes Chard, we saw.”, Rafale cuts in.

“And that doesn't... sound even a little bit sketchy to you?”

“Says the one who wants to emigrate to Equestria and visit Pony-ville and Canter-lot...”

“That's a totally different thing! It's part of our culture! This is just them mocking us!”

“I understand where he's coming from, Laurence.”, Amber says, stifling a yawn. “It feels a bit too on the nose.”

“Thank. You.”

“My parents live in Noir-étable and I'm not throwing a fit over it...”, the blue pegasus mutters.

“Questionable sense of humor aside, the location makes quite a bit of sense.” Great, lecture-mode Violette now... “Farmland surrounding the site for privacy, but still close enough to a large agglomeration and thus able to benefit from its infrastructure! Having a secondary sanctuary in the region will definitely pay dividends, it lessens considerably issues with transporting ponies from the northern half of the country, especially the Paris and Lille or even Strasbourg regions.”

Tch, doesn't she tire from trying to act all peppy since we've been exiled? Still not sure who she's trying to convince. Besides, from where I'm standing it only means that place's far less protected than Coursac. Though considering how little living in the middle of nowhere did for us in the past...

Anyways. However the place turns out to be, it'll still be a relief to get out of that car, it's hard to get comfortable in there. This trip's nothing like the trek from Coursac to Paris but, I don't know... Maybe that's just the non-pony scents throwing me a bit.

I glance at the large gray griffon hunched over in the back. Poor Sofiane looks like he's being carted off to the firing squad. Not that I can blame him... “Hey, don't worry man. Don't know what's coming, but here's one thing for sure: we don't leave anyone behind. Pony, griffon, or diamond dog.”

Only answer's the clink of his handcuffs as he turns away, handcuffs he could probably shatter easily. Can't say I didn't try, at least... Neither he nor Chris have talked much since we all met, but from what Rafale told us I'm not that surprised. I'd be angry too, at how they've been thrown into all this, at how little it did to trust in Violette and her human. And whatever happened during the day and a half they stayed with the cops, it sure wasn't pretty. Battered, and bruised... but at least they're still in one piece, and they're not alone anymore.

All of us together in this, whatever 'this' is. Only a matter of time before the fake gold would start flaking away from that gilded cage. They could gaudy it up as much as they wanted, it always was—

“And you're wondering why they're not taking you seriously..?”, Chris says, rolling her eyes. “'Ponyville', 'Diamond Dog'... Sounds like it's all been made up by some six-year old. Oh sorry, didn't want to disrespect your 'culture'...”

Ouch, feeling those air quotes here. But still, yay for getting the ball rolling! “You get used to it. And to be fair we don't always know for sure if that's the actual, proper names, because, uh...” Ah, uh, kinda awkward now...

“Because..?”

“Well, because it, uh...” Yeah, can't really avoid it: “'Cause it was made into a cartoon for children.”

“Ah! Called it.”

“I mean, the humans who made the show had to get accurate info from somewhere, lots of stuff matches up, but yeah maybe some things have been a bit dumbed down in the process... Anyways, the point's that we need words to talk and understand ourselves, and... Well, nothing's stopping us from picking words that fit better, I guess. Like our names! I'm Sweetchard, and Sweetchard's a pony, an earth stallion, and that's what I am, who I am, you know?”

She looks down at her massive paw-like hands. “Chris the 'Diamond Dog', huh..? That still sounds so dumb. Why couldn't it be 'werewolf', or even 'weredog'?”

“At least you don't look like a bird screwed a cat...”

Hey, that's... that still counts as getting out of your shell Sofiane, it's a start!

“Yeah, and I'm what happens when a dog humps a gorilla.”, she chuckles back. “Come on, you got wings out of the whole deal, that's something.”

He clicks his tongue, which sounds odd with a beak. “Oh yeah, good joke that one, got me some wings but only after I need them..!”

“I mean, you've got double the amount of pecs now,” I point out, “and well-built ones at that. Most guys just can't compare!”

Sofiane stares at me with those eagle eyes of his, but I don't let my silly smirk waver until I get a cackle out of him: “Eh, yeah right. Not sure what good that'll do, doubt there's much of a datin' scene where we're goin'...”

“Who knows, there could be a griffonette or two waiting just for you!”

“Griffonettes', eh? I'd rather have a nice normal girl, thanks...”

“You just say that because you haven't met one yet!”

“'Cause you have?”

“No, but they can't be worse than mares.”

“Hey!”

“And you Chris, on the market?” I ask her, paying no mind to the protests of mother and daughter unicorn.

“Isn't that putting the cart before the pony?”, she asks back, drawing a chuckle from Sofiane. “I mean, who'd jump into a relationship when they're barely familiar with their own body?”

Don't have to look to know I have everypony's eyes on me, after that one... Crispy's a special case, alright? Anyways, answer's readymade: “But that's precisely one very effective way to get more familiar with it! Besides, just ask Amber how many strapping young stallions have been trying to—”

“Chard!”

I brave the filly's annoyed glance, to check for telltale shimmers of blue or purple. Whew, all clear, not that upset yet. “Hey, am I right or am I right?”

Come on Amber, take the bait! It's a bit spicy but we've got to keep up the good vibes while we still can! Gonna need them soon enough...

Ahhh, that's the sly little smile I was waiting for! “Yes, stallions. Always chasing tail, never know when to stop. Sometimes it feels like the change moved half their brain matter down below... Isn't that right, Chard?”

Hehe, nice one! “I mean, you saw the size of that thing? Matter's got to come from somewhere! And whoever needs all of their brain anyways, we only use like, ten percents of it! I think that's a good, uh... Com... Compro..? Or something-something-off?”

“'Show-off', definitely..!”, Amber snarks.

“Naaah, that's not it, it's more—”

“Bake-off!”, Dusky cuts in with a giggle.

“Oh yessss, that must be it, I remember all the creampies!”

That gets me the groans and snickers and laughs I wanted! Nothing like good ol' trashiness to loosen up.

And of course here's the grumbling from miss Grumpy Pants: “First off, that statistic is bogus. Secondly, could you keep the lewdness to yourselves, there's a kid here..!”

Booooo, killjoy. Come on Rafale, you know Dusky's far less 'innocent' than he appears to be. And it's not like I haven't seen you checking Violette's butt when you think no-one's watching...

“But we're just talking about baking and pastries!”, the colt says in his most saccharine voice, while winking at me. Hehe, nice work lil' buddy.

“Exactly! Just stallions reaaaaally eager to get some batter going with a nice mare's help!”

More laughs, and an even grumpier pegasus, and...

*sigh*

Just had to push it too far, huh..?

She...

No, no, come on Chard, can't let it show. Your own fault for playing that game, now don't spoil their fun... Keep on smiling, and—

“Ah!”, Chris barks after whatever Amber said. “Hope that's not it, because if dog-guys are even half as eager as those damn police mutts I'll have to get myself a club or a mace!”

Uh? Dang, zoned out for a minute here... I join in the snickering anyways, I need it.

Sofiane's getting on it, too: “Try gorillas next time then, these won't try to sniff your butt!”

“Sure man, and I'll ask if they have any sexy pigeon friends for you while I'm at it!”

“Given the choice I'd rather go for the catgirls, thanks.”

That makes the both of them chuckle, though it ends on a bitter note.

“Not really the best time to think about that stuff,” Chris muses, “but... Still better to bitch about the silly things than think about the rest, right?”

That was kind of the idea, ye—

“Eh, 'bitch'...”

Ah! Nice work Sofiane, even managed to make Rafale snort this time... Well, that's a—

Wait, we're slowing down.

I crane my neck to look through the tinted windows. That's the boondocks alright, though the lights of the village aren't far behind us... and there's a couple humans walking down the road too. It's almost sundown, are they just enjoying the breeze, at this hour..?

A turn off the main road, along scruffy hedges and with gravel crackling under the wheels, to stop less than a minute later in front of a barricade. Right next to it is a faded sign, corners swallowed by the hedge: ‘Camping La Paille Basse’. They have a darn weird definition of ‘secure facility’...

And who in their right mind would go camping north of Paris?

Well, us apparently...

A human steps into the car's headlights from beyond the barricade, a gendarme from the dark blue uniform and white stripe, and walks to our driver's window: “You're more than two hours late. What took you so long?”

“Lots of traffic getting out of Paris.”, he replies, casual as ever. Was there really that much traffic..? More like he took his sweet time driving. Snack stop was appreciated, though.

“Send word next time, you're almost past curfew.” Wait, a curfew, really? “Proceed to the office for the check-in, please.”

The gendarme pulls the barricade to the side, and we slowly drive forward. Weeds and scraggly bushes creep on the gravel path, and with dusk upon us it's hard to see anything in the shadow of the trees beyond. Only light comes from the building we're heading to. There's two more gendarmes waiting in front of the small office, gesturing for us to stop on the side... and still no sign of anypony.

“Not sure what kind of place this is...”, our driver mutters as he kills the engine. “Call the boss as soon as there's something fishy, all right?”

“You can count on it.”, Violette replies. “Thank you, George.”

That makes him chuckle for some reason. “You're weird animal people, but still nicer than a lot of the VIPs I've worked for. So, good luck.”

Whatever he may say, he still goes out to open the back door and turn us over to these guys. What would calling Violette's beau even change, at this point? It's not like he didn't know where we were headed, when they crammed us into that car! Tch, if only the mares weren't so dead-set on following the humans' every whim...

Barely hooves to gravel, and the gendarmes have us standing in line, flashlights in our faces. “For the duration of your stay you'll be assigned individual sleeping accommodations, memorize your number.”, the one holding a clipboard says, all businesslike. “Meal times and lavatory turns will depend on your number, pay attention to announcements. Please keep your tag on you at all times. Getting airborne is strictly prohibited. Curfew is from nine to six. Follow instructions, stay orderly, everybody wins. If there's any issue, report it here. Any signs of fatigue, or fever?”

That's the Army alright... Fits with the guns at their belts. And looks like we're all in tip-top shape – except for having been roughed up by the cops, of course. Or—

“For safety reasons, electronic devices aren't allowed. Please hand them over, they'll be kept under lock here until you need them.”, Clipboard orders.

And so it begins. I share a quick glance with Amber; hope you listened to me, filly.

Violette may not look happy about it, she still gives them her smartphone and computer case with barely any hesitation. Rafale proves a tougher customer: “What's the point of this? We aren't going to bash our heads with phones, if that's what you're afraid of...”

“Some residents have proven irresponsible in their use of their and others' phones, and risked compromising the camp.”, Clipboard claims. “Again, for the safety of all, please hand them over.”

“Oh, I... I see.” She's reluctant, but for all her usual grumbling, the blue mare folds just as readily as the purple one and lets go of her precious device. Isn't it already painfully obvious why they don't let us keep phones..?

Dusky has nothing to give, and it's Amber's turn. She holds her backpack open for inspection: “I... I only have a book, some grooming supplies, and personal stuff in there.”

The gendarme's satisfied with a brief look with his flashlight, and fortunately doesn't try for a body check. Neither of the older mares say a word either. Good... There's still hope for them, then.

Guess it's my turn, now. My brushes are in Amber's backpack, so that'll be quick: “Only got the clothes on my back.”, I tell the human, and gesture at Sofiane and Chris. “Same for the other two.”

If my joke landed at all, it was squashed under the jackboots – he simply walked while shining his light in our faces. Rude.

The gendarme goes back into the building with phones and computer, and is replaced by another who brings a large box, looking at Clipboard for instructions. “Aouissi, Sofiane. P1.”, the latter reads out.

Sofiane doesn't try to hobble forward or anything, just standing next to me with his head low, but Clipboard points him out all the same. From the box his colleague pulls a bundle of fabric in a plastic bag, and walks up to us. “Keys please.” Our oh-so dutiful driver lobs them to the guy, who then kneels to free Sofiane. The others keep watch closely, as the handcuffs click open. A lanyard with its laminated tag is put around the griffon's neck, the gendarme's face barely more than a hoofspan's away from the thick, pointy beak. Lanyard gets up, leaving the plastic bag at Sofiane's claws; looks like a couple blankets.

“Barthou, Claire. Number 2.”

Wait, who's that?

A stoic Dusky steps forward, as Lanyard walks up to him with a new bag and tag. Gal-to-guy for you too then, lil' buddy? But... where the heck did these clowns dig out that name?

“Inquimbert, Raphaël. Number 10.”

An elegant swish of long, red mane from Violette: “Present! Though I now go by 'Vita Violette', officer.”

The gendarmes don't react to her correction... but they certainly do react to her picking up the bag in her magic. Lanyard recoils, Clipboard and the third goon at the door reach for their weapons.

Heart skips a beat. Humans frozen still, but still ready to draw. A flicker of purple fire Amber's way. The rustle of blue feathers. Shivers traveling down my spine, and my hooves gripping the gravel.

After this long, awful couple of seconds, Lanyard finds his footing again and gives a quick gesture, palm down. Hands move away from weapons, slowly, and I let out the breath my lungs held on so tightly.

Darn it, what the heck was that!? Just surprise? These guys mustn't have many unicorns around, to react like they're being attacked from just levitating stuff!

And I... I was getting ready to turn round to give them a good bucking, right?

Right..?

“Please refrain from excessive... pyrotechnics”, Clipboard says, knuckles still white from gripping his namesake.

“I'll try my best.”, Violette answers with a welcome note of sarcasm. At least Mommy Unicorn isn't quite as big a pushover as I feared, but that was a dangerous ga—

“Mokrani, Sarah. Number 11.”

Fuck.

Clipboard points his finger at me, flesh and bone more threatening than any gun. A silent bullet shot, with that name written on it in big bold letters.

You've no right to use that name! Leave her alone!

Boots crushing gravel, long shadow creeping up on me, and I'm still reeling from the impact like a buckin' idiot!

Come on Sweetchard, can't let humans get you like that!

I peel my eyes off the ground and glare at Lanyard walking up to me. My turn to get tagged like a darn cow, huh? Doesn't even glare back, like he doesn't care. What, think that just because I don't have a horn I can't break you in half!?

Towering over me, heart beats so fast, but you won't get me to run this time! So better watch what you're gonna do with those hands, 'cause it's bye-bye fingers if you don't! And you can try to act tough but you still reek of sweat, human! You try anything, anything you fascist scum, and I—

Hand reaches to collar me, to strangle me! He—

“Please officer, allow me?”

He stops. Glances to his right.

“You said it yourself, we need to work together. A gesture of mutual trust would be a good first step.”

Heart still hammering, blood thumping in my ears, grinding teeth and glass shards writhing in my leg—

He pulls back.

The lanyard hanging from his hand sparkles gold, and he lets go like it’d burn him. Vi wastes no time putting the thing over my neck.

I...

I don’t know if I should thank her or not. The way she’s looking at me could mean ‘I’m sorry’ as much as ‘get a grip’. Maybe both.

What I do know is that I can't have another episode like that! Not in front of them, goshdarnit! So, now if these stupid legs could stop shaking already!? It’s already hard enough to deal with the bad one, you three got no rights to complain!

And still the glass writhes inside. I need... I can't let them have this, and they won't!

“Hey man, you alright..?”

I glance at Sofiane, and strain a smile upon dry lips: “S– sure, just a little cold all of sudden, ya know? What with standing still like this, and the cold breeze, and...”

Somepony pulls me into a hug from my left, and after a start the tension just melts down under Amber’s warm touch and firecracker scent. Sofiane puts a gentle claw on my other shoulder.

Oh this... this does help, yeah... “Thanks, guys..!”

Clipboard clears his throat. “Moving on. Pédurand, Ambre. Number 12.”

“That’d be me.”, the filly says, not breaking the hug – holding on even tighter, in fact. I lay my head over her neck, and dare Lanyard to say anything about it. But he doesn’t care. Not even looking me in the face as he tags her, the cord tangling in her long honey mane. At least they got the filly’s name sort of right, anyways...

Uh. I guess she’s more used to these issues than any of us, right..?

“Ségaux, Laurence. P2.”

“Present...”

Ah, and this one has to like it, I’d bet.

... Maybe I should try to stop calling her ‘Rafale’ so much, even behind her back. If it’s doing to her half of what the S-word does to—

“Is ‘pee-two’ the same as ‘number two’?”, Dusky asks, sounding a lot less stoic now and more like the little colt he’s supposed to be.

“No...”, Clipboard grumbles. “P2 as in the prefabricated for female winged residents, number 2 for the tent marked with a ‘2’, for the... physically immature ones like you. And last, Va—”

“No, I want to be with her!” And the colt jumps on Rafale’s– I mean Laurence’s rump, little hooves clinging to her shorts. The surprised mare’s doing her everything not to buck on reflex.

“This isn’t how it works.”, Clipboard retorts with a frown. “Now please get back down. And no flying.”

But of course the willful colt doesn’t move an inch, glaring at the human. Ra– Laurence doesn’t seem to be of the same mind though. “Please Dusky, behave.”, she tells the foal, the firmness faltering on the last word. “I don’t like it either, but—”

“You’re leaving me alone..?” Oh the look he gives her..!

“Dusky, I...”

Violette comes to the rescue: “Could you make an exception, for tonight?”, she asks Clipboard. “He’s no different from a child, and this is a big chan—”

“I need to sleep with her or I... or I could wet the bed..!”, Dusky whines in the most grating way, playing the pesky kid card for all he’s worth.

Clipboard does look kind of uncomfortable... but Lanyard ain’t so easily swayed. “That’s you and your roommates’ problem, now back in line.” And he goes to lift poor Dusky by the scruff of the neck like the purplest puppy this side of the portal, setting him down without much care.

Good thing the bastard doesn’t have eyes behind his back, because Laurence’s outraged squint would read as more of a threat than any of Violette’s sparkles.

“Valezy, Christophe.”, Clipboard quickly calls. “Number 13.”

The doggy-gal takes both tag and bag in her hands; I barely catch some low grumbling about the number thirteen.

Clipboard chucks his namesake at the third gendarme, who had stayed by the office’s door. “And we’re done. Now this way please, and don’t forget your package.”

Well, guess I have to let go of Amber then... Feels like I left with her what little warmth and levity I’d scrounged up after the bad scare earlier. I take the plastic bag in my mouth, and I try to stagger in a straight line as we’re herded away by the humans. The unicorns are following Laurence’s example, carrying their bags on their back, not risking more magic.

Darn it, hooves aren’t made for gravel – especially when it’s uneven and wet, and you’ve only got the three. And just to make things even easier for good ol’ Chard, trying to walk fast enough jostles the glass all over again. Because of course it does. Hurts still... but with duller edges, at least.

As we leave the office's harsh glow behind, the twilight grows clearer, more defined, and down the path, two large rectangular shapes come into focus. Their ‘P1’ and ‘P2’, huh..? Yeah, same ugly prefabricated stuff I've seen on dozens of construction sites, with a single barred window each. Two portable cells really, just sitting there, so clearly out of place among the trees and mossy wooden posts. Too new, too clean... And the ground gouged by whatever machine plopped them here, wild plants sliced and torn off to make way – they didn't care, just hacked and discarded and left it all to rot, just for these slabs of bone-white steel to—

Goshdarnit it hurts!

Before I can stumble I feel a unicorn against my left flank and a clothed pegasus on my right.

Come on Chard, calm down, it wasn’t anything, just– just your mind playing tricks again. Slowly, in and out, think of the ground below, and the mosses, and the grasses, and the tree roots, right here and right now...

I catch my breath, still supported by my two friends, as Lanyard goes on to unlock the door of the prefab with the 'P1' sign.

“Come on Aouissi, in there.”

The griffon goes in silently, with a last resigned glance our way, and the door’s shut behind him. They didn’t even have lights in there... Though at least he won’t be alone, from the trio of masculine voices that filters through the thin walls. One sounds kinda familiar, but too muffled to be sure.

P2 is just around the corner, and Ra– Laurence steps away slowly, letting me find back my footing. “Take care, all right..?” she whispers over her shoulder as she goes in.

She’s just past the door when she’s greeted, by name, by somepony inside. Uh, has to be one of the poor souls we unknowingly sent to this gulag, when we promised—

Dusky jumps in before Lanyard can close the door.

“Get back out there you, right now!”

But the colt’s already hiding behind the older pegasus, who this time definitely won’t be moved. Even big strong Lanyard doesn’t dare brave that dark glare.

“Just lock the door.”, Clipboard sighs. “And let’s get on with it, it’s late enough as it is.”

I catch Dusky’s eyes from between Laurence’s legs, and I return his wink. Hurrah for rebellion!

Lanyard slams the door closed. “No funny business in there!”, he calls like the impotent little human that he really is. He keeps on muttering as we’re led away, but it’s actually too low for me to hear; seems like they’ve learned we’ve got good ears, at least.

Clipboard’s flashlight cuts through the setting night, revealing splodges of color. Squinting a little, and yup, that's a bunch of tents; the roundish ones, maybe even the type that just pops open when you put it down? Two orderly rows, about a dozen total, each only one-, two-person at best. That means two to three ponies tops if you ain't Laurence. But... yeah, it's not just shadows – it's the numbers spray-painted on them. Like the number hanging from my neck. One single number per tent.

This place's no refuge. No sanctuary. If stuff didn't look repurposed or store-bought, you wouldn’t tell the difference from some military camp.

I was right. It’s a prison.

"Come on, move along."

We get to the tents, going from gravel to slightly muddy grass, and walk down the row. Even with the humid breeze, I can catch faint whiffs of pony scents as we go past the first ten or so tents. Lanyard pulls open the flysheet of the one marked ‘11’, and motions me inside.

I’m tempted to pull a Dusky.

But the edges of his gun shine under the flashlight’s beam. And there’s no grumpy pegasus to protect me.

I shuffle inside, as Violette herself is led into her own tent, facing mine. The human almost catches the tip of my tail as he zips both inner mesh and flysheet shut, cutting me away from my friends.

Can hear the footfalls and a set of hoofbeats, the latter silenced soon after. The footfalls hasten away.

I keep on listening, just in case.

...

Still no footfalls. No hoofbeats either.

...

I yawn.

...

Only the others moving in their own tents, I think. The breeze caressing the flysheets.

...

*sigh*

Been standing here... I don’t know how long, it blurs in the dark.

My hooves aren’t directly on the tent floor, though the thin yoga mat barely feels softer. It all has that just-bought scent, yet the blankets I’m still carrying smell musty.

I drop the bag, then drop myself. A blanket as a mattress, another as a cover, it’ll have to do.

With still no human sounds from outside, I can finally relax my mane; the phone slides down from my forelock and into my hooves. Could fire it up, play a game, something... but no point bothering hiding a phone in the first place if I empty the battery on the first night.

It’s my one ace in the hole, should preserve it.

I put the phone under the blanket with me, and I roll to my side with a yawn. It’s not that late, but with the road trip, then the welcoming committee, weariness’s making itself known. Better try to sleep for now, while I can, and be ready to take on tomorrow...

...

I turn. Resettle the blanket.

...

I turn again. Polyester squeaks.

...

How do they expect us to sleep like this..?

Can still hear others tossing and turning too. Insomnia? Or nightmares? Those always come back with a vengeance when you're alone...

And the bastards have to know by now. They want us to feel isolated, and weak. Divide and conquer, that's what it's all about? Foals aren't alone at least, small mercy...

Turn again...

If at least my legs weren’t so tired I could, uh... Tch, do what, really? Stupid curfew. Can't even zip out to take a stroll, or take a leak...

Coursac wasn't perfect, but we had our freedom. Could just get up if I couldn't sleep, Pippin or Rafale would be around too.

But Rafale's locked in her prefab, and Pippin, well...

*sigh*

No point daydreaming about what-ifs. Though I could really go for some plain nightdreaming right now...

Keep the phone close, keep those eyes closed, keep on trying. Who knows, maybe the Princess could pay me a visit...

Eyes closed...

Breathe in...

Breathe out...

...

So not fair Amber and Rafale got to meet her...

Do my dreams smell or somethin’..?

She’s got to be beautiful... She’s a princess and all. Yeah... Tall, dark, eyes even bluer than Crispy’s...

Uh... Wonder if she got to meet her...

Gotta have nightmares of her own, ‘fter all...

...

Crispy...

I...

I’m sorry, I... I still love you..!

Why did I go... Why did I leave you...

Just wanna... see you again, feel you ag—

Oh, yes..! Those cute stripped hooves..! I tell you, it does feel different..!

And your spots, all the little spots, every– eh, it tingles...

Just wanna hold you again, get my nose in your coat’s sugar again, but...

But...

But I know... You don’t love me...

Pushed me away... Even now...

Moved too fast... Didn’t think... My fault, all my fault, just like with Pippin, ‘cause am big dumb—

P– Pippin..?

You too, I... T’wasn’t your fault, I jus— Oww!

Wu– w–what?

I blink at the darkness, eyelids heavy and leg throbbing.

Dang it, I finally fall asleep and the stupid leg decides to act out again!? It just wasn’t enough, had to– to... uuuuuuuugh..!

Come on Chard, no point riling yourself up. Breathe, close your eyes, get back to sleep... Maybe the breeze will help, s’getting stuffy in there.

... ‘Breeze’?

Blink to focus on that spot of less-dark darkness, on the top of the door zipper.

Inner mesh doesn’t look fully zipped up, and there’s a bit of flysheet skin hanging in the wind. They’d closed both tight.

So curfew’s not enough, bastards feel the need to come gawk in the middle of the night too!?

Grit my teeth and roll and push to get closer, taking the mesh zipper between pasty lips to pull it open, enough to push my head through. Gosh that big noseful of chill night air feels good, though doesn’t shake the drowsy much... Breeze carries the smell of grass and makes the leaves sing their soft lullaby. Clouds have a tight hold on the moon, whole camp painted in shades of midnight blue except for a flicker of orange glow the office’s way. If our jailers like to make the rounds at this hour, well they—

Uh? Even half-awake my ears still twitch and turn at these light hoofbeats.

Lasted only an instant, too brief to pinpoint, but I’m sure of it. Not everypony’s afraid of breaking curfew, clearly.

Good. Dusky’s not the only spark of rebellion here – even if it’s just in the fight for relieving bladders. Could follow their example, but... Cold. Tired. Darn leg.

Yeah... Rebel next time.

Struggle to zip it all closed. Feels like the chill’s crept right down to my hooves; guess the pain caffeine’s all spent...

Just let my body fall... back on musky blankets, snuggle under for what little warmth I can get by myself...

... and hope for dreams of elsewhere...

Bright and early next morning...

“Odd numbers, please.”, Lanyard drones. Barely heard him over that ear-popping yawn.

Gosh I'm tired... What’s the point of finally catching some z’s if it’s just to feel like a zombie next morning..? Hope I didn't catch a co—

Big paw snapping fingers right under my nose. “Heads up pony, that's us.”, Chris says.

“Yeah, yeah, coming...”

Another yawn. Can’t imagine the goons have set up some coffee for us... From what the other group was cleaning up, that’s gonna– ah buck!

Stumble, but no fall; the dog-woman kept me upright. Stupid legs ain’t any more awake than the rest. “Thanks, Chris...”

She stays close ‘til we reach the row of picnic tables, graying wood and lichen-flecked, pulled together to form like one long, ramshackle banquet table. Shake the dew and grass from my fetlocks, and it still feels darn good to plop my haunches down even on a hard plank. A stack of discolored plastic trays clatters over, one set in front of me, then joined by punnets of round, dark brown to white or even yellowish stuff. Smells earthy, and sugary, is... oh no. No. Not freakin’ beetroot!

Raw, and dirty, and disgusting beetroot. This place’s even worse than a prison, it’s—

“Hey, new guy! Veggies aren’t gonna wash themselves, get to it already.”

I look up from the awful stuff to a griffon who’s not Sofiane. Bald as a knee and scraggly and wrinkly and flabby and glaring and... and wearing a badly-stretched yellow safety vest for some reason. Uh, what did he say again?

“Please go easy on him Mr. Bourel, he’s got tent fever.”, a mare joins in, bringing punnets of more edible-looking stuff.

Wait... Ah, you I know! “Coco! Nice to see you again, just, uh... not here. I mean, nopony should be here. Nogriffon too. Oh, and nodog either, and...” Her awkward smile helps my last two neurons finally connect. “Uh, sorry, I... Just tired...”

“It’s alright Sweetchard, it happens. And it’s nice to see you all again.”

The petite mare and I share a smaller but genuine smile, but the bald griffon squacks a grunt. A grack? Squ-runt? Not a very nice sound anyways.

Let’s try to get this trainwreck back on track. “Can I help?”

“Sure.” Coco pushes a punnet of endives between us, leaves the same off-white as her coat under the dirt. “Got to wash these off, we can do it together. Try not to snap the roots, it’s easier to hold in your hooves.”

I’m sure Pippin told me something about endive roots... but whatever, will remember later. For now let’s try to put on a little cheer: “Can do!”

Following Coco’s example, I grab an endive and rinse it in one of the buckets somepony must’ve brought earlier. Ugh, water’s ice-cold... And after getting through my half of the punnet, most of then turn out part-rotten or otherwise damaged. In the end it’s mostly beetroot on the tables as we can start on breakfast, as well as the endives, a basket of stale-smelling bread, a couple bent carrots, and even a squarish bale of freakin’ hay.

“And that’s every meal, every day..!”, the bald griffon growls at me; must’ve seen me staring. “Feed us the dregs and rejects! Except when we’re ‘lucky’, and they give us their table scraps. Be happy you horses can eat most of it...”

“Even hay..?”

“Of course.”, Coco nods, setting a portion of the dried grasses on my tray. “I wasn’t sold either at first, but it’s not that bad! Good thing too, because sometimes it’s most of what they give us...”

Other ponies sure don’t seem to have issues with it, even that... weird scaly unicorn thing..? Are they a mare or a stallion?

... Whatever, too tired, too hungry, will ask later – there’s hay to be tasted. I’ve joked about it before, but I guess there’s no reason we can’t eat it. Come to think of it, didn’t the cartoon mention hay-based products? Smell’s certainly inviting, but... Oh heck, let’s do it!

Hm. A bit rough on the tongue and crackling under the tooth, but actually not bad at all! The nice kind of grassy, like laying down in the middle of a freshly-mowed field... Gosh I’ll have to tell the others down in Coursac, we’ve been literally sitting on a nice treat!

Hay doesn’t last though, and a couple endive leaves and crumbs of hard bread can only keep me that long from... from them.

Stupid beets. Wasn’t enough to have you seared onto my butt, huh? Managed to avoid you after Coursac, but you played the long game, stupid stinky purple balls!

...

Hungry though...

...

Darn it, okay you win this round, but the war, oh the war! This you can be sure I’ll win, and when it’s over you’ll just be sludge under my hooves! Sludge, you hear!!

But first...

*sigh*

Close my eyes and take a bite.

It’s... firm but juicy, and sugary, and somewhat bitter, and... Alright, it’s not as bad as I remember. But still yuck! Barely chew to make it go quicker and gobble the horrible orbs. Should’ve been smarter and kept hay to wash the taste away... At least I’m done, and not starving anymore.

... Still yuck.

Looks like we’re pretty much done. I try to help with the clean up, but just sitting here the cold’s starting to get to me and my hooves aren’t as quick as Coco’s or useful as the griffon’s talons.

“Don’t sweat it Chard, we’ve got it.”

I know that voice... Ah yes, the familiar one from P1! I turn to the new stallion, and I recognize the two-tone blond mane – he still had too much human in him last we saw each other, but he’s really came into his own handsome self now. “Hey Charlotte! Nice to, uh...”

He picks up my beet-stained tray with a salmon wing, and I stay staring at what’s left of his right foreleg. The largest of the old branching scars snakes through his coat and down his barrel, almost touching his sparkly bottle of a cutie mark.

That’s... No, this can’t be from the change, right? It should’ve healed him, not... not maimed him!

“Uh Chard? You’re staring, mate.”

“But Charlotte, your..!”

“Well, now we know why it got all stiff below the elbow, huh?”, the pegasus shrugs, walking slowly along the tables to collect more trays between his feathers. “Oh, and you and Lucie, I mean Coco, you were right – ‘Charlotte’ doesn’t feel like it fits anymore, so you can call me Vern!

“I... I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t sweat it, Chard.”, he cuts in with a smile. Bittersweet, but still a smile. “Doesn’t hurt one bit, and I’ve still got more limbs than when I started off!”, he jokes, flexing his feathers like long flat fingers, after unloading the trays at another pony’s washing station.

... How..?

Char– Vern barely staggers as he walks back to me. He does better after a couple weeks than I do after a couple months. And those scars, and... Gosh I shiver just looking at them.

“Getting cold, are we?”, he asks, motioning away from the tables. “Tent fever does that. Come on, let’s warm up the legs we’ve got left.”

I follow after him on his slow way towards the bathrooms. A gendarme hovers around, watching; making sure we all stay orderly, huh? Don't remember seeing her last night... How many can there be guarding, what, two dozen ponies and assorted creatures?

The human woman catches my stare, and stares right back, frowning like I’ve stolen her lunch money. Shivers tickle my spine all over again.

Come on Chard, don’t let them get to you, they don’t deserve it..!

I turn back to my unlucky friend: “Please Vern, are... Are you sure you’re okay?”

He stops, and at last I can see a shadow darkening his eyes. “You know... If I hadn’t met you before this all happened, I don’t know how it’d have dealt with it... But I did, and you showed me that even if it sucks, it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. So, thanks mate.”

How could you ever take that out of meeting me..?

“Are we sharing morbid stories?”, Violette says as she slides up to us out of the blue. “Ever told you about what happened to my Port-a-cath?”

Don’t know what that is, but with the disgusted face she makes I’m not sure I want to. Why is she even bringing that up then? I share a glance with Vern; doesn't look like he has more of a clue.

“Oh you're right, it's dreadful,” she titters, more showy than usual, “Élise has a much better story though, you should hear her tell it!”

... Ah, got ya. “I know I shouldn't, but you got me curious! Let's hear it then!”

“I’ll, uh... leave you to it.”, Vern excuses himself, clearly not eager to hear whatever that ‘Élise’ has to say. Guess he doesn’t speak Unicorn.

We leave him to his business, and I stagger after Vi to our other friends, huddling together near the tents. Lucky them, I’m the only one of our group who pulled an odd number... Standing between Rafale and Amber is a young pegasus mare that has to be Élise; snowy coat, and mane of light pastel waves that rivals Amber’s long blond locks, though she has a lither build and a dainty little snout more like Coco or Cris– never mind, she’s cute and let’s leave it at that.

“Hi, you must be Sweetchard?”, she greets me in a soft, almost wheezy voice.

“The one and only!”, I chuckle. Wait... Yes, I’ve heard that name before! “Hey, aren’t you that filly these two met when she visited her parents?”, I ask, pointing at Rafa– Laurence and Dusky.

“And got them into a whole heap of trouble, yes, that’d be me...”, she answers with an embarrassed wince.

“Don’t worry Élise,” Laurence butts in, squint at the ready, “Chard’s still beating you six to one on that front. He’s an expert at getting in trouble.”

“What can I say, I’m a real troublemaker of a stallion... and you’re my strong, dashing troublesolver – a match truly made in heaven, don’t ya think?” I waggle my eyebrows at the fearless older pegasus, who descends into frustrated sputtering in the face of the romance menace.

“Speaking of,” Violette says in a low voice after glancing behind us, “do you still have your ‘ace in the hole’..?”

“Sure do.”, I nod, then turn to Amber: “Do you?”

“It’s not as easy as you made it out to be...”, she mutters. Most wouldn’t notice how her tail hangs just a little bit heavier than it should, with a phone tightly gripped in the middle of the luxurious mass.

“Good...”, Mommy Unicorn sighs. “Wish I wouldn’t have to be thankful for your pessimism Chard, but it’s good to know we’ll still have options, after testing just how tight our leash really is.”

Best ‘you were right, Sweetchard’ I can expect. “What’s the plan then..?”

“For now? Taking them at their own word.” And off the mare prances towards the nearest gendarme.

Élise lifts a leg to follow, but hesitates, and lets it drop, frowning. “I hope she knows what she’s doing...”

“Don’t worry, she’s used to deal with these types.”, Amber says with an encouraging hoof to the pegasus’s shoulder.

“Oh, like that one time she surrendered you both to the cops, and you had to steal their guns to get away, huh..?”

“I– it was a lot more complicated than that! And we did talk our way out, thanks to Antoine! And it was just the one gun anyway...”

“Mhm, that Antoine guy who stayed in Paris, and sent us all here in the first place, that same Antoine..?”

“Well that’s why she’s asking to call him! He wouldn’t have done that if he knew how horrible it is here!”

“Keep dreaming, filly...” I turn to Élise: “Has it ever worked before?”

She bites her lip, still frowning. “I’ve tried... a lot. And no, it hasn’t...”, she admits.

“It’s doing something, in any case.”, Laurence says, pointing at the growing commotion. Violette’s arguing pretty loudly with Lanyard, and it’s drawing everypony’s – everycreature’s – attention. We join the crowd, followed by the female gendarme.

“... and I wouldn't want to worry him for no good reason.”, Vi declares with ice in her voice, her whole stance rigid as she stares up at the man.

Whatever argument she made it didn’t land, from how high he hikes his eyebrow. “If he's really from the RG, then I'm sure he knows you're here and being taken care of. Now please m—”

“This is not acceptable.”, the unicorn counters, dangerously close to losing her cool. “I demand you return my property right this instant officer, otherwise—”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, I—”

The gnarly bald griffon pushes through us to stand by her side: “And what if we are..?”

“Then you know what’s going to happen,” Lanyard shoots back, hand falling to the baton at his belt, “so stay back and disperse now!”

But the griffon doesn’t back down, big gray wings ruffling and claws burying into the ground. Oh buck, this is going to—

“Please wait!”, a little pegasus filly calls as she flits between us and the humans, hooves outstretched. She doesn’t look that much older than Dusky, what is she doing!?

Lanyard grasps his baton, but thankfully the woman stops him from doing more, holding his arm.

“We don’t want to cause any trouble, promise!”, she goes on in what I think is a British accent. “But please Miss, we just want to ask one little itsy bitsy thing, nothin’ more!”

The female gendarme glares down at the light pink filly... but after a couple seconds: “Alright, out with it.”, she says through gritted teeth.

That surprises Lanyard. “Major..?”

“What, you fancy hitting a little kid maybe?”, she grumbles. “Besides, I’m sure we can come to a reasonable compromise... as long as it’s asked nicely.”

“Oh golly, thanks Miss!”, the filly all but gushes. “The poor mare just wants to talk to her boyfriend, is that really too much to ask? Just a short little call, and I’m sure you can stay with her all the while, right?”, she adds, glancing at Vi.

The unicorn gives a reluctant nod.

“See? You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s her first day, and it’s hard for us little ponies to be far from those we love, you’ve got to understand, right? Pleaaaaaaase..?”

Lanyard looks about as convinced as I am by the filly’s ploy. She can’t expect that—

“Alright, stop it with the puppy-dog eyes already!”, the Major snaps. “This once, just this once, and only her, understood?” She glares down at the filly, who barely bats an eye, before shifting her attention to Vi: “You stay right here, I’m going to talk to the captain.”

She storms off towards the office, leaving her confused colleague to hurry after her. Did... did she actually get to her through cuteness overload or something!?

Whatever the means, Vi clearly likes the results and approaches the filly: “That was some quick thinking, nice work! I don’t think we’ve met yet? I’m Vita Violette.”

The pink filly does a cute little curtsy, and puts on a winning smile: “And the name’s Cozy Glow, Ma’am!”

30 – Griffs of a Feather

View Online

Amber Spire’s View

“And the name’s Cozy Glow, Ma’am!”

I stare at the beaming filly, then at the officers walking away to relay Mom’s demand. With how badly this was going, I... I can’t believe it worked!

Mom and Cozy get on chatting. And smiling. And praising. And...

Hmph. I don’t need another Dusky in my life, no thank you. Hopefully the resemblance doesn’t extend past the physical, and the meddling attitude... “She does that often?”, I ask Coco.

“Quite the opposite actually. Cozy’s been very well-behaved and encouraging everybody to stay positive, but well...” She shrugs. “She’s just a foal.”

“I did hear she helped convince the Captain to move the others here instead of cells,” Élise adds, “so—”

“What game are you playing again!?”, barks the old vulture-like griffon, stalking over to Cozy!

Mom jumps between the angry griffon and the frightened filly: “Please calm down, sir! There was no reason to resort to violence with the officer, and certainly not now, after this brave pony put herself on the line for us!”

He stops, and pulls himself straighter, looking down on Mom. “What, this?”, he scoffs, gesturing at Cozy with a claw. “You think we haven’t tried that yet? Asking nicely, ’oh pretty please’..? The pigs don’t care what we say, as long as we behave!”

Cozy shakes the fright off and stands next to Mom. “Well maybe they’d care a mite more if you weren’t always slinging insults their way!”

“Bah! They’ll get respect when they start giving any! But go on, keep on groveling as much as you want! Just stop acting like that gets us anything that matters in return...”

The griffon moves to turn back, but Cozy isn’t finished: “It will work, and isn’t that what matters most to you?” She shakes her head sadly. “But no, you’re too busy snapping your beak at everybody like a big old meany. We’re finally making real progress... And no thanks to you!”

He makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Really now? So you think their captain’s gonna start giving us everything we ask, just like that..?”

“It can’t hurt to hope, don’t you think?”, asks Mom.

“Maybe.”, the griffon concedes. “But just ‘hoping’ hasn’t ever won any fight. Not when the ones we’re against are the same setting all the rules, and changing them as they go! That’s a foal’s errand.”

“There’s no ’fight’ to win, mister griffon.”, Cozy lectures. “It’s just learning to work together! What is it with creatures like you and always trying to one-up the others? No wonder we’re all still stuck here, with attitudes like yours!”

“How– what does that...” His gaze narrows, raptor-like. “Oh so this is how you’re—”

“Inquimbert, get your ass in there!”, Lanyard calls from in front the office building.

“Rude. But hopefully this is the point we start changing things for the better around here!”, Mom declares to the crowd, then gives her new friend a warm “Well done, Cozy.”, before trotting away with a spring in her step.

Of course the filly gobbles up the latest serving of praise, rightly earned I suppose, preening in more ways than one... “Oh shucks! Sounds like they do listen when one knows how to ask, no?”, she taunts the old griffon with a wide, toothy smile.

He answers with a venomous glare, before storming off to the other side of the camp, closely followed by a smaller blue griffon.

“Well, when I wished this place to be more like Coursac, I didn’t mean in that way...”, muses Sweetchard.

That earns him a tilt of the head from Élise. “What do you mean?”

“For a while things were... kinda tense down there.”, I explain. “Not everybody agreed on how to run things, and the different sides kept arguing with one another.”

“Yup, unicorns and pegasi and earth ponies all at each other’s throats,” adds the stallion, “with a couple of outsiders caught in the crossfire. Fun times.”

“But we got better. Just had to be reminded of what really mattered, what united us!”

“Golly, that sounds grand!” Gah! When did that filly sneak between us!? “Oh, sorry Miss, didn’t mean to startle you. But what you said, so inspiring! A whole lot of ponies, all friends and working together, that’s what we need here!”

I look down at Cozy Glow’s smiling face: “N– no harm done, Cozy. Though from what I’ve seen, you’ve pretty much reached that point already.” The breakfast routine was a tightly-run ship, after all. Well, following clash notwithstanding...

“Oh if only Miss, if only..!”, she sighs, wistful. “You saw how this monster jumped on his first chance to pick a fight with our protectors, didn’t you? We try to get along, we don’t make waves, but it makes life harder for all of us when these sorts are constantly getting on the humans’ wick!”

That draws a snort from Chard. “So what, that’s your idea of how to run things? Just go along with whatever they say? Let us be herded around like good little inmates?”

“That’s not a very productive attitude either, we’re not ‘inmates’.”, Élise points out. “There’s rules for a reason. We all know what could happen if word got out...” She casts a meaningful glance Laurence’s way, the older mare having kept her distances along with Dusky. “The Captain and his men are here to protect us, they’re quite literally keepers of the peace – if we can’t trust them, then who? I won’t argue that it could be better, but we also have to remember that it’s only been improving since we arrived.”

“And I will do my best so that it carries on!”, Cozy says with a decisive little stomp, bobbing her curly, pale blue mane.

“You alright with that..?”, Chard asks me, sullen.

I... I don’t like it anymore than you do, that’s for sure! Cops are only ever keepers of the rich and powerful’s peace, not the people’s, and certainly not the ponies’. But with the Brigade still lurking around, it may not be a bad thing to have some of the guns not pointed our way, for a change... “Well, I’m not saying the way they do things is good, far from it, but... As long as we’re stuck here, playing along’s maybe our best bet still?”

That’s not what he wanted to hear... unlike somepony else: “Exactly my point!”, Cozy approves. “We have to show them they can trust us, only then they’ll get kinder! After all, you wouldn’t become friends with some rabble rousers that keep on making your life difficult, would you?”

“We could just break loose.”, he shrugs dismissively. “It’s not like they’ve put on barbed wire or whatever... yet.”

“But what about those left behind? They’d be punished for your selfish actions... Oh please, don’t be like that big grouch, he’s so up himself he can’t see how his actions will hurt us ponies! I’m not asking for much, I just don’t want to ruffle anybody’s feathers...” The filly’s teary eyes gain a sudden intensity. “And not to be rude, Mister, but I’m not sure you’d be able to get very far on your own.”

“What d—”

“You need help.”, Cozy cuts him off. “We all do. That’s why we need to stick together, and work toward this common goal! It’s something we ponies are good at. Leave the mean, bad thoughts for that gobby griffon, he’s always asking for trouble. Heck, I wouldn’t be half surprised if the tent fever was coming from these birds too! Noticed they’ve never caught it, not even a little bit. Don’t you think that’s very suspicious?”

“Maybe that’s less to do with griffons,” Chard grumbles, glaring down at the filly, “and more with your ‘protectors’ peeking into tents in the middle of a cold night, don’t you think?”

The argument takes Cozy off-guard, leaving her blinking owlishly. Not that it sits especially well with me either, that’s... that’s a gross violation of what little privacy we have!

“W– well, that’s complete Horlicks!”, she stammers. “Look, if it were like that, then the other foals and I would’ve caught it twice over by now, and we did not. See? So don’t go about babbling nonsense just to stir more trouble!”

But then– oh, Mom’s out!

That was quick. Either that was a pretty short call, or Cozy’s charms already reached their limits... She rejoins us, head held high, but as I feared, she has the same eyes as when she came back from the Notre-Dame fiasco.

“I’ve raised our concerns.”, she tells the waiting crowd in a steady, calm voice that hides well what I can glimpse behind. “My friend will forward them to the people in charge, and will keep working at his level to reach a solution as soon as possible. It may still take some time however, as resources are limited and we must maintain the utmost secrecy for our own well-being.”

Yeah, that’s her lawyer talk all right... Trying to sound positive, but seeding vague-enough caveats so she can fall back on her hooves, if it doesn’t pan out.

“Captain Arrault and his fellow officers are here to help and protect us, and although I understand that for some of us this arrangement is far from ideal,” she goes on, looking pointedly at Chard, “it is in our collective interest to all work together. We must be patient, and trust that they’re doing their best considering the circumstances. As you know, for us ponies friendship is magic; let’s show them that it can be just as true for humans too. Thank you all for your continued efforts.”

Awkward silence follows.

“We talkin’ about the same humans that almost shot her for showing a little spark, huh..?”, the stallion mutters.

Cozy lets out an indignant humph, and hurries to Mom’s side: “Couldn’t have said it better! So come on now ponies, let us get on with our day, and prove them that we’re the friendliest bunch around! Trust me, with just a little more effort we’ll soon get results!”

The dismissal isn’t contested, and the crowd begins to slowly disperse on this more hopeful note. Do they really believe in her reassurances and honeyed words, or even Mom’s for that matter?

Making friends... That’s the pony way, according to the show and its fans. So is this how Princess Luna would expect me to guide us all back to Equestria then, by befriending our way through? Cozy would certainly agree.

I suppose that, given the choice, I’d want to believe it, too. Trust they know better. Trust I can live up to it.

...

I wish I could.

Would’ve been easier...

Sweetchard’s View – Two Days Later

The mirror is small, and missing a piece in the lower left corner, but clean enough.

It’s been a while...

The stallion peers back with his sad magenta eyes, half-hidden under the unkempt green bangs. Sweetchard.

Eeyup, still yourself, nothing new here.

But if I’m being honest... This face of mine doesn’t look quite as handsome as it used to, six months in. Haven’t been taking good enough care of what I’ve inherited from myself...

You’ve really been letting yourself go, Chard. And no excuses – Vern’s looking great, and he’s been locked in this dang prison for weeks while you were lazing around in a hotel suite! You had all the chances to take proper care of your looks! But no, instead you let yourself look like some lazy bum who doesn’t even know the right side of a brush..!

Did I care more back then, in Equestria? Or was I already a scruffy dirt farmer, at least... at least before I met Crispy..? She’s always been the one insisting on proper grooming, on looking our best. And it wasn’t much of an effort, when it was for her.

Everything was easier with her...

*sigh*

I don’t remember you yet, Mom, but if you’re anything like the mother I’ve had on this side, you wouldn’t like seeing me like this either. And I’m pretty sure you’d also rake me over the coals for being such a dumb colt, while we’re at it...

Is it a colt, well, stallion thing? I’ve never been such a slob when I was human, that’s for sure. Then again, women are expected to take proper care of themselves, to stay well-groomed and well-dressed and keep the correct posture and so on...

‘Don’t slouch, Sarah.’ ‘Come on girl, you can’t go out with eyebrows like these!’ ‘You’ll never find a good husband dressing like you do.’ ‘Why can’t you be more like your cousin?’

Ugh..! Always this pressure to look and sound and act the best, even when you can’t, you have to play the game anyways, I hated it!

... No.

No Chard, that’s not the whole truth, and you know it. Didn’t like being forced to do it ‘cause others would criticize. Didn’t like being forced to, yes... But I did like taking care of myself – for myself. Looking nice, being proud of my looks, wearing stylish clothes, staying in shape, I did like all that, or at least the results.

Gosh, haven’t gone out for a run in so long...

Maybe... Maybe I went too far in the other direction? Being bothered by not bothering with how I look, that doesn’t have to have anything to do with being a woman or a stallion. It’s just...

Like... Like I’ve simply stopped cleaning the house and taking out the trash altogether, just because someone broke a window.

Guess it’s easier to just throw your hooves up and not do anything at all, too afraid of hurting yourself on all the shards left on the floor. Even if you can’t fix the window, at least you can take a broom and start sweeping. Try to make do, ‘til you can find a... what’s the word again? Ah yes, a glazier.

...

I look down. Force my eyes to stay on my stupid stump of a left hindleg.

It just... ends, right below the hock. Hair has grown back, scars are a lot less obvious than Vern’s, but I can still feel them. Still feel the broken glass cutting at nerves I don’t have anymore.

... What a load of horseapples. What kinda glazier could fix that, huh!?

It’s not going away! Ever!

Buckin’ window will never be fixed! Will never run again, they took it from me!!

Hoof shoots up at the mirror, but it makes me slip – land on my haunches against the dirty tiles, almost hit my jaw against the stupid sink.

...

At least this time I didn’t just flop on the floor like a sack of sad, pathetic potatoes.

Try to slow my breath, let the anger lie down... Looking at the mirror again, and trying not to see the broken stallion.

But he won’t go away.

No... No glazier can help with that.

*sigh*

Eh. Any one metaphor has its limits, huh..?

Still, yay for introspection, I guess? Pippin would be proud of at least that. Now if only I—

I turn from the cracked mirror as somepony joins me in the bathroom – oh it’s just Rafa– I mean Laurence, dang it.

She looks surprised to find me here. “Oh, hey Chard.”

I force the frown away, pull out a bit of jolliness from somewhere. “Hey yourself. I’ll leave you to your business, if you want.”

“Don’t bother,” she shrugs, “my ‘business’ is trying to get the mud out of my sleeves.” She rears up to lay her forehooves on the sink next to mine, and yeah the cuffs of her jacket are especially filthy today, with a splattering of smaller flecks going up the arms and her sides.

“How did you mess yourself up like that..? Tried to wrestle somebody in the mud? Please warn me next time, I’d pay to watch!”

The usually much cleaner pegasus rolls her eye – or at least I think she does, being on her blind side. “Ha, ha, ha. As if you had a cent to your name. No, it’s just that filly who keeps on digging holes all over the place, with the rain and fallen leaves they become death traps! Should be more mindful of where I put my hands.”

“Foals will be foals. At least she’s having fun!”

I only get some grumbly-grumbles in response. She rubs the fabric under the trickle of water, but with even filthier hooves it’s messy work. With how much dirt and stuff my fetlock feathers gather from just walking around, can’t imagine the hassle of also minding all the clothes she insists on wearing, it’s– oh! Did she notice this big muddy glob smack-dab in the middle of her eyepatch? “Uh Laurence, you have...” I gesture over my own eye.

She has to fully turn her head, frowning at the interruption, until it clicks: “Oh fuck!” She’s about to reach for the eyepatch, but luckily she remembers her very wet, very dirty hooves.

“Wait, I’ve got it.” I scoot over, holding out my own, moderately clean ones.

The mare squints at me, as if trying to make out what my devious plans could be, until she sighs in defeat. “Thank you, Chard... But please be careful.” A large blue wing unfolds with a shudder, and a couple long feathers reach up to unclasp the soiled eyepatch then lay it gently in my waiting hooves.

Back to my sink, I try to channel all the painstakingness I used to apply to my custom jewelry for slowly removing the mud stain, mindful of not damaging the fabric or pulling and loosening the straps. Huh, another thing I haven’t done in ages that, jewelry. Not since getting my cutie marks back...

Anyways. Thing’s really well-made, not a single uneven stitch. Aww, and there’s a little heart on the inside too! Made with love and care...

I glance at Laurence, still busying herself at the jacket after slipping out of it, and my eyes are caught by the emptiness where her own right eye should be. A gaping hole carved into her skull, only half-hidden behind the pink bangs of her mane and missing patches of fur.

Gosh, that’s buckin’ creepy! No wonder she wears a patch! How can she...

...

It’s her broken window.

How couldn’t I see it before?

She experienced loss too, of something that won’t grow back. And yet I don’t remember her complaining a single time. About being a pony sure, but not the eye. It barely stopped her. Like it just didn’t—

“Should I hold the pose, while you go get a camera or something..?”

“Uh? Oh, sorry I was just... thinking.”

Her lips pull into a smirk. “Oh damn, I thought you only did that on the second Tuesday of the week. Now I’ll have to keep an eye up too, in case a pig breaks a wing.” Then the smirk drops. “Would beat the rain, though...”, she adds like an afterthought.

I need a good three seconds to process all that. “How long have you been holding onto that one..?”

“Long enough,” she snaps back with an annoyed squint, “which says more about you than about me!”

“Speaking of eyes...”

“... Huh. Walked right into that one, I’ll admit. Go on, shoot.”

“No, no, I’m serious, promise. It’s just that, seeing you like this, and thinking about myself, and Vern, and I wanted to ask...” Come on Chard, out with it! “How... How do you do it? To be... less than what you were, and..?”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

I redo the same gesture as earlier. “This...”

“Oh, that!”, she chuckles. “Chard, I’ve been ‘less than I was’ since the day I lost my fingers. So, you know... Perspective and so on. Compared to losing my whole body, losing ‘just’ an eye, well, as much as it does royally suck, I can honestly say I’ve known worse.”

“But it doesn’t hurt any less...”

“No, it doesn’t.”, she admits sadly. “But you know, from experience, that you can keep moving forward, that it’ll not be enough to bring you down. It’s hard today. It’ll be hard tomorrow too. But eventually, it will ease, bit by bit, until it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. Life will go on, just a little differently than before...”

“... I guess you’re not wrong.”, I sigh, her words managing to pull a small, genuine smile out of me. Then it changes to a wider, lopsided one when I realize what she just said: “So then, when do you start following your own advice, hm?”

“Oh hush you big oaf, way to go ruining the moment!”, she mock-squints. “If you’re ready to joke around then I trust you’re done with my patch?”

I lob it at her, she catches it with a wing. “As much as I could yeah, but it’s gonna be wet, sorry.”

The quick and nimble way she uses feathers and hooves to put the eyepatch back on really is proof of what she said; she has managed to grow past some of her issues, even if it still makes her shudder. “Everything’s wet today, so it won’t change much.”, she grumbles, then her gaze softens as she looks at me. “Thank you, Chard. And, uh, sorry I’ve not always been very nice to you, even as you’ve been dealing with your own problems. Maybe we could talk a little more often, if you wish so? As much as we may cross swords all the time, I... I do see you as one of my friends, Sweetchard.”

That’s... I know she doesn’t say ‘friends’ to just anybody. Despite being kind of dismissive and often angry at me for no good reason... Then again, can’t exactly claim the high ground here, what with the whole ‘Rafale’ thing. I’d go for a hug, but that’s not really her thing, so... “I know it’s all in good fun, Miss Grumpy Pants.”, I say with a wink. “So don’t go all sappy on me, or I’m gonna start to think you’ve finally caught the pony bug!”

“Watch it with your baseless insinuations, or you’re back on the ‘probationary friend’ list!”, she chuckles back, putting the jacket back on.

“Goodness, so cruel of you!”, I gasp. “What’s a big dumb stallion to do if he can’t sling jokes left and right anymore? Why, I’m gonna have to hang up my jester hat and go look for another job!”

“As if I’d trust you with any kind of honest work!” Hey! “Besides, I think the role suits you. Maybe I should find you a literal hat, so I can hear you jingle?”

“Oh laugh it up, you’ll see! That cutie mark’s gonna kick in any day now, any day!”

“Damn, didn’t think you’d be so eager to finally turn into a pony-shaped beetroot, but to each their own.”

I don’t have to fake much how the idea makes me gag. “Alright, alright, I yield, my fellow fencer! No more, please!”

“Good.”, she nods. “Remember that, while you wallow in the abject shame of defeat: I never yield.”

“That’s cheap, you know. But it’s on me for investing so much in you I guess.”

Either she’s really done, or she didn’t catch the pun. Either way, feels like we’re done hogging the bathroom for now. We walk side-by-side towards the door, and– dang it, it’s started raining again, and it’s picking up quick!

“Great... Think it’ll last long?”, I ask, sitting down to wait it out.

“Hopefully not. I’ve already spent all my verbal ammo for the day.”

I point at her wings, peeking out from under the jacket. “Can’t you predict the weather or something with these?”

“Seriously, is this another ‘revelation’ from your cartoons? Someday you’re going to tell me pegasi can make it rain coffee too and I won’t be sure if you’re joking or not.”

“Eh, wouldn’t little Amber be all over you if that was true? But no, just thought it’d be a neat trick, what with the weather control and—”

A griffon pounces into the bathroom – have to jump aside as he skids over the tiles to bump against the wall behind us!

“Sorry guys, but I was getting drenched out there!”, he says after shacking himself off. Don’t know if it’s the smell of wet cat, wet bird, or just wet griffon that he gives off, but you sure can’t mix it up with wet pony.

“No harm done, wouldn’t want to be out in this weather either!”, I tell him with a smile, trying to offset my friend’s squint.

Still kind of amazing how much more colorful this young griffon is, compared to his two older compatriots. This light blue, and these bright yellow tips, it’s almost pony-like, griffon smell or not.

I won’t look at whatever human name’s imprinted on the tag around his neck. How did Sofiane call him again..?

“You’re Gallus, right?”

“Yup, that’s me!” He comes to sit next to us, watching the rain. “And you’re Chard, and...” A glance at the pegasus’s own tag. “Hey, you’re Laurence, the one who dived from the top of the cathedral! That’s so metal, wish I’d been there!”

“Yes well, I’d rather have avoided it at the time.” She rolls her eye, but it’s to better hide a little smile of her own; somepony has a taste for butter, hm?

“Eh, I bet. Still, pretty cool! Did I get some of the details right?” He pulls a notebook kept surprisingly dry under a wing, and flips it open to a pencil sketch. It takes up most of the page, with the clear lines of a pegasus pony at the top, wings curved like a diving bird, and foreleg outstretched towards a human in free-fall down the page, one slightly misshapen hand reaching up for the pony’s hoof. The pegasus is fairly detailed, though not to the point it couldn’t be somepony other than Laurence, while the human is less so, and the background is just straight vertical lines. Reminds me a little of that one painting, with the two dudes pointing at each other, just turned on its side...

“Not enough abject horror,” Laurence comments, “that idiot wasn’t doing anything to help me catch him. And I wasn’t naked obviously. Still, a nice enough piece – the windswept mane and fur give a good sense of movement.”

“Yeah, pretty happy how that part came out. What’s with the three-piece suit, by the way?”, he asks, pointing at her bejacketed self. “Ponies dress only for formal stuff, or when they’re nobles and wanna look important. And they never hide the cutie mark when they do.”

“Well I’m not a pony, that’s why”

Yikes, that’s a no-no Gallus, don’t go down that road..!

“Could’ve fooled me. Got a very soft-looking beak for a griffon.”

Dang it...

“No griffon either.”, she answers curtly.

Gallus raises a feathery eyebrow, and I can’t really fault him.

And to think it had started so well... “Hey, looks like you have lots more pony sketches in there, and pretty good ones!”, I say, gesturing at the notebook and what I can spy from the other pages.

Seems like he got the message, fortunately. “Thanks. More used to show style, but I have live models now so why not use them, right? Good thing I still have my hands, sorta, or that’d have been pretty frustrating not being able to draw.”

“Oh yeah, can imagine that! Though don’t underestimate pony hooves, you wouldn’t believe how much you can do with these bad boys!” I give him my best attempt at jazz hooves for effect.

“I guess.”, he shrugs. “Beats using your mouth, but... Not gonna go all ‘Unicorn Master Race’ on ya, but I’d only trade these fingers for a horn, sorry-not-sorry.”

Is that one of those Brony memes? He sounds more in the know than most schmucks, will have to check with Amber... ‘Cause that’s pretty rude otherwise. “The pointy-pones have lucked out on that front, true.”, I say diplomatically. “But they’re not as tough and sturdy as we earth ponies are, and they can’t fly like pegasi or griffons! Heck, have you tried to use your wings like hands? I’ve seen Laurence here use them that way no problem! Right?”

Oh the squint, the terrible, terrible squint! Come on Lolo, please help me out here! It’s still raining, we’re not going anywhere, and I’d rather have things stay nice and chill. Pleaaaaaaase..!

“Like Chard said.”, she answers in a near-grumble – but answers still! “And if you know Élise, the whitish pegasus, she can show you how she draws and paints that way, to your heart’s content.”

Oh hey, that’s a neat idea! I’d hoped for a little demonstration, but this works well too.

“If I know Élise? You kiddin’, she’s the first flesh-and-blood pony I’ve ever met! She went to so much trouble to help me and Bourel, and... Well, just look where it landed us, but she did try.”

“So she ended up here... because she tried to help you?”, Laurence asks, sounding a lot more interested all of a sudden. “That’s how it happened?”

“Yeah... We couldn’t fly yet, she could’ve got away and left us behind, but no, filly stood her ground, tried to talk our way out, appeal to the big cheese she worked with, but no luck, they just sent us here.”

“That last part I knew, yes, but she omitted the rest...”

“Well she was pretty bummed out she couldn’t help more, you know. Like, she actually apologized, kid you not.”

“Hm. Good.”, she nods.

Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so darn proud before. And I thought buttering her up was the answer, but no there’s even better!

“But yeah, like I was saying, I saw how she draws, and it works alright for her, but these wings aren’t all bendy and stuff like yours.” The griffon demonstrates by spreading a wing; it may be wider and longer than a pegasus’s, like he said the individual feathers look pretty stiff and lifeless in comparison. Weird. “So you know, pretty happy Fate decided I should keep my hands.”

‘Fate’, huh? Born griffon, turned human, back to griffon – even unaware of the curse, he has to feel it in his heart. “You’re more right than you know...”

Laurence clears her throat. “Don’t you think this is getting off-topic, Chard..?”

Hard to miss the warning in her voice.

But he deserves to know the truth, to know who he really is – they all do. Honestly what does Violette think it’d change, if this was more widely known? Humans already treat us like prisoners at best, and like animals most of the time! You want us to also turn away from who we are, the only thing we still have? That’s a no for me. Like he said: sorry, not sorry.

“You know Gallus, it really is Fate. Because you’ve always been a griffon. You were born in another world, a world of magic – the same one from the MLP show, I’m sure you’re already familiar with it. But like in the show, that monster Discord—”

“Turned on the Princesses and banished creatures left and right to be reborn here, yeah I know.”

“Wait, you do?”

“Yeah. Always felt weird they’d only showcase Griffonstone for a random epilogue scene, with no connection to the plot beyond Discord. And nobody remembered it but me, nothing on the net, it was driving me crazy! At least now I have an explanation, it was the Gallus memory. What little’s left of it anyway.”

“You... You guessed all that on your own?” Well now I feel dumb...

“Didn’t have to, Élise told us all about it. Other world, past lives, twenty-five years, all that stuff. Though it’s kinda obvious, once you get the full nightmare treatment.”

Ah! Looks like I’m not the only one who feels like I do – and see, the world didn’t fall apart! Maybe Vi should bother more with getting us out of here rather than agonizing over whatever we say or don’t say... “And she helped you remember your true name too, then?”

“That too, yeah.”, he nods. “That mirror thing was freaky, but it did work.”

“I get ya, it did feel weird first time I...” Wait a minute. Élise knowing everything, maybe she could’ve guessed it, but Sassaflash’s mirror trick? Then that means... I turn to Laurence: “Did you show her?”

Put her on the spot alright. “If only she had been the only one...”, she grumbles. “But yes, I showed her, and told her everything we knew.”

Well isn’t that ironic! “Wouldn’t have expected it from you of all p– people, gotta admit.”

“I can make a difference between what I want for myself and what others need, Chard. Can you?”, she retorts.

“Hey, I’m not that bad! I did say ‘people’ after all.” And I’m thinking with the name you like more and more!

The pegasus rolls her eye. “So magnanimous of you... But you’re right. You’re not that bad at all.”, she adds with the slightest smile.

I give her a full one. “I know I’ve been kind of pushy in the past, but yeah – improving! Agree to disagree and all that stuff.”

“Friendship lesson on fast forward, neat.”, Gallus chuckles. “Don’t forget to write your report.”

I laugh at the reference, which totally flies over Laurence’s head. I guess it’s a pretty ‘pony’ thing, huh?

Makes you wonder, how much of pony culture and nature may’ve filtered through this show made for human children... Even if maybe the creators did turn some names into puns, or censored the less kid-friendly aspects, it still holds up in so many ways, somehow. And it inspired a lot of people, who can’t all have been cursed ponies or griffons.

I guess that the magic of friendship doesn’t have to be exclusive to us... Or more likely, it’s just humans craving what they can never truly have.

Anyways, Gallus doesn’t have time to get on sketching for long that the rain finally dies down.

“Well I’m not taking chances, heading back to the prefabs for now.”, the blue griffon says, tucking notebook and pencil back under his wing and heading out. “You coming?”

I share a glance with Laurence. “I guess we’re done here anyway?”

“It’s not like there’s much to do anywhere else in the first place.”, she shrugs, and walks after him.

I follow along. “You’re one to talk, weren’t you spending your whole days trekking through the woods back home?”

“There’s a lot of things to do in the woods.”, she argues, setting her pace to mine. “Birdwatching, for one.”

“But there’s plenty of birds here too. And pretty exotic ones at that!”

Gallus stops ahead, waiting for us to catch up. “Very funny. You want ‘exotic’? Go talk to Tan then, so exotic his race’s not even in the show.”

“You mean the scaly unicorn?”

“Yeah, though for all we know he’s a random alien who got lost on Earth, and not from Equestria at all. It’s not like he’d say otherwise, huh?”

“Why not?”

“Haven’t tried to talk to him yet then? Guy’s mute as a fish.”

Oh dang... That’s a nasty thing to lose to the change!

“And let me guess,” Laurence asks, “no-one thought of giving him a pen and some paper..?”

“You know what? That’s not a bad idea. Not that he’s ever asked for it.”

Weird... Why wouldn’t you want to, like, chat with your fellow ponies, even if it has to be through writing? Too shy? Or not wanting to be a bother? Will have to investigate. Sometimes you just need a friendly hoof to help you get out of your shell!

... Eh. As if I’m one to talk. Would still be brooding in the hay if my friends hadn’t kicked my butt to try and get better...

Pretty much like Laurence when she went through her own change, come to think of it.

We should’ve talked, really talked, a lot sooner. We may be at odds on a lot of stuff, she still has some good ideas from time to time. Like how her dirty socks must make all this walking on gravel at least a bit more bearable...

Ah, grass, finally! The patches around the two prefabs may be trampled and slightly muddy, that’ll still be a relief for poor abused soles, and with that warm ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds, the space is filling up again. The foals are back to playing with their half-deflated ball, laughter mixing with the flickery pop song from the old radio in the prefab, and the others can keep on chatting and resting in less cramped quarters. Violette and Cozy head out between the trees, for more of their hush-hush conversations. Berry and Lavender take their rackets and birdie to have at it on the gravel – crazy mares. Vern joins the other stallions on the browned, mismatched plastic chairs, brushing off leaves and droplets from the picnic table while another’s already reshuffling the cards. And Amber’s giggling at something Élise said.

The humans may’ve taken almost everything... at least we still have each other.

“Talk to you later then...”, Gallus mutters as he heads away.

Uh, why the sudden mood shift? I take a better look at what’s in front of us... and only now do I notice the problem.

There’s only a dozen meters or so between the two prefabs, but you’d think it’s an endless ocean. Even the foals make sure their ball doesn’t bounce over the invisible border separating the pony prefab, and the griffon one. In fact most of us avoid the space between altogether. It’s like outside of random numbers forcing some of us together, the humans still managed to put a wedge between us, make us stand apart from each others. Divided.

Looking back, I... I don’t even remember the last time I sat with Sofiane or Chris outside of meals? That doesn’t feel right, and certainly not pony. We can’t let them get away with this too!

Amber may have to sing her little ‘community song’ here to have us remember that... Or you know what? No reason to wait!

“We can keep chatting you know! Or you could come play cards with us?”

Gallus stops, looking at me oddly, then at the table being set up. “I... I don’t know, looks like there’s already a lot of you.” And he keeps walking away. Dang it!

Change of tactics – I stagger after him. “Well you already know me, oh and Vern too! You’re bunking together, right?”

“Vern’s cool, but...” He turns to face me, head low, whispering: “Listen man, you’re nice and all but I... I don’t wanna make waves, you get it? It’s no fun being here, so let me at least enjoy the good parts while I can.”

So it’s not just shyness. Afraid of humans? Or something else? I play up the hurt look: “So I’m not one of the good parts... Aren’t Bronies supposed to love ponies? Or do you need me to pose like one of your French girls first?”

The awkward pose makes him snort, but with a shake of his head he carries on towards his prefab. Dang it! Well at least I didn’t just faceplant from standing on two hooves...

Laurence catches up to me, now with Dusky in tow. “Cut back on the silly and let the poor griffon alone, Chard. Not everybody needs to be around people all the time.”

“But silly’s like my middle name!”, I quip, before dropping the smile. “There’s something here, and I don’t think it’s good.”

Dusky shoots me his cute attempt at a squint. “Yeah, and that’s why you better stop thinking whatever you’re thinking. Adding fuel to the fire while we’re all sitting in the same pot is not a good idea.”

“As if I ever let that stop me.”, I answer with a wink before heading for the griffon prefab.

“Wha– but that’s—”

“Don’t bother, it’s like arguing with a rock.”, his mother sighs. “Best we can do is make sure he doesn’t cause too much damage.”

“As if you’re one to talk,” I call back, “Miss ‘Mission-before-Reason’.”

“... Point taken.” And she follows, with a groaning Dusky.

“Why do people stop listening to me when I try to not cause more chaos..!”

Eh, hopefully this is how we start bringing some chaos the humans’ way, lil’ buddy.

Gallus has already taken a spot on a log, back to the prefab and notebook in talon, making a point of not looking at us. So instead, I turn to the top griff, old man Bourel himself. The bald griffon’s sitting by the prefab’s door, his one good eye focused on the small piece of wood he’s carving with his very claws. There’s also a couple finished pieces near his right paw; some sleek sports car, and a triangular airplane.

I’ve been meaning to have a chat with him anyways, now’s as good a time as any. From what I’ve seen and heard, if there’s anybody here as eager to stick it to the humans as I am, that’s gotta be him.

Alright, here we go: “Hey there! Seems like Gallus’s not the only artist around, those look cool.”

The griffon levels his piercing raptor stare at me for all of two seconds before getting back to his work, letting out a gravelly ‘thanks’.

Ouch, tough customer. But I kinda expected that. Fortunately a third, gray-feathered head pokes out from inside the prefab:

“Oh, hey Chard. What you doin’ here?”

“Hey Sofiane! Just having a neighborly chat, seeing how you’re all holding up, you know?”

He glances at Laurence and Dusky, still standing a couple steps behind me, eyes narrowing. “Really..?”

“Really!”, I chuckle. “They’re just chaperoning. Afraid I’m gonna do something foolish or whatever if they leave me alone for one minute, can you believe that!”

“I can.”, Bourel and Laurence grumble in stereo, and it’s two griffons and a colt’s turn to chuckle.

Good, let’s lift the mood a little, untie some tongues. “Oh how you wound me..! So glad I’m not locked in with you two each night,” I go on, tilting my head the pegasi’s way, “or my poor, poor self-esteem would’ve been totally ruined by now. Speaking of, s’pose it can’t always be that easy to share the one prefab, huh?”, I ask the griffons. As ponies we might like it more when we’re all together, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t the case for them.

Sofiane shrugs his wings. “Could be worse. Vern keeps to himself, mostly, and Gallus’s always with his beak in his drawings, but...”

Bourel’s head slowly swivels around to glare at his bunkmate. Sofiane’s ear feathers fold back against his skull.

“Oh, uh, and Mr. Bourel makes sure it all goes smoothly, of course.”

“Right...” Not sure I’d be too fond of how he goes about that, from what I’m seeing. Will have to ask Vern what he thinks of it.

Gallus snaps his notebook closed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry pony, he can act a bit gruff but he means well. Like, you can thank him for that tent you enjoy so much.”

“You have a point, my other blue friend.” I turn back to the top griff: “Well played on that front, sir.”

He looks up at me again, and though his perma-frown softens a bit and his chest feathers ruffle up, his stare doesn’t feel any less sharp. “Just trying to make this place a little less of a dump.”

Laurence walks up to my side. “Wasn’t it that Cozy kid’s doing?”

The old griffon lets out something between a squawk and a gagging sound.

“From what I’ve heard, Mr. Bourel here had a habit of blocking the door every night at curfew.”, I explain.

“Yup, can still see the claw marks all over the frame.”, Gallus adds. “After a week the cops got so fed up with it, they just gave in.”

The mare’s face gains a most disapproving squint. “The trouble-making, that I did hear about...”

Bourel actually laughs at that, though it ends on a wheeze. He puts his current carving down, and fans the sides of his tattered, stained yellow hi-viz vest with obvious pride. “Could say it’s become somewhat of a specialty.”

“Haha, truly a griffon after my own heart then!”

That gets me a dubious look. “Really now..? What kinda ‘trouble’ you ponies get up to, cheating at card games? Eating hay from the wrong end of the stalk?”

“If only...”, Laurence sighs, rolling her eye. “This one managed to get himself captured twice by the same bastards, almost caused a clandestine distillery to blow up, scared a bunch of tourists half to death, oh and can’t forget the kidnapping, now can we..?” Eh, that last one sure gets Sofiane’s attention; can imagine why.

“To be fair the kidnapping wasn’t my idea, but still, guilty as charged.”, I reply with a smirk. The list could’ve been longer, if our Ministry handlers hadn’t realized my ‘mistakes’ on the field weren’t exactly accidental.

Doesn’t seem to impress Bourel much though. “Sounds more like another foolish pony with no sense of self-preservation.”

“Can’t argue with that.”, Laurence replies with a small smile. Hey!

“You’ve been their protector, right?”, he asks her, sounding almost appreciative. “Not surprised. It’s easy to see you’ve not fully fallen to the herd.”

Uh? “What d’you mean, ‘herd’?”

“That’s what you ponies do, whatever name you give it.”

“I don’t know, aren’t the three of you, like, a griffon herd then?”

That gives Gallus shudders for some reason.

“You don’t get it pony, the herd’s not a group, it’s a mentality. I’ll admit that some of you don’t cave in as easily as others, like her,” Bourel explains, pointing at Laurence, “but that’s not the rule. You think any of them tried to do something to improve things, before I did? No, they just carried along. Kept their heads low, followed orders, followed the herd. Can’t help it, that’s your nature.”

Well that’s not very nice. “And it’s not yours, I gather?”

He crows a laugh. “Show me a pony that’d rather take a beating every night just in the hope of making a change, instead of cowering and huddling together and refusing to look at things how they really are, and then we’ll talk about what griffons are made of.”

“Doesn’t sound like you have any more of a ‘sense of self-preservation’...”, Laurence remarks. “But I get the spirit.”

“Do you, really?”, he challenges. “Ain’t you at the pigs’ beck and call?”

“Just trying to make sure things stay calm and ordered, for everybody’s benefit.”

The old griffon spits at the ground. “Then you’ve already lost. You don’t gain nothin’ that way, that’s what you learn going down the streets and making yourself heard: you keep annoying them long enough, eventually they’ll have to listen. Sure they never give you everything you asked, but it’s still something. That’s how most of us can enjoy some privacy again now, and don’t have to be all squished like sardines in these two porta-prisons.”

Ah, that’d explain that. “Protested with the Yellow Vests, I take it?”

“Damn right son! Same story: think we got all the news and politicians to listen by playing nice? No, we made a racket! We froze the country! We simply got too inconvenient to ignore.”

“And that made life a lot more difficult for a lot of people who didn’t have anything to do with gas price or pensions or whatever...”, Laurence grumbles.

Bourel more than matches her squint. “Oh really? Who was really making things difficult there? Who’s setting the taxes? Who’s siding with the ones with the big bucks, rather than the common folk? We’re what happens when we’re all pushed too far. What d’you do when hard work ain’t enough anymore to feed your family, to have a decent life? Oh they’ll talk and talk, try to convince us they know better, that we need them, that as long as we follow all their rules and do what we’re told, we’ll be justly rewarded? Play nice, and it’ll all be okay? No wonder most of you turned pony, already had the herd in the blood..!”

“So you’re arguing for anarchy then?”

“I’m arguing for what works.”

“Funny that,” Chris muses, walking from behind the prefab, “looked like ‘playing nice’ did work out just fine for Cozy...”

Oh hey, wondered where you went this morning! Good, we should all—

“You sound awfully sure of that, girl.”, Bourel sneers back. “Two days, and I’m still not seeing whatever that phone call was supposed to get us.”

“Give it some time. You said yourself these tents only came after a week.”, Laurence points out.

“Bah! At least I did the protesting myself, not asked some pencil pusher in Paris to do it for me. Doubt anything will happen anyway, the foal gave her show and that’s what mattered. Don’t know yet what her game is, but trust me on that: she’ll do whatever she needs to end up leading the herd, even if it’s to lead it towards a cliff..!”

Chris crosses her thick arms, eyebrow raised. “‘Cause you’re not?”

“At least he’s not trying to suck up to the humans.”, I counter, surprising them both. “I guess it’s easier for a foal to believe it always ends well, but sooner or later she’ll hit a wall. You all see how they look at us. How they treat us.”

“Well like Cozy says, can’t expect them to get better if we don’t give them a good reason.”, Chris argues.

“They’re only trying to do their job, however they can.”, Laurence adds. “This isn’t like anything they’ve seen before, it’s understandable there’s still some friction.”

I give her the side-eye. “And so that excuses everything they do?”

That makes her frown, hesitate. “No... But we’ve worked hard to improve things, and I won’t let them think we’re just a bunch of wild animals just because we’re not being patient enough.”

“That’s your opinion, or Vi’s..?”

“I... We agreed on that, Chard. We’re basically on probation.” She glances down at the silent but attentive Dusky. “And there’s people counting on us...”

Chris walks up to their side. “I’ll admit it’s not great, but we’re not criminals, and this isn’t a prison. So let’s not give them reasons to think otherwise.”

But that’s the thing, this is a prison! How can they not see it?

“And so the herd closes ranks...”, Bourel mutters with a knowing look.

I don’t like his way of thinking, but... Could he be right? Herd mentality making us, what, afraid to act? To stand out from the group? I know tribal mentality can be a thing, but...

Dang it, that’s not how this should go! If we can’t even agree on what to do, it’ll only tighten the noose they’ve put around our necks! And that sure isn’t going to improve if we stay separated like this...

Bourel’s back to carving, and Gallus to drawing, like it’s not even worth talking anymore. Sofiane’s back inside. And we’re just standing there, like we don’t belong.

To heck with it, gotta try! I face the griffons: “Guess we’re done chatting, but maybe you’d still wanna play some cards? I’m sure you can hold them a lot easier with talons.”

Neither the idea nor my smile do much for Bourel, and after a quick glance from his elder Gallus doesn’t dare say anything either.

Well I’ll have tried... “Okay then. See you all later.” And we turn away, walking back towards the pony prefab, leaving whatever good mood we had somewhere far from here.

Come on Chard, there’s got to be a way to—

“I’m game.”

“Uh?” I look up at Chris, walking by my side.

“For cards. I’m game.”

“Oh right, of course!”

Well, no luck with griffons today, but maybe the lone diamond dog won’t have to feel so isolated anymore...

As we round the corner, the pegasi are intercepted by Amber and Élise, asking about our trip to Griffonland it seems, while the two of us head for the picnic table; looks like the first game’s still in progress.

“Hey guys, can we join once you’re done with this one?”

Four pairs of eyes turn to us, and linger on Chris.

Vern’s the first who dares open his mouth: “Well, sure, I wouldn’t see why not. Right?”

Stride, Beau and Fare glance at each other. “Naturally,” the latter eventually answers, “please take a seat. This shan’t be long.”

“Great!”

Chris is kind enough to fetch us two chairs, and the stallions make some space for us as they resume their game of belote. “Thanks for having me,” she tells them, “though sorry in advance, ‘cause I’m not very good at these.”

That makes Vern chuckle. “No worries, we’re not really playing for points, and besides... We’re not very good either..!”, he adds in a loud whisper.

“Indeed, definitely no-one with a cards cutie mark around that table, unless they’re very good at bluffing.”, Stride smirks. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it pretty quickly.”

Beau nods. “Right. As long as you don’t try playing poker with Tan, you’ll be good.”

“Alright.”, she nods in turn. “Two questions, if I may?” Eyes turn to her again, a lot less wary as earlier. “First, how the heck are you holding these cards with hooves..?”

Of the three earth ponies, only Fare manages to keep a firm hold on his cards, Stride struggling to keep them together and Beau cursing as he loses a couple.

I lightly bump her shoulder. “Shhh, don’t make us think about it, or it doesn’t work as well.”

“Oh, sorry!”

“S’alright, just... Ugh, come on I know I can do this..!”, Beau grumbles to himself.

This all seems to amuse Vern, his own cards resting between two feathers. “So, second question?”

Chris doesn’t look quite as sure of herself now, I give her an encouraging nod. “Well, sorry in advance, again, but... What’s these ‘cutie marks’ do, exactly?”

I make a big gasp: “Oh no why did you talk about that now they’re gonna fall off!!”

“What!? I’m so sorry I didn’t—”

We all burst out laughing – or polite chuckling in Fare’s case – and I get a pouty glare from the flustered dog lady.

“Hehe, sorry Chris but I just had to.” For my troubles I get my own friendly shoulder bump, almost making me fall off the plastic chair. And Beau and Stride don’t have any issues holding cards anymore.

“Anyway, cutie marks are a bit of a pony thing.”, Beau explains.

“And zebra.”, Stride adds.

“And technically zebras, maybe. They’re magical marks – duh – that represent a pony’s special talent.”

“Or their hobby, or main activity, or some achievement, something they’re uniquely good at, whatever’s really representative of them.”

“Right. Though it can also be somewhat abstract, and sometimes only the pony themselves could give you its exact meaning. Take us two, for example.” We look at their pretty similar marks of three horseshoes, blue-green ones for Stride, whitish for Beau. “I’d be easy to think they mean the same thing, but they most likely don’t.”

“Or at least we hope so.”

“Right.”

“Especially as a mark might be related to a pony’s destiny.”

“But that’s open to interpretation. Anyway, that’s pretty much it.”

Chris scratches her head. “So... Basically butt stamps that show what you do in life?”

“Basically, yes.”

“And I don’t suppose diamond dogs get those, huh? Or griffons?”

“Of course not”, Beau chuckles, “like I said it’s a pony thing.”

“And they don’t change with, I don’t know, if you switch jobs?”

“Oh no, they’re something much more fundamental. Once a foal has their epiphany and realizes who they’re meant to be, they’ll always have their cutie mark, it’s what defines them.”

“Unless they get stolen by some villain. Or switched around by an ancient spell.”

“That happened once in both cases, Stride. Don’t confuse the dog.”

“But then... How can you not know what yours mean, if they’re so ‘you’?”

That leaves us ponies in a bit of an awkward pickle.

“Well, like you we only have so much memories from Equestria, and usually not good ones.” I look around the table, gauging reactions, and as with Gallus, Élise has clearly told them the truth already. Good. “So unless these or the cartoon give you some clues, you pretty much have to guess, or try things out and see if they really click for you or not.”

“Which, as you can imagine, makes the current situation a bit limiting.”, Beau says, waving his hoof at our surroundings. “Not that I’d expect rusty horseshoes to be of much help for me or Stride anyway, but good luck finding out what Vern’s bottle means, or if Fare’s dish is really just for serving haute cuisine, or... Or whatever Strawberry’s bows could mean...”

Uh? Since when do we have a ‘Strawberry’ here? A Lavender Berry and a Berry Preppy sure, but the marks don’t fit anyway.

Though from Fare’s dark look, and Beau’s sad one, I fear there’s a reason why we don’t...

Beau gladly accepts Stride’s supporting hoof, but Fare gestures away my own as well as Vern’s wing. “As Beau mentioned, this setting isn’t optimal for journeys of self-discovery.”, the prim stallion simply says, schooling his expression back to neutrality.

The game resumes in silence, but the topic keeps nagging at me. “It goes beyond learning what cutie marks mean...”, I mutter. “It’s being ourselves. Living our life, as ponies. Cards and books, old magazines, board games, it’s only good to pass the time. Or tinkering with the old trailers, playing ball, whatever, it’s—”

“Or digging holes...”, Chris says, looking a her paw.

“Uh?”

“Oh, nothing. Been doing that earlier, trying to see what this body’s capable of, and it made little Genny happy to have a partner, you know?”

“Well don’t let Laurence hear you... But yeah! Look at this place! They’re forcing us to stay idle and passive, it’s like they’re trying to break us through sheer boredom! We’re not like random horses they can, what, just put in stables at night and leave to graze in the fields by day, dang it! I don’t know why they chose this place, but it sure is living up to its name..!”

Oh I’m sure the darn humans think they’re so funny, that—

“Uh, that would be our fault, actually...”, Beau says.

“Wait, what?”

“See, me and Fare and... Well, we’d been looking for a while for an old farm to restore, or even a free plot of land where we could set up, like, a nice cozy bed-and-breakfast, you know?”

“That’d been a mad dream of theirs for years. And of course, they wanted it horse themed, of all things.”, Fare comments with a tired, yet somewhat fond look. “At least I managed to steer them away from Fontaine-l’Étalon or Maresville...”

“But yeah, so we leased this old camping in Écuries. It seemed just so perfect, it had to be here! So—”

“Excuse me,” Amber suddenly asks, trotting to our table, “but setting on this place in particular wasn’t motivated by anything... out of the ordinary, right? No actual persistent dreams, or voices in your head, or...”

Beau stares at her like she’s grown a second horn. “Uh, no, it was the name mainly. Nice marketing potential, you know? And the offices were still in pretty good shape, trailers could be fixed, and the mayor was pretty happy to make something of the land... Why?”

“Oh er, nothing, just curious!”, she stammers, cheeks darkening. “And it’s good, all good! So please go on with your story, I’ll, er... Nevermind-so-sorry-please-just-go-on!”

And she slides back to Élise and Laurence, the most awkward attempt at an apologetic smile on her muzzle. The guys look at me, but I can only offer them a lame shrug. I guess despite everything it’s still a small relief for her that we didn’t go back to Coursac, but that was a bit much...

“Uh, Right... So anyway, we’d just begun working on refurbishing it all when, well...” He puts a hoof to his chest. “Well, this happened.”

Fare lets out a long, forlorn sigh. “All our savings and investments, evaporating like fresh snow under the summer sun... All for nothing.”

“Oh don’t be like that, it’d have been great! Could still be, if they let us. So, yeah, when we heard they were thinking about moving us out of the cells, we suggested here.”

As if they’d ’let us’...

“I’ve heard your group actually comes from a pretty similar place?”, Stride asks me.

“What? Oh no, Coursac’s like, a real independent community. We do have humans around, sure, but they’re not lording it over us like here.” Well except for old man Vallières... “We’ve been taking care of the land and fields to grow our own food, and fixing the old barn into something real nice, and... And there’s no tags, or tents, or whatever sickness we keep catching here...”

I glance back at the prefab, where Coco has been sleeping away the darn ’tent fever’ all morning. They claim a doctor comes to check on them from time to time, but I doubt they’re worth their salt if they still can’t find a cure, or at least an explanation...

“Sounds pretty nice, I’ll admit.”, Stride muses with a slight smile. “Even if farm life isn’t really my thing.”

“Maybe they’ll still transfer us down there eventually, huh?”, Vern suggests. To think we’d promised a proper pony haven to Coco and him, just to be carted off here...

I lean over the table. “I’ll tell you guys... Coursac’s nice and all, it certainly beats here, but it won’t ever come close to what we could’ve had if they’d let us all go back to Equestria...”

Stride and Beau both gain a wistful look I know all too well; they know from the cartoon just how we’ve been robbed, first by Discord, now by the humans.

“Our own land, free to be ourselves and do what we’re really meant to, with our Princesses to watch over us...”

A little cough from Chris. “Only pony princesses though, I presume..?”

“Well, uh... Yeah, sorry.” Considering what little we see of diamond dogs, I wouldn’t have much hope for anything of the sort...

“Figures...”

“Still, you never know! Could be a Kingdom of Caninia, or a Doggistan country somewhere? And it’s not like there’s only ponies living in Equestria either, you’d have your place there too.”

She doesn’t look that convinced, but oh well...

Beau straightens up, looking at me with eager eyes. “Oh Sweetchard, that reminds me, Élise had mentioned your group had met with the Princess Luna herself! Is that true?”

“Oh, yeah!”, I chuckle. “Asked for us to all be led back to Equestria, actually.”

He points at Fare, positively giddy. “See, I told you! Best Princess is on the case, and... And she’ll help us make things better, you’ll see! Please tell me Sweetchard, how’s she? In flesh and bone, I mean.”

We’ve got ourselves a proper fan here! “Well I didn’t get to meet her myself, sadly, but...” I turn back to Amber’s little group... and she’s clearly been eavesdropping again. Only this time she looks ready to bolt, a desperate pleading painted all over her face that kills my next words before they can roll off my tongue.

Wait, what’s the issue? She had no problem telling us all about it back in Coursac, but...

“Well uh, as ‘flesh and bone’ as you can be through dreams, right?”, I tell Beau to buy me some time. “’Cause yeah of course she came through a dream, that’s, like, her whole thing, right? See, she’s an American, like pretty much all the important ponies to be honest, so it was kind of a long-distance type of dream-call? In fact, there’s—”

“She came to me.”

Uh?

“The Princess came to me, to give me my mission. As for what she looks like, she’s large, and blue.”

I stare at Laurence as she comes to stand by the table.

“Everybody knows that!”, Beau complains. “She really had the swirly mane, right? Is it really like a piece of the night sky? I mean, has to be the Equestrian sky, no?”

The questions keep on coming, not just from him now. In fact everypony around starts to pay attention as they realize what we’re talking about – even Coco staggers to the prefab’s door.

Amber’s nowhere to be seen.

And Laurence weathers all the attention stoically, answers short and simple. Or at least, that’s what she projects.

‘Cause I’m starting to know my friend a little.

And I know she’d wish to be anywhere but here right now.

Amber Spire’s View – The Following Morning

The teeth catch another knot and the comb slips from my hooves, falling on the grass. Again.

Oh fiddlesticks! I don’t know how he does it, but unicorns have magic for a reason!

I look around, but we’re still alone behind the bathrooms, out of the office building’s line of sight, with a clear view of the path from prefabs to tents... So I take up the comb in my magic and resume my assault on Chard’s nightmare of a mane.

“Not afraid they’ll see us anymore, I take it..?”, he teases, that impish glint at the corner of his eye.

Ugh, yes I am afraid, you dumb colt! I’d rather avoid giving them any excuse to pull their guns out again, thank you very much! But I’d also want to be done with this before lunch, so... “Well, in this case, what they can’t see can’t hurt them, right?”

Or hurt us, rather...

“Depends on the spell, I guess?”, he chuckles.

I jab at his neck with the comb. “If you’re asking if I know a spell to kill them in their sleep, thank goodness I don’t.”

“What? Of course not!” Then comes the sly grin: “Though now that you mention it...”

“It’s a grooming spell I’d really want right now... How come it takes longer for you than for me, it doesn’t make sense!”

“Well I guess in the end earth ponies do have talents you pointy-pones can’t match, huh?”

“If your ‘talent’ is to have your mane and tail twist into knots all on their own, maybe! You know this would be so much easier if you let your mane relax?”

“Eh, I like seeing you struggle, it’s fun.” Another jab seems to make him reconsider... “I don’t want you to really change the style, just make it look a bit neater. And besides, I’m not letting go of my you-know-what, so best to take it into account.”

“Well then tell your mane to be a little more cooperative, please!”

“You think it’s easy? It’s not like you can feel much more than the weight and shape! In fact... Shouldn’t you be very used to this problem by now..?”

Oh, er... “Well, you know, I wasn’t gonna keep it while we groomed...” It’s already hard enough to disentangle those tail hairs if I don’t sleep right, and that’s not even talking about the tail cramps!

“Amber, this is serious.” And for once, he does sound like it. “We don’t have a lot of assets if something goes wrong, better keep them close.”

“Right... Don’t worry, it’s in the lining of my backpack; far from the first time I’ve hidden something there. And if the gendarmes decide to conduct a search now of all times, we’ll see them coming anyway.”

“Well maybe it’s not just the humans we should be worrying about...”, he huffs.

I put the comb down. “You don’t mean the griffons could try to steal it, do you..?”

He shrugs. “Maybe if Bourel thinks he can use it to annoy the humans, but to be honest I wouldn’t put it past Cozy either, just the other way around.”

Can’t really argue with that... The ‘she’s just a foal’ excuse is starting to wear a little thin, with how quickly she has insinuated herself into Mom’s shadow. The little pest’s even managed to convince her to hold back on magic, somehow!

A dark look crosses over Chard’s features. “You know... With Cozy, well, cozying up to the humans, with your mom, Laurence and Chris following along – as well as most ponies, really – and the griffons just doing their own thing, we’re already making ourselves far too vulnerable... I mean, shouldn’t we all have the same end goal here?”

“Don’t we..? We’re trying to make do with what we have, it’s just different ways of doing so.” And for all of Cozy’s quirks, at least she doesn’t make a game of antagonizing the gendarmes.

He doesn’t look especially convinced. “We’ll see. Anyways, building a bit more goodwill between all of us really wouldn’t hurt, don’t you think? Can’t you, like, do what you did in Coursac, the whole ’let’s all come together’ song?”

“Unfortunately I don’t think you can get heartsongs on command, Chard.” Unless your name’s Pinkie Pie, maybe. “You know how it is, you just get swept up into it.”

“Mmh, ’heartsong’, that’s how they’re called?”

“I’ve seen several names for them, but I kind of like that one? As in, you have to truly feel it in your heart, to be fully committed to the emotion, and to let it all out. I couldn’t tell you about the magic behind them, but yeah, I think the name’s fitting. And beyond that, well, I’ve only been involved in three of those, so...”

... And the last time, I’d been acting on behalf of the ghost.

‘Truly feel it in your heart’, right..? Well what does that say about the quality of your character, Amber?

The Princess should never have put her trust in me...

And now I can’t even—

Chard derails my thoughts with a gentle head bump. I look at him, and his concerned gaze cuts right through me. “Amber?”

Q– quick, something, anything! “Er, and I mean... Oh, we don’t even know if griffons can sing anyway, right?”

He tilts his head, not fooled in the slightest. “They’re half birds, why wouldn’t they? But a little bird told me that’s not what’s eating at you.”

“Plenty of birds don’t sing...”, I argue, without much strength or conviction.

“It’s about the Luna thing, huh?”

Can only manage a small, shaky nod. Gosh I feel so wretched!

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I mentioned it, should’ve guessed how that’d go...”

“If anybody it’s Élise’s fault, can’t keep her darn mouth shut..!”, I grouse... and immediately feel even more guilty for lambasting the nice mare. “Better I don’t try to get a song going anyway. With my luck it’d just spur everybody into taking up arms and torching it all to the ground...”

“I mean... That’d work for me, too.”

Hopefully a light comb tap on the snout will help distract him from the notion. “I’m being serious though. The thing I have in me reacts to strong emotions, so I’d rather not give it an outlet I can’t fully control. It’s already hard enough to keep my mood in check... Add to that how we’re not sure we can trust my compass anymore, and... And I make such a marvelous guide or herald or emissary or whatever the Princess hoped I’d be...”

The stallion wraps his legs around me before I can slip even further down the pity drain, and I hug back with a sniff.

“You’re selling yourself short, you know that.”, he says, ruffling my forelock with his prickly muzzle. “You’ve helped a lot these past few weeks, compass or not. Heck, without you who knows where they’d have smuggled these ponies to!”

What you don’t know is that I was so mad I’d been this close to incinerate both the traffickers and the cops..! I almost attacked the gendarmes the night we arrived! And even back in Coursac, I... I could’ve killed Marnie! What if I— “Hey!”

“And I’ll bite your other ear if I catch you doing the whole ‘it’s all my fault I’m horrible’ thing again, P’tit Beurre.”

“But it was literally my fault, Chard! I was an idiot and ponies almost died because of what I did!” They could still!

“We went over that before, you were being tricked.”

“I trusted them! I was so darn gullible I barely even questioned it! Which is all the more ridiculous when you know ghosts and zombies are like my one childhood fear!”

“Then I guess it’s clear,” he replies matter-of-factly, “it must’ve been doing something to your mind from the start, no?”

“I... I suppose that’s not out of the question...”, I’m forced to admit.

The hug grows tighter, warmer. “We’re here for you Amber, you know that. We love you, and we know you’re a good filly, whatever did or could happen. We know you can still do great things, and I know the Princess wasn’t mistaken coming to you. Whatever form that’ll take, we’ll be there to help you along. Your mom, Laurence, me... Heck, maybe even Dusky if he’s in a good mood!”

I stifle a giggle, and snuggle into his embrace.

Even though I can’t really trust myself anymore... Maybe I could still trust them?

You, and Mom, and...

And Laurence...

The tip of my ear brushes against the side of his neck as it folds back.

“Amber..?”

“Just... Just thinking about Laurence.”

“Ah, I see. Well, she’s ready to help shoulder that load, that’s a good thing, huh?”

I pull myself out of his arms. “That’s not what she wants.”

“And it’s still what she’s prepared to do. Pretty sure it went something like this in her head – ‘it’s the pragmatic thing to do!’”

I roll my eyes at the bad impression, but the small smile doesn’t last. “That’s the thing though. She’s not pragmatic, she’s never been! She’s just obstinate, more than anyone I know, and we both saw how that led her to hurt herself in the past! I... I just don’t want her to do it again just ‘cause I’m too stressed out, when she’s probably even more so than I am! And that’s not even touching on how she hates everything pony! So no ‘Rafale’ or ‘hooves’ or ‘mare’, but I should believe she’s fine with being ‘Emissary of Princess Luna’ now?”

“Or it could just be that she’s finally working through some of her old hangups, you know? We’ve all had to deal with the situation and make the most of it, well for her it goes through feeling useful, and helping out. I for one think this is a good thing.”

“But I can see you’re worried, too.”

“Not worried exactly, more like... watchful. But I trust her, and I know we’re here for her, too. For once it’s not a fight she’ll have to go into on her own, right?”

Only a little bit of the anxiety and worry flutters off along my sigh. “Right, I suppose...”

“Besides, all the Luna talk’s clearly not making Cozy happy, so that’s already a win, huh?”

That laugh does help me unwind some more, and with some breathing exercises as I resume working on Chard’s mane and coat, I feel more stable. Doesn’t shut the problems out of my mind, but at least they don’t feel quite as daunting, and I’ll gladly take it.

Magic allowing, we’re all done in a figurative flash; my multitasking training is definitely paying off! Still, no reason to keep tempting fate, so I try to stash the comb and brushes into my mane for the trip back to the tent. The sheer volume certainly helps, and I think I’m getting it right, considering they don’t just fall down.

It’s still a bit freaky to think about, hair shouldn’t have any business doing that... I suppose it’s not that different from what pegasi do with their feathers though? In any case it’s good practice, perhaps it’ll become easier to keep my phone in my tail for longer periods of time. Chard makes it look so effortless... Either because he’s been practicing ever since we met Madame Coutre, or because it’s mainly an earth pony thing.

“Well thanks again Amber. Maybe we could make this a regular thing?”

Considering I can spot some rebel strands already hard at work undermining my own... “Of course Chard. It’s nice to see you take a little more care, it’ll do you good.”

“Yeah! I feel like a new stallion already!”, he chuckles, strutting forward– and almost stumbling, I stabilize him with a bit of magic. He still goes on with a spring in his step, something that brings an even wider smile to my lips.

It dims a little though, when I catch sight of a little pinkish pony with wavy light blue mane amid the bushes.

Cozy and I share the briefest of glances, before she focuses back on who she’s talking with, and she’s obscured once more by foliage. Didn’t get a good view, I think the other pony was little Mocha? On the one hoof I certainly don’t mind not having her lurk around Mom for a change, but on the other three... Well I don’t know, but I don’t like it.

“Maybe I should think about accessorizing?”, Chard ponders aloud. “I liked Sèlengrain’s kerchief, and now I wouldn’t be committing a fashion faux-pas getting my own. I remember wondering about berets and waistcoats too, but maybe that’d be too much?”

We’re almost back to the tents; good thing as I can feel the brushes already starting to slip. “That could work,” I reply, “though Madrécrin has waistcoats covered, and I remember hearing Perchelongue getting a beret too?”

“Nah not a beret, it’s a ca—”

Hm? I look at where Chard’s staring, to see the brown-on-gray unicorn filly getting out of my tent. My phone hovering in her blue-green magic.

Brushes and comb clatter to the ground.

Lazydot squints dumbly at us, then her eyes widen. “Oh. Hey guys.”

... She went through my stuff!?

Chard staggers to her, tries to snatch the phone from her aura. “Get that down, Dot! What do you think you’re doing!?”

How dare she!? I’ll– No no no no no Amber, calm down, calm the fuck down..!

She keeps my phone away from him, ducking under his hoof. “Hey! You, uh, you have any idea how long s’been since I could check my threads!?”

This is MINE you stupid little b– Stop! No surging, not now, not here! Deep breaths, deep brea—

“Stop it Dot!”

“Oh come on, chill out! Network’s crap here anyw—”

“Wh– Ugh..!”

I see my friend tripping, falling on his shoulder. Grunting. Hurting.

“Oh fudgebuckets! I’m sorry Mr. Swee—”

I reap what’s mine from the filly’s pitiful grasp, making her squeal and fall back, but I don’t give her time to get back on her hooves, oh no I lash at her twig of a neck, red ensnaring and coils of blue and purple clawing at her coat as I drag her to me screaming!

“So you think you can just come and take whatever you want!?”, I snarl out. “Make some pathetic excuses and then hurt my friend!?What gives you the—”

“Amber stop!”

The object of my wrath is hidden from my glare as the stallion gets between me and the squirming filly.

“Move.”

“N– no..!”

He dares disobey! For all the shaking in his limbs and the panic in his eyes, he dares defy me! Me who’d defend him, who’d care for him, he stands against me! Oh you wretched excuse of a stallion, now you’re right to fear me, because I’m the one in...

He...

He fears me..?

The sight of a terrified friend blurs as my world loses its blue-and-purple tint, washed out by near-steaming tears.

What... What have I done..?

The dark cloud enshrouding my mind slowly lifts, and I hear high-pitched coughs and retches coming from behind Sweetchard.

What have I done!?

I try to move, to see, but Chard shakes his head, stays between me and Dot, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Hey kid, you alright?”

“Oh y– yeah,” a cough, voice strained, “just dandy..! Y– you’re crazy lady, what the fudge was that!?”

“I... I’m sorry, I so sorry..!”, I barely manage to push through the sob racking through me. How could I lose control like this!? It all happened so fast, and– and it surged right through me, and I– I could’ve killed her! Just for a stupid phone!

The hoof brushing against my shoulder almost make me jump back. “Amber, you have to calm down, it’s alright..!”

No it’s not!

“You got carried away, it happens.”

It shouldn’t! Not with this!

“Amber. Listen to me. She’s okay. I’m okay. We gotta—”

“Hey you three, stop whatever you’re doing right now!”

We turn to see the gendarme jogging our way.

Before panic has time to overtake me Chard pushes something right into my tail, I almost buck his face on instinct! “Keep that here and go find a place to hide it, quick!”

“But I—”

“Get moving!” And he slaps my rump!

My body reacts faster than my mind and I’m already running away! I can barely catch whatever excuse Chard’s serving to the man, and I’m sorely tempted to look back as I hear him fall – on purpose, I can only hope!

I keep running, but I don’t even know where! I’m already reaching the overgrown fence, right or left!?

My compass’s pull steers– but I can’t trust it! What if—

“Halt!”

No time, have to get out of here! Left!

I weave between beech trees, scrambling over the litter of rusted leaves, but even in this more woody part of the camp they’ll catch me! Oh I’m so stupid, I can’t keep running, I need a plan!

Hiding in a tree? In one of the old trailers? They’ll still find me eventually, I just know it!

And what about that stupid phone? Maybe just chucking it over the fence? But then I—

Hoof hits a large root and I fly, rolling over leaves and grass and mud!

Ugh, not only big ow, but I’d just groomed, for goodness’s sake..!

I scramble back to my hooves, and– dang it, my phone! Pick it up in my magic, and oh no I can hear th– eeeeeck!

My mane tangles in the low branches as I’m pulled tail-first into a bush, barely managing to keep my phone trailing after me! I shift on the damp earth and—

Élise makes a shushing motion with a feather, and the growing sound of footsteps close by compels me to listen.

I’m almost too afraid to breathe, as through the foliage we spy the gendarme jogging past. Fortunately this thicket of holly growing against the fence is dense enough to hide us completely from view.

Only once the man’s far enough do we look at each other again. “Thank you, I owe you one..!”, I whisper, cradling my abused tail between my hooves. As if the cramps weren’t bad enough! Now I know how Laurence must’ve felt way back then...

The whitish pegasus looks me up and down; I must make for quite the sorry sight. “You’re welcome, but what’s happening? Mr. Bourel getting in trouble again?”

If only! Instead it was just me completely flying off the handle and surging like mad and hurting a filly and being hunted down when it could’ve been resolved so much more easily! “I... I’ve made a big mistake, and now they’re looking for me, and I don’t know what to do!”

She lays a soft wing over my withers. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll understand if you apologize and don’t do it again. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this sort of hiccup.”

Oh yeah, I’m sure they’ve already had to deal with some crazy unicorn with barely any control over her dark magic, just look how jumpy they are with regular magic! What if they think I’m a threat, one they can’t tolerate and that needs to be put down!? They—

“Amber, please look at me.” The pegasus guides my muzzle with a gentle hoof, to have me face her large turquoise eyes. “I know this is difficult, but there’s no reason to panic, we can deal with this. We’re good ponies, and they recognize that. Whatever you did, we can explain, and together we’ll find a solution, right?”

Oh yeah right, how many solutions do you see to one pony hurting another!? And with magic we’re not supposed to use, to boot! And over forbidden contraband, as if it wasn’t enough!

But... what options do I really have? They know the place better than I do, I can’t hide here, not for long anyway, and even if I could get away I wouldn’t, not leaving everypony here...

Élise’s been here longer, so she has to know what she’s talking about... But what if she’s wrong? Maybe the gendarmes would tolerate a mistake from her part, she’s a model little pony, but why would they extend that to me? I’ve hurt another pony, that’s not even ‘a mistake’, it’s a crime!

And I... I’m making this even worse, aren’t I..? Failure to obey, and resisting arrest! What would Mom think!?

She’d probably tell me to trust them and face the music, just like Élise...

I... I suppose it’s too late to avoid punishment now. But maybe if I come out willingly, they won’t be as harsh as they could be, or at least it won’t harm Mom’s efforts..?

*sigh*

I can’t shake the feeling it’s all going to go horribly, but if Élise’s right, and they can be reasoned with... Well that’s not even mildly reassuring, but in my situation I’ll take it. “I hope so...”, I manage to answer. I probably should find Laurence or Mom first, tell them, and give myself up... Oh, and can’t forget this! “I need to hide this somewhere first, I really doubt they’d be happy to see it... Any ideas?” I levitate the phone up for Élise to see, then lay it down on a small stack of sticks and splintered wood pieces, so that I can start on pulling out the twigs and wet leaves from my mane.

Dang it, how can she hang in the woods and still keep that impeccably wavy pastel hair free of... Wait why is she staring at me like that? “Er, Élise..?”

“Did you steal this, Amber..?”, she asks with such a disappointed look, pointing at my phone.

“What? No, of course not!” How dare she suggest that!? “It’s mine, I’ve just been... keeping it around, just in case, you know?”

“And you should know better than most how dangerous this could be in the wrong hooves!”

“Er, it’s just a phone, Élise? It’s not like I have the Brigade on speed dial or something... And I’m not using it, just keeping it with me, as insurance. Even Mom agreed to it!” In fact she’s the one who’s been using it to text Antoine...

She stomps a hoof down, feathers ruffling. “But let me guess: that secret insurance isn’t so secret anymore, right?”

“It...” Dang it, if I’d done like Mom and got proper saddlebags instead of my big unwieldy backpack, this might not have happened! Too late for that now... “Yes, at least one other pony knows now, but maybe if she agrees to k—”

“To what, keep it to herself? So she could call her family as long as she prevents everybody else from doing so? I don’t think that’s even remotely fair! And do you really believe rumors wouldn’t spread like wildfire? What would you say to all these ponies then?”, she questions, tapping a hooftip against my chest.

What the heck got into her? She was being so nice! “I don’t know, it’s not like I’d intended for it to happen, she’s the one who was trying to rob me!”

“Yet it still happened, so now we have to deal with the consequences!”

Uuuugh, this is so stupid! The dang phone’s the least of my worries right now, I just need to get it somewhere safe if we need it later! No way I’m letting my own mistakes get in the way of Mom’s plans! “Okay I’m a bad pony, whatever, now please Élise, do you have any idea where I can hide it? I’m terrified right now, and I just want this—”

“Well you’d have had nothing to be terrified about if you’d had nothing to hide in the first place!”, she snaps back! “I can’t believe I thought you were—”

“Oh yes?”, I cut her off, my own temper rising through the stress at her hypocrisy. “Then go on Élise, tell me what you are doing hiding here, all alone, right by the fence, Miss Perfect-Pony?”

I gesture around for emphasis, at the last place I’d have expected to find the delicate mare. Here under cover of the holly bushes, the old wooden panels fixed to the chainlink fence starting to mold and break down in places.

She blinks, like she never expected her arrogant lecture could backfire. “I... I like to have some time to myself, okay?”, she claims, wings rustling. “We’re all by the prefabs most of the day, and... And I don’t even have one to myself at night anymore, so yeah, I like my alone time!”

Yeah right...

“At least my secrets don’t put everybody at risk!”, she goes on. “Because it is a risk. You think these horrible people have no idea who we are, and aren’t watching our families? The whole reason we need the gendarmes is because these—”

I put a hoof against her mouth to make her stop, ears twitching, searching for the source of the hoofbeats.

Peering through the holly, I watch as Laurence trots behind the tree line, looking right and left and sometimes at the ground, before moving off out of sight. I suppose the leaves might make it harder to find hoofprints...

Should I..? But what if she..!

Élise pushes my hoof away, rubbing at her muzzle with a fetlock. “Eww, this was deeply unsanitary..!”

“Sorry, I... Goshdarnit, I just don’t know what to do!”

“You should simply give it up, that’s—”

“I can’t do that. I’ll face the consequences, but first I have to get this somewhere safe.”

She looks as conflicted as I feel, somehow. The pegasus turns away, scrapping the soil with a hoof, but eventually she lets out a sigh of her own: “This is a bad idea... I don’t know about ‘safe’, but I’ve heard Flammeroll has some contraband hidden somewhere, separate from Mr. Bourel’s stash. I don’t know for sure if it’s true, but I wouldn’t be surprised. She’ll probably help.”

Flammeroll..? But that’s the filly Lazydot spends all her time with! I... Oh gosh no, that won’t work at all!

But Élise doesn’t notice or care for my look of dismay: “Come on then, we’re wasting time..!” She picks up my phone in a wing, turns me around back to her hideout’s entrance, and shoves it right into the thick of my tail. I reflexively contract hair like Chard taught me, and dang it now it’s grabbing on the twigs and leaves too!

Out of the holly thicket, I don’t see Laurence anywhere, but I can hear a man barking orders nearby. Oh I should’ve called to her earlier, this is really not a ‘be smart’ morning..!

“Go on if that’s really what you want to do, I’ll try to give you some time..!” And so she pumps her wings, getting to the air but so low to the ground her hooftips caress the grass, and she hovers away in the direction of the voices.

Right, it’s now or never! I trot in the other direction, to circle back towards the prefabs. Even from here I can hear the gendarme scolding Élise for flying, she giving some excuse about trying to help look for me, and...

And I’m sorry Élise, but your plan won’t work, Flammeroll, Lazydot and Mocha are thick as thieves, they’re more likely to sell me out after what I’ve just done! But if Mr. Bourel has a stash of his own, like you mentioned...

Well, Gallus and Sofiane are Chard’s friends, right? They all dislike the gendarmes, they might be willing to lend a talon just to spite them!

It’s a risky plan, but it’s that, or trying to find some corner in the old trailers they wouldn’t think to search, and right now I’d bet it’s the first place they went looking for me...

There’s ponies around, I need to—

A filly’s hacking cough.

I slow down between two bushes, in earshot of the pony prefab. More coughing.

“You sure she’s gonna be all right?”, another filly asks, worried. Flammeroll...

“I think so, the swelling is already receding.”, answers Stride. “She’ll stay sore for a few days at least, though I’ll admit this isn’t behaving like a typical allergic reaction... Are you sure this was a wasp?”

A wasp?

“Yeah, I tried to squash it but it got away.”, says Chard. Wait, what’s going on here?

“We’ll have to watch out for those then, ask the gendarmes to check if there’s not a nest somewhere.”

Chard covering for me I can understand, but why would Dot? Oh no, please don’t tell me I’ve taken her voice away!

Frustratingly I can’t quite catch the rest of the conversation, they’re moving away; something about plenty of water, worries over wasps, and– oh, Dot complaining about the pain! I still feel horrible, but at least I haven’t caused permanent damage... I hope.

All this doesn’t fix my most immediate issue though, so with careful steps I get back on my way, to end up in front of the griffon prefab. Mr. Bourel is sitting on the door’s threshold as usual, the old griffon carving a piece of wood yet not seeming to put too much focus into it. I’m not too surprised... Okay, a little surprised, when his head swivels in my direction as soon as I creep out of hiding. Without a word he drops his carving, points the prefab’s way with a taloned thumb, and jumps inside. Message’s clear as can be.

A last moment of hesitation, and I follow suit.

I almost choke on the thick, concentrated griffon musk, with only a whiff of more appealing stallion scent buried somewhere underneath. And that’s with keeping the door open all day..!

The whole interior has been partitioned with blankets hung from rickety frames of old planks, straight-ish branches, and flexible sticks, forming rudimentary personal quarters. Most of the dusty floor not set for sleeping is occupied by piles of odds and ends, largely scavenged from the trailers if I had to guess. You could easily lose a phone or a dozen in there, that’s for sure.

“So this is the little pony causing all the fuss...”, Mr. Bourel mutters, rubbing his underbeak. “Not the one I was expecting, I’ll admit.”

“And bringin’ all that trouble here, huh?”, says Sofiane, closing the door behind me.

“I... I’m sorry, I won’t bother you long.” Okay Amber, deep brea– ugh shallow breaths, shallow breaths! Come on, get on with it: “I just need something kept away from the gendarmes, and I’m sure you have the means to do that.”

Sofiane crosses his avian arms. “Oh so you come here and first thing first you accuse us of being thieves, that’s it?”

“N– no, not at all! I just... I know you’re not blindly following orders and complying with the rules, like Cozy would have us do. In fact I’m pretty sure you have a better perception of the situation here than most ponies, and you know we should hold on to every advantage we can get.” This is supposing they share Chard’s views, and it might be presumptuous of me, but that’s the most charitable reading of their attitude I can come up with. “So yes, I’d expect you to have found ways to hide things from them, and I just happen to have something that could help all of us that’s in dire need of hiding.”

“Nice speech...”, says the older griffon, looking me up and down like some piece of meat, and not one of the better cuts. “What I know is that your mother can’t be trusted, and I don’t see why you should be either. Wouldn’t that be a perfect little Cozy scheme, to tempt us into showing our hand and revealing where we keep our assets... If we even had such things in the first place, of course.”

I glance from one to the other, as I’m standing awkwardly between the two unfriendly creatures. Maybe this really wasn’t much of a good idea after all..! “Please Mr. Bourel, I swear I’m not trying to trick you, I only—”

The door flies open as Gallus barges in: “Hey Bourel, you won’t– Oh. Hey filly.”

My little wave earns us both a glare from Mr. Bourel. “We’re busy, Johnny,” he almost growls at Gallus, “what is it?”

The blue griffon points at me. “She has a phone, heard the Tricorne foals talk about it!”

Mr. Bourel’s focus snaps back to me, his eyes boring into mine; I take a step back without even meaning to. “Is that so. Well why didn’t you open with that, filly..? I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

“You mean we can finally call home?”, Sofiane asks, perking up.

“Yeah!”, Gallus joins in. “No more being kept in the dark, we—”

“Shut up, you two!”, their elder orders. “This isn’t time to fool around. Now what if little miss unicorn here showed us the goods, hm..? We’re among friends here, are we not?”

His hungry gaze belies whatever honey he tried to coat his words in; I have what he wants, we both know it, and what I want is to get out of this prefab, quick. I glance back at the door, left ajar.

“Close that door, Johnny. This is a private conversation.”

Gallus catches my pleading look, and hesitates. Unfortunately, Sofiane moves to do it in his stead.

I shift on my hooves, trying to come up with a peaceful way out of here, even as tension keeps rising in the stale air and my tail is getting increasingly sore. “Okay, listen , I...” Oh! Dang it, why didn’t I think of that before!? “Let’s do it that way: you hide the phone itself, and I’ll keep the battery somewhere else. That way we don’t lose everything if the gendarmes find one or the other, right?”

Mr. Bourel’s glare sharpens into something downright predatory. My heart skips a beat. Sofiane doesn’t seem any more convinced; Gallus just looks uncomfortable.

The old griffon extends a scaly, clawed hand. “Give me that phone pony, now.”

Not asking, demanding. Like it already belongs to him, and I’m just standing in the way, like another piece of worthless trash stacked into that prefab.

“Wait Bourel, that’s—”

A fierce squawk, silencing Gallus, making me jump and– and buck it, that’s enough!

I don’t care anymore, I’ll find another way, ‘cause now I’m getting out of here!

Holding on to the embers forming in my chest, I force my eyes away from the angry griffon, and turn for the door. One step; Gallus wisely scoots away. Two st—

“You stay, pony!”

No less imperious. Dripping with scorn and arrogance.

I stop. Embers catch ablaze.

... You dare telling me what to do, griffon? Ordering me?

You like making me feel small and powerless, touting your feeble strength and blunted talons, right? Try that again, and I’ll show you real po—

“I’m telling you, she’s around here!”

Chris’s guttural voice breaks the spell that I’d once again let ensnare me. That came from outside, but close.

If I’m lucky enough, she and whoever’s with her aren’t facing the door. A sparkle and I throw it open, jum—

“I said no!” He grabs my tail!

Robbed of my momentum I trip and sprawl on the floor, backside held upright by the monster behind me, the monster grabbing at me!

NEVER AGAIN!!

The dim interior lights up with flames of blue and purple, with cries of shock and fear.

I force my hooves under me and rise up. The miserable old bird let me go when my power surged, but I can still feel his desire to control, to possess, to dominate, all this aimed right at me.

Thin furrows cross my haunches, where his talons racked along my coat and cutie marks. His eyes tell of far worse he’d want to inflict, now that I’ve shown how laughable it was for him to think he could impose his will on me.

“I’m not afraid of your fireworks!”, he snarls.

Oh but you are. What pitiful, useless bravado.

And I am tired of being afraid.

Gallus jumps between us before he or I can make the first move. “Okay that’s enough, we’re done here! Just go, filly!”

Bourel tries to push him away. “Get the hell out of—”

“No! You’ll get us skewered by crystals or somethin’! That’s dark magic, you don’t mess with it!”

Oh so you know what this is about, little sparrow? Good.

See, you old vulture? This one has the right idea. Look how rightfully terrified he is, standing protectively between you and my power, like you’re just some dumb foa—

...

Yes, just like...

Just like Chard trying to stop me from hurting a filly, despite his own fears.

The mounting crush of guilt smothers the most ardent flames, yet a racing heart and the fear, barely held at bay, keep on fueling the fire. My eyes still burn with dark power, but at least the purple smoke has stopped rising.

I don’t care about anything anymore, I’m out.

Bourel still tries to stop me, but Gallus stays in his way. Sofiane doesn’t move from the blanket he’s hiding behind. I step out of that damned prefab.

Sunlight hurts for some reason, making me blink, and stagger.

Come on Amber, you have to—

“There, I told you!”, Chris calls.

“And of course she’s here, just like I had warned you...”

Cozy..!

Vision back to normal, I find the pink filly, standing next to the burly diamond dog, and—

And Mom.

Standing next to Chris, and Mom. Several other ponies trailing behind, attracted by the screams, the eldritch lights, or maybe just the opportunity for a spectacle.

“Amber... What are you doing..?”

I can’t meet her eyes. The worry and reproach in her voice still spear through my chest, dousing whatever fire remained.

Nothing prevents me from glaring daggers at the pegasus filly, though.

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Cozy says gravely, “as soon as the griffons got wind of a pony with something she shouldn’t have, they whisked her away to claim it for themselves!”

Wh– wait, what?

“But of course that nasty rumor can’t be true – not that it stopped them! Look how upset she is, did– oh, they’ve even hurt her, the beasts!”

“They did what?” Mom levitates me to her before I can even process what’s happening, and she gasps seeing my stinging haunches. Oh please don’t panic, look there’s barely any blood at all! “Show yourself griffon, we have to talk!”

... Oh gosh, I’ve rarely heard her so angry! What have I done!?

Bourel doesn’t need more coaxing. He walks out of the prefab, without any sign of his previous fury save for a frown, and with Gallus and Sofiane in tow. “Well, you don’t sound very thankful we’ve found your missing pony!”, proclaims the old griffon.

“You hurt her.”, Mom responds in barely-contained rage, her horn sparkling dangerously.

He shakes his head. “A regrettable incident. Poor filly panicked, and like you right now she went... a little explosive, we had to restrain her, for our own safety.”

Mom’s retort doesn’t reach her lips, her magic fizzling out; she hesitates, glances at me in a silent question, and... Well I suppose my surging-out didn’t go unnoticed, but he’s still grossly misrepresenting what happened! He attacked me, tried to rob me!

“He tried to take the you-know-what..!”, I whisper for Mom’s ears only.

She bites her lip, not liking any more than I do the implications of one of our trump cards becoming public knowledge so soon. But why doesn’t he—

“Pardon?”, asks Cozy, suddenly in our personal space! “What did you say, they assaulted you!?”

“That’s—”

“But why would they do such a thing!?”, she exclaims, baffled. “Would griffons really attack a pony for no reason? Or... Oh! Please tell me the rumor isn’t true, that... that you weren’t hiding contraband!?”

W– wait a minute here, I—

“And what if she did?”, Bourel... no I can’t imagine he’s coming to my defense, what’s his— “What I know is the filly was afraid, on the run from the pigs for a reason that’s her own, but did she go to either of you?”, he asks, gesturing at Mom and Cozy. “No. She knew who would actually go to bat for her, rather than sell her out for sympathy points! You accuse us of abducting her? She came to us, willingly!”

Oh. That’s his play, then. Dang it!

That makes Cozy titter. “Really now? Can only lies come through that crooked beak? Why would a pony ever go to you! You’re brash, and unruly, and stand against everything we believe in!” She then turns to me, her eyes widening as if some terrible realization was dawning on her: “... Unless like all of us she’d heard of the griffon’s forbidden activities, and really did have something to hide! Oh you silly filly, why in the world would you trust this awful creature!? We’ve all seen how irresponsible they are, how they undermine our hard work at every turn!”

What!? How dare you—

Mom’s hoof on my shoulder stops me cold; ‘please stay calm’, she whispers directly into my ear. I champ at the bit, but keep my mouth shut.

“Of course that’s not what she’s done.”, Mom asserts, in spite of the uneasy truth. “We may not know all the details yet, but the one clear fact is that you—”

“Then let the filly speak for herself!”, barks the old griffon, who then stares directly at me: “If even a word of what you’ve said is true, you know what you have to do! Or do you lie to others as much as you lie to yourself!?”

F– fiddlesticks! I don’t want to contradict Mom, but I... Oh dang it, what should I do!?

For him my turmoil’s answer enough: “Bah! That’s what I thought! So you’ll just fold back into the herd, like the other sheep! Won’t even dare have an opinion of your own, you pathetic little—”

“Hey you watch your tongue, Bourel!”, Sweetchard shouts at the griffon, breaking from the throng of onlookers and staggering to our side. “You keep talking big but all I—”

“Stay out of this, Chard!”, Sofiane snaps back, spreading his wings in anger. “You didn’t see what she did, she’s a—”

“But we all see what you did!”, Chris cuts him off, pointing at my rump, and finding echo in the other assembled ponies as all their whispering gains an edge I really don’t like.

“Calm the fuck down, all of you!”, yells Laurence as she finally arrives on the scene and comes to stand between us and the griffons, Élise trailing behind. “What the hell’s happening here!?”

Cozy flits to her side: “What’s happening is that the griffon attacked one of our own!”

“What.”

Bourel stomps towards the filly. “One more lie you kniving little tick, and I’ll—”

“You stay were you are!”, Laurence snarls at him, before turning to Cozy: “And you get back!”

But neither is listening, and it all devolves into a three-way shouting match, quickly joined by others!

Mom pushes me away from the growing chaos as ponies and griffons square off... all because of me! I should’ve just chucked that darn phone over the fence and never thought about it again!

“Do you still have it..?”, Mom asks once we’re out of everypony’s earshot.

I give her a trembling nod, unable to meet her eyes.

“Good, at least one thing hasn’t gone to pot... Keep it hidd—”

“You there, stay where you are!”

We both jump as the gendarme’s shout; he rushes to us, holding some kind of metal pole with a—

He gets the noose around my neck, and it tightens as I try to pull it off! I want to run away, but he holds me, traps me!

You bastard! How fucking dare you!? Release me right—”

Hooves take hold of my cheeks and Mom forces me to look at her; the blue and purple flames reflect in her wide, panicked eyes. “Honey stop! Listen to me, whatever you do, don’t surge, you hear me!? Amber!?”

My heart’s trying to burst through my chest, and– and they’re—

She forces my head into the crook of her neck, vision obscured by her long mane, and between the sudden fear of hurting her and her comforting scent becoming my whole world, I manage to extinguish the fire for now... But I can still feel the catchpole’s noose around my own neck, can hear other gendarmes shouting, and ponies and griffons yelping and grunting as the humans force them apart..!

One voice emerges from the awful din as small, light hooves run to us: “Oh please officer, release her!”, pleads Cozy. “She’s the victim here, look what the griffons did to her!”

“You stay back, Thornton!”, my captor snaps back at her. “Captain wants to speak with this one. You too Inquimbert, get off now!”

Mom doesn’t move. Grows tense.

“I said now!”

... And she obeys. As reluctant as she is, as much as I can see it pains her once she stands back, she obeys. “Don’t worry honey, just keep calm, and I– I will fix this..!”

I can only watch as I’m roughly pulled away, as the gendarmes pushes the creatures back to their respective corners. As Coco and Vern try to help Chard calm down from a panic attack, and Laurence snarls at the men for preventing her from following me.

As Mom fights with her tears, and Cozy hugs her leg.

Shortly Afterwards...

I shift on my hooves, still waiting for the Captain at his desk to stop writing and address me. So rude..!

It’s been, what, almost five minutes of standing silently in the middle of the room? My neck’s sore from that darn noose, my mane is a mess, my haunches still sting from the alcohol they so ‘kindly’ provided, and gosh those tail cramps that keep on building up..!

It’s a small miracle the phone didn’t slip out of my tail during all the commotion. If only I’d had time to hoof it to Mom or Chard without the gendarmes or Cozy or Bourel noticing...

*sigh*

Could’ve at least allowed me a chair... Or even a pillow!

But no. It’s painfully obvious the middle-aged man wants me to feel completely at his mercy. Trying to make me feel small, and weak, but I’m not! If I wanted I could—

Oh no no no no no, what am I thinking!? Keep the darn fire down, don’t make things even more complicated than they already are! If anything do it for Mom, just like she asked!

At last the Captain stops jotting down his notes and deigns looking up, training his piercing blue eyes on me. “Ambre Pédurand, correct?”

As if you didn’t know, I literally wear it on me! “Y– yes sir, or Amber if you prefer.”

“You seem to be at the epicenter of a good deal of trouble this morning, Miss Pédurand, and so soon after you’ve joined us too. First this report of an altercation between you and Mr. Alirot...”

“Er, excuse me sir, who..?”

He arches a graying eyebrow. “Horned type, reduced physical age, gray with brown hair?”

Oh, he means Lazydot! “Right! How... Is she okay..?”

He looks down at one of his papers. “Report of a persistent cough, but nothing life-threatening. A doctor check-in is scheduled for tomorrow, it should clear that up.”

Oh thank goodness..!

“I’ve heard mention of a wasp? Strange, those are hardly common here, at this time of the year...”, he muses, looking at me pointedly. “And with you fleeing the scene immediately afterwards, one is left to wonder...”

I don’t say anything to confirm or deny, but my guilty look might’ve done it for me anyway...

“Now this event, and the ones that followed, leave me somewhat worried as you may imagine. I’d rather not have residents harming each others. What was the motive of your scuffle with Mr. Alirot?”

Yeah, not getting out of that one Amber, ‘presumption of innocence’ doesn’t seem to be a thing here... All right, the closer you stick to the truth, the better it works: “It... It was absolutely not intentional, sir. I was just coming back to my tent, and I caught her searching through my belongings. I reacted much more strongly than I should have, and for this I am deeply sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

The man rubs at his clean-shaven chin. “Mh. A pretty strong and violent reaction indeed, judging from the initial report. What could you have in your tent warranting such a reaction?”

Fiddlesticks..! “Oh, er... Well I don’t have much, but it wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve been robbed of what little I have.” No need to mention it was in part because I was homeless... “So, this stirred some unpleasant memories. But even then, I fully admit that the violence was totally uncalled for, and a mistake I deeply regret. I should’ve gone to you and your men immediately to have the matter resolved.”

“That you should have. Sadly this isn’t what happened.”, he states without much sadness in his voice. He then reaches behind his desk and... Hey that’s my— “You’ll be all the more reassured then I had your backpack retrieved, so that none of our less ‘virtuous’ residents may have their way with your belongings while you were otherwise occupied. Now I trust you wouldn’t mind if I took a look inside?”

As if I had a choice! “Of course not, sir.”

He’s surprisingly careful as he pulls my backpack open, and takes out my timeworn Tamír book. “Let’s see... Haven’t heard of that one. Any good?”

I perk up despite myself. “Oh absolutely sir, my favorite.” Though I quite doubt it would be yours...

“Good, young people don’t read enough these days. They prefer their games, their computers, or their phones.” He sets my book down on the table, then fishes something else from inside my backpack. “But this... This intrigues me, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

He pulls out my phone’s power cord.

“Please correct me if I’m somehow mistaken, but I don’t remember filing a phone under your name when you arrived..?”

Oh no..!

How could I’ve been so dumb!?

Quick there has to be a way– yes! “Th– that’s actually for my mother’s phone, sir. I don’t have one myself.”

He sets the cord down, straightening in his chair. “Your ‘mother’, you say? Do you mean...” He checks another of his papers. “Ah, Mr. Inquimbert, is that it? Raphael Inquimbert?”

I fight to keep my expression neutral. “Yes sir, though she prefers ‘Violette’ nowadays.”

“Hm. Peculiar. The reports mentioned that all afflicted were twenty-five years of age. How did that happen?”

Dang it, how to explain it without letting the whole ‘past lives’ thing out of the bag..? “Well, er, I know it’s a bit weird, but there wasn’t any family relationship between us before all this.” I gesture at the whole of me. “But I got younger, she got older, and we’re clearly related now, so...”

Gosh that sounded so lame, great job as always Amber..!

The Captain takes a minute to digest the information, and I have the feeling he doesn’t really find it to his taste. “I’m not sure I’ll ever wrap my head around what happened to you all... But no matter.” He takes up the power cord in his hands once more. “If I’m following you, you’re claiming that this would be, what, a backup cord, for Mr. Inquimbert’s phone? Is this your version?”

I try to put on a smile. “It’s just in case, you know? These things break easily, especially when you’re traveling, and it’s just the worst when you’re far from home and without one! Oh, especially her as she’s always working and making calls!”

The man seems to consider the cord even more closely, in particular the USB connector. “Sounds quite sensible. I’m not much for electronics myself outside of the job, so I understand not trusting the one device to perform as it should.”

He leaves the cord on the desk and gets up, walking slowly around the office, around me, hands clasped behind his back. How long is this going to take? My tail’s really aching now..!

“All these different models, and it’s like they do their best to make sure you have to upgrade sooner or later, or you can’t enjoy the latest shiny filter or whatnot, mh?”, he goes on almost conversationally. “But I’m told that as long as you keep to the one brand all your devices usually stay compatible, there’s always that, right?”

What kind of tangent is that? “Er, yes sir, that... that makes things easier.”

“Good for them too of course, it’s an efficient way to make sure the customer will come back for more, instead of looking at the competition. There’s a term for that, it’s just at the tip of my tongue...”

He stops in front of a tall metal cupboard, and takes out a key from his pocket to open it. From his shuffling of the contents, I can spot various phones and tablets in plastic bags, as well as Mom’s computer case.

And crucially, that was a simple lock. I’ve opened worse ones before.

... Oh wait, he’s looking at me! What was he talking about again?

“Er... Are you thinking about customer retention, sir..?”

He snaps his fingers. “Ah yes, that! I was thinking ‘brand loyalty’, but sadly loyalty isn’t really accurate in this context, wouldn’t you agree? What should be a mutually beneficial relationship, instead exploited by one side for their own personal gain, betraying the trust once given, to the detriment of everyone else...”, he states somberly, glancing back at me in a very pointed manner.

Well, that sure is a weird way to paint the picture! And it’s... it’s so hypocritical! Who do you think is exploiting who here? Who are the ones with the guns and batons!? You’ve done nothing to earn that loyalty, when you have all the power!

No, I think I have a much more fitting take: “Well you know, it’s all a question of convincing people that you’re doing things for their own good. That you only have their best interests at heart, and you’ll prove worthy of their confidence... But it’s a big, fat, lie. Because in the end brands are only concerned with their profit margin. Can’t fault the customers for being less than trusting, and taking precautions. Wouldn’t you agree, sir?”

His gaze narrows. “Are you done..?”

Ugh, so condescending! What, angry you’ve been burned, playing around with fire? You really think I’m just a dumb pony, aren’t you!? One you can just lord over and play with to your heart’s content!? I—

I notice the purple and blue licking at the edge of my vision.

Goodness, this was all far too passive-aggressive for your own good, Amber! And letting the actual fire out will not help either; it didn’t with Bourel, it absolutely won’t here! Just... just keep breathing, keep calm, and stop the surge..!

The Captain’s stern gaze is still on me however, the crease between his eyebrows even more pronounced and his mouth held in a tight line. No, he doesn’t want to play anymore. Doesn’t even have to look before grabbing one of the plastic bags, pulling out Mom’s phone, and then plugging the...

Oh.

Oh gosh dang it, NO!!

“Would you look at that. Doesn’t fit.”, he says, voice sounding surprisingly level considering the glare he’s giving me, still holding the phone in one hand and my power cord in the other.

Darn it Mom why do you always have to go for this overpriced junk!? And why didn’t I just say it was for Laurence’s!?

He puts both phone and cord in the cupboard and locks it, coming to stand over me: “You’re not as good a liar as you seem to think, Miss Pédurand. Feels like it’s something in common with your fellow afflictees. Maybe it’s the ears, or the eyes... or the tail maybe..?”

Buck!

“You seem tense.”, he remarks with fake joviality. “Do you have something you want to tell me, Miss Pédurand?”

What should I do!?

“Need I remind you that cooperation has to be a two-way street? Your friend Inquimbert may not find as willing an ear next time they make a non-essential request...”

Oh buck! I... We do have Chard’s still, right? So... So maybe it doesn’t matter as much if they get mine, right!? And maybe I can find some way to give it a positive spin, like, I don’t know, wasn’t sure we could trust them but now they’ve showed kindness so we do, and... Yeah, I was about to go and give it to them, but then Dot happened, and... Gosh it sounds so lame but I don’t have a choice, he already knows too much!

Ugh after all this trouble, I have to– no, come on Amber, no more dithering, just get the phone out, put an end to this horrible thing– oh and no magic!

I sit down, relieving my shacking legs, and I curl my poor tail into my hooves. With how much I’ve forced with them the hair strands are still super clingy of course, as if this wasn’t already a total mess..!

“Sir, I swear I wasn’t trying to cause any problem, or—”

... W– wait, what..?

I pull out a phone-sized piece of wood, a fragment of a plank maybe.

It’s about the same weight, but not the exact right shape, and certainly not the right texture. But of course hair doesn’t feel that, it just feels the pull and tug. I held on as tightly as I could, and—

“What game are you trying to play here?” I almost fall back in surprise as the Captain snatch the thing from my hooves, only to throw it on the floor. “Do you really want me to take the shears to that ludicrous mass of hair?”

Ack no, my tail! “I’m so sorry sir, I...”

Wait. This could work out for me!

“I, er... Well I was feeling hungry still, and I know deer and such eat bark sometimes, so I was thinking—”

“Stop lying to me!”

“I swear! I panicked when I saw your men running after me, and I– I didn’t know what to do, it’s just a big mistake!”

But my excuses fall on deaf ears; he’s still standing over me with that threatening look in his eyes, fists clenched in anger!

What more do you want!? You think I have any more ideas of what happened!? Or is it just you want to punish me so darn much it makes you angry to have lost your perfect pretext!? I should show you just how big of a– ugh no no no, calm down Amber, don’t make it worse!

“Oh this is a mistake all right!”, the Captain sneers down at me. “One that better not happen again, because if there’s one thing I hate it’s wasting my time! But no matter.” He takes a deep breath, and seems to compose himself far more efficiently that I do, straightening his uniform. “I have a pretty good guess at who’s the mastermind behind this latest ploy. A word of advice: don’t associate with these types, or you could very well end up locked in the same cell. I’ll be lenient this one time, it’s clear he simply used you as a mule,” he says, smirking at his own joke, “but a repeat offense will not be tolerated. Until then, I will be keeping this.” He lays his hand on my backpack! “May it serve as a reminder of the consequences of one’s actions.”

No you– you can’t take what’s mine! I—

“Now out, there’s work to do.” He takes up his radio, then glares at me as if I should’ve had the good sense of vanishing on the spot: “I said out!”

Calm down Amber, calm down, it’s all right, just walk away—

But I could just melt his stupid brain!!

But we will not do that!

“Do I have to repeat myself? And enough with the light show.”

You damn– No!

I jump to my hooves and just run, run out of the office and out of the reception and out of the darn building before I do something horrible!

This– this is just too much, I can’t—

Ground falls off from under my hooves but I don’t trip.

It takes me a couple seconds to realize I’ve been caught in a magical field, and by then I’m held in Mom’s embrace. I’d bury myself under her coat if I were hugging her any tighter.

“Oh honey I’m so sorry, are you all right?”

I only manage the slightest shake of the head.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe now..!”

“But for how long, that is the question...”

Ugh. Not her, not now! I turn an eye to Cozy Glow, standing infuriatingly close to us.

“The balance has been upended, and it could be a real blow to our efforts at improving things here. We were building trust with our handlers, but now...” And this look she gives me, fake concern and barely-hidden disapproval!

Mom nuzzles my mess of a mane. “Cozy please, this is difficult enough..!”

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry.”, she apologizes... but doesn’t stop: “We’ll stand together against whatever happens, naturally. I just fear what these horrible griffons will do... Grow bolder, or more desperate?”

I want Mom to keep nuzzling... but of course she can’t help herself, she turns to the darn filly, she has to answer: “We... I suppose it’ll depend on the gendarmes’ reaction. Like you said, we will have to watch out for each others. I’m sure they’ll soon realize that we’re not at fault here, and we’ll leave all this behind us.”

“Right! We must be vigilant. We can’t make the same mistakes again...”, Cozy nods... looking straight at me, putting special emphasis on the word. “After all, if we can’t trust each others, then who really? So don’t you worry dear Amber Spire, we will look out for you..!”

And she touches me. Rubs her little pink hoof against my leg. Her big reddish eyes brimming with the most abject condescension!

“Go away!”

It bursts out of me before I can catch it; the purple and blue lashing out at the filly, and hitting Mom on the way.

She cries out. I jump back, sprawling over the gravel.

Fear grips my heart for an instant, fear of having hurt her, but to my immense relief her coat around the shoulder is not even singed. Protected maybe by the dampness of my own tears...

Even unhurt, Mom is still shocked, looking at me in a way I hope to never behold again. “Amber, please calm down honey..! Cozy is a friend, and—”

I can’t take it anymore.

I flee.

She calls after me, the darn filly says something... and neither follows.

I keep on running, with no one behind me, nowhere to go.

My harried brain brings me closer to the prefabs, by pure accident. Crashing wood and angry curses, I barely give a glance to the humans ransacking the griffon prefab. I carry on.

Mistake after mistake after mistake, in the span of a measly hour everything is crashing down around me..!

Why are they all doing this to me!? Why did she steal, why did he threaten, why—

I trip. For real this time. Face-first into a bush.

Pulling away, it grabs at my mane, rakes at my coat, and THAT’S ENOUGH!!

No fear or guilt or conscience to stop me this time, I let it surge, let it burn.

Dot and Élise and Bourel and the Captain and Cozy and Mom and myself – let it all burn!!

By the time I start to feel the ache in my chest, and my eyes hurt almost too much to stay open, there’s no bush anymore. Only blackened, cracked sticks and moldy ashes, still shimmering from the colors of rot.

And, despite everything, somehow... I think I feel better.

Letting it all out sure didn’t help the guilt, but the stress, the rage, the pain?

Like once stoked, the fire had to somehow run its course, burn all its fuel, to finally abate... And it’s like it took away all that had been stacked onto it? Cleansed it. Leaving me exhausted, but strangely calm.

That’s...

*sigh*

Goodness, I’m such an awful mess..!

“Amber..?”

I turn to Laurence, already too weary at the prospect of the next catastrophe. “I’m sorry... It was a bad bush, I swear..!”

She looks at me oddly, but without fear; I’ll gladly take it right now. “I... If you say so. Can I help?”

I let myself fall on my haunches. It stings, and I don’t care. “Not really...”

“Amber, I didn’t really catch everything that happened, but... I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was...”

“Okay maybe some of it was, but honestly?” She comes to sit next to me. “Probably not as much as you might think. I’ve been chatting with some of the gendarmes, and they’re strained. They’re just trying to do their job, but they’re in over their heads, and it shows. And between that, and the old griffon always looking to cause issues, it’s not easy on your mom either.”

“And I made it all worse...”

“It was just the straw that broke the camel’s back, believe me. But we’ll do our best to improve things, huh? We’ll try to punch some sense into all these heads so it doesn’t happen again. I can talk to the gendarmes, make sure they understand what they’re dealing with, and together we can make sure the ponies stay safe. Right?”

Knowing she’ll always have my back, my lips surprise me with a smile; small, tired, but real. And I realize something: “Of course. But not just them.”

“Uh?”

“Griffons. Diamond dog. Weird scaly unicorn. They deserve to be safe, too. To be safe, and not being treated like they’re somehow worse than ponies.” Bourel might be a horrible man... He and Gallus and Sofiane are still in the same boat as us.

Because despite what happened... Who would I be, to forsake someone for their violent, emotional reactions, without knowing where they’re coming from..?

Laurence doesn’t seem quite convinced. “Well, Chris and the other I get, but the griffons..?”

“I’m sure it’s what the Princess would want. Nobody left behind.”, I answer, and maybe for my own sake, I do believe it.

She mulls this over. “Well then... Guess we have our work cut out for us, huh?”

Five Score – A Prench Tale Vol.2

by Alsey

~ Previously on A Prench Tale ~

Part 5 | 29 – Strained Overtures

30 – Griffs of a Feather