Summer Days and Evening Flames CHAPTER 10

Chapter Ten-->

CHAPTER TEN

Sunday morning, I flew to Farrington to buy some things. It wasn’t an easy decision at all. But after racking my brain for all of Saturday trying to remember everything about my childhood, I came to the conclusion that I needed a more organized method to collect my thoughts. I had the money, so that wasn’t a problem; I just didn’t enjoy the idea of material possessions.

It was more than that, actually – it was that, based on the nature of historical documents, whatever I wrote was going to outlive me. From birth, we had been instilled with an obsession over our legacy instead of our actual lives and, from a mathematical standpoint, I could see the reasoning behind it.

It also bothered me that I didn’t know how long I was going to need Gildas Tagebuch – my pet name for the chronicling that I was about to undertake – for. Part of me hoped that it would be a simple manner of accounting for every month or so of my childhood and that I could burn it afterward, but I knew better than to hope for something so convenient. I liked nothing about the situation I was in, but I eventually decided that posthumous embarrassment was a smaller price to pay than going through the rest of my life not knowing when I was going to stumble into another memory like I had at Starfall’s.

Depending on what happened after death, I reasoned that there was a good chance I wouldn’t even be able to feel it. Each of the three tribes had their own version of what happened after death, and they were all conflicting on some level. With a shrug, I supposed that with all the dragons and other mystical beings that I had read about historically existing, it wasn’t a huge stretch that there was a hidden group of beings that acted like a pantheon of gods.

However, I sure as hell hadn’t had Ing or Frija there to protect me while my father beat the crap out of me for over a decade.

Back on the physical plane, I shook the thoughts out of my mind and focused on my flight to Farrington. My original plan had been to fly up to the northern gate to get to the Market District, where there was a store that sold writing supplies. When I saw Iron in his booth, though, I quickly changed the plan to include stopping by and saying hello to my boyfriend. He gave me a perturbed look when I landed, but he still greeted me, “Good morning. Is everything all right?”

I remembered the circumstances under which I had left him on Saturday and couldn’t help but feel guilty that he was practically an oversight that morning. “Ye... no,” I admitted with a shake of my head. “I’m trying to put everything in order from my past, but it’s getting complicated to keep everything straight. I came to get ink and stuff.”

He nodded. “Well, there’s a stationary store in the Market District that sells writing supplies. I’d check there first.”

“Thanks,” I replied lightly, even though the information was redundant.

“After that... are you going to stay here past noon?”

I didn’t know what time it was, but I decided I at least owed him a lunch together. “Uh, sure. Did you want to eat on your break?” He nodded, and we made plans for a diner in the Market District; it wasn’t a dramatic difference, but weekend shifts got a fifteen-minute longer lunch break than their weekday counterparts. With our plans set, I smiled and waved goodbye; I had business to attend to in the Market District before our meal.

*         *         *

Lunch with Iron was quiet. I spent most of it trying to work things out about why I needed to purchase supplies in the first place and, apparently, Iron took that as a cue to not press the matter. I appreciated that, even though ten minutes into our meal, I started to question the wisdom of agreeing to the date when I hadn’t wanted to talk in the first place.

Iron finally broke our silence to tell me about his dinner with Starfall the previous evening, and I was glad for him; they were old friends, so fighting was only a waste of time. I didn’t vocalize it as much as I probably should have, but then again, I had taken something entirely different from my Saturday visit with Starfall.

When the meal was over, or really, when we just called it quits with twenty minutes to spare, Iron walked me to the north gate. I felt bad for everything that had happened between us that weekend, so I apologized to him.

He returned the apology with a one-armed hug and whispered near my ear hole, “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I hope you find peace in your chronicles, though.”

I hugged him back with the arm that was holding my bag of writing supplies; unintentionally, it whipped around and struck him lightly on the neck. I don’t think he felt much through the armor. However, in response, he rustled the feathers between my wings by rubbing my back a few times; when I gave him a flat look, he grinned apologetically and tried smoothing them back down. I didn’t really mind, but that was as good a point as any to end on. I didn’t want to maim his mouth with a deep kiss, so I just said goodbye and took off for home.

*        *        *

When I reached my cave, I unpacked everything I had bought: ink, a little notebook, and a sturdy, flat piece of polished wood. It had been part of a desk at one point, but apparently one of the legs had broken during shipment, so the shopkeeper sold me the top at what I guessed was a decent price. When I set it on the wooden box that housed Iron’s gift, it made a neat little desk for me to brood over or lie down at. Combined with my paper and ink and another feather from my wings, I was ready to start remembering things from my past.

Chronicling my history of abuse was not exactly pleasant or straightforward. For one, my memories sort of blurred together into a series of images and voices rather than a chronological list of events. That meant I couldn’t just pick a date in the past and start going forward from there; I had to remember things based on their relation to other events. When I came across an incomplete memory, I was unable to entirely fill it in more often than I would have liked.

There was also the fact that I didn’t like remembering that stuff in the first place. I lost count of the number of times where the recollections became too much and I had to stop for a while. On one such break, I stretched my left arm out behind me and noted that, at that angle, it was easy to see how the bone hadn’t healed straight. These memories and scars were a part of who I was, I knew, but they didn’t define me. Or if they did, I didn’t want them to. With that thought, I brought my arm back down to steady the page I was on and kept writing.

By eight-thirty, it wasn’t bright enough in my cave to write anymore. I was definitely done for the day, but I had written a good amount for every year, leading up to a forty minute lull where I couldn’t think of anything else to add, so I felt confident that I might be entirely finished with the project. I licked my quill clean and put everything away into a corner.

I wanted to review everything that I had written, but I was also hungry and dirty. I had never written anything longer than a single page before, so I had never really known how messy of a process writing actually was. I washed my hands down at my pond before I started looking for dinner; that came in the form of a too-curious squirrel that must not have thought I could see him.

After dinner, I flew back up to my cave, grabbed my journal, and then took a small trip to the western edge of my mountain. It was slightly lighter there, so I spent the rest of the twilight hours reading over my account of everything that I could remember my father doing to me.

Given my original purpose in getting the writing supplies, I found it ironic how unorganized my memories ended up being after all. However, near the end, I had gone through and assigned ages to all of the incidents, to the best of my ability, so if I wanted, I could put it all in order. As I read through it, I felt a sense of relief – if that was the word for it – that there weren’t many large gaps between events. The ones that I did find, though, were accounted for by how ‘happy’ I had been at the start of the next incident that I had been able to recover from the last ‘lesson’ I had learned.

With my facts laid out straight, I closed the journal and flew back to my cave. Collecting my thoughts filled me with a mix between serenity and uncertainty. I knew what my father had done. I knew how, and when, and where, and to whom... The last question that I had, the one that had burned inside me for almost fifteen years, the only one I wanted an answer to, but I still drew a blank.

Why?

It seemed so simple of a question, with simple conditions that weren't being fulfilled: Parents were supposed to nurture, not hurt. It was a simple evolutionary drive to make sure the next generation had the best chance to survive. Why had I been different, been singled out? Sure, we had all known to stay out of his way when he was in his home, but unless I was missing something, none of my other siblings had gotten it nearly as badly as I had.

I was so used to the opposite, the absence of his affection, that I never stopped to question why it was missing in the first place. Yes, I wished that he had loved me. Was that so selfish of a thing to want, though?

It was late now, and I was tired. I set my alarm with disdain for the morning; for the first time that I could recall, I didn’t want to go to work the next day. Iron hadn’t really mentioned much in terms of the punishments for not showing up, but I knew I had to go anyway; if anything, I had reading to do that night at the hospital.

As I lay down to go to sleep, I wished I knew some ponies other than Dash and Iron. She wouldn’t have the answers, I knew, and he... he was everything that I wanted in a relationship. I didn’t know why I wanted what I did or why he was able to fulfill that role, but after everything I had been considering, I was beginning to question whether or not it was the healthiest thing for me to be dating someone who also amounted to a father figure.

Of course, by that point in the summer, I had given up trying to settle things between Iron and me in my head; I knew the only way things were going to get done was if I asked him myself. I got up to re-set my alarm clock for an earlier time, so I would have time to do that before my shift.

As I drifted off to sleep, I tried to comfort my uneasy mind by assuring myself that Iron would have some sort of answer to the problem I was now facing.

*        *        *

Iron was notably speechless after I told him what was bothering me. Finally, he broke through his confused-looking daze to answer, “So... you're disturbed because I’m... fatherly?”

I shook my head; he was missing the point. “Not that. I mean, you've been great to me, and I appreciate that. But I keep coming back to... how do I know that's not just some sort of psychological dent on my part?”

His eyes widened as comprehension dawned on him, but he still didn’t say anything at first. “Uhh...” he eventually started, “What’s the difference between a father and a boyfriend?”

That caught me off-guard, and had several disturbing implications in and of itself. I hoped he was going somewhere with this, so I decided to answer as plainly as I could. “One’s about rearing children, the other’s about...” I trailed off and felt my face flush as I realized what I was about to imply about myself and Iron. I didn’t want to talk about that yet, or at least, not right now.

Luckily, what I had said had been enough for him. “Er, sorry, but that’s what I was getting at. A parent-and-child relationship is a lot less equal than a boyfriend-and-girlfriend one. Ever since we started dating, I’ve tried my hardest to treat you like an equal, or at least, to balance the favors I do for you with my utmost respect. Just because I help you through some of your problems doesn’t mean I do it out of a sense of superiority. I mean, discounting events that we’ve already discussed, have I ever done anything to make you believe otherwise?”

I thought about what he said, slowly, but eventually, I shook my head. “No, you haven’t.”

I stood there, thinking it over for a while. With a sigh, I admitted that introspection was, at least for me, a jagged process. I didn’t like how much self-analysis I had been forced to do over the past weekend. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that, given the circumstances, I couldn’t blame Iron if he was a good boyfriend and my father was a horrible parent. On that note, I looked back up at Iron with a solemn gaze, but I couldn’t decide how I wanted to tell him that. Finally, I settled on asking him a slightly unrelated question that had nonetheless been bothering me off-and-on since Saturday afternoon: “Do you think I’ll ever be... normal, after everything that happened?”

He shook his head back with a somber grin. “No.” I felt my spirits deflating as Iron continued, “But you’re an exceptional griffin who came from extenuating circumstances. I don’t think ‘normal’ suits you.” The clarification didn’t help as much as he probably hoped it would, but he caught himself and sputtered on, “I mean... yes, you have your demons, but you’ll eventually come to terms with them in your own way. But even then, you’ll still be special to me.”

That was better, I decided. I gave him a quick kiss – which was more allowing him to kiss the end of my closed beak than any conscious effort on my part – before setting out for the citadel and my morning patrol.

I spent the rest of the morning thinking about my past, the present, and, in a rare deviation for me, the future. Specifically, I came to the conclusion that I was currently a product of my past environment, so what would that mean for the future? What if Iron’s knee-jerk reaction was right, and I would never be free of the scars that my father had given me? If I compared myself to who I was six months ago, I knew that I was capable of achieving some things on my own, even though I had to admit that I had kind of accidentally fallen into the Guard. But it was almost two months since I had taken my oath, and excluding the obstacle that I encountered with Starfall, I wasn’t terrible at it.

Similarly, I was fumbling my way through a relationship with Iron at a steady pace. Intellectually, I knew that two months was too soon to judge the success rate of anything, and I wasn’t naming the kids or anything, but at the same time... the more I found out about him, the more I felt that we had a deeper connection, and that we might have a chance at staying together for a long-term relationship.

That thought filled me both with hope and terror. I wanted things to work out between the two of us, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to make that sort of a commitment. With a shrug, I allowed myself to set that worry aside: it was something I’d have to deal with in the future, once things got that far.

I had to admit, though, that regardless our lives’ eventual destinations, for the time being, I was glad to have Iron by my side.

*        *        *

The rest of the week passed smoothly for us, or at least there weren’t any stabbings, fights, or other breakdowns that we had to deal with. I was slowly coming to terms with just what Iron meant to me and, like he promised, he was there for me by means of conversation and company.

On Saturday, he took me to see a play. When I asked him if it was a special occasion, he was somewhat perplexed, but he said it wasn’t. That didn’t entirely come as a surprise to me; ponies put on dramatizations of stories outside of special holidays. It was one of the differences that I noted early on at Junior Speedsters’ and part of a disturbing truth that was becoming more apparent as I spent more time with Iron: Compared to the griffins in my tribe, ponies were cheery and... alive.

I used to find it annoying. The more exposed to it I became, though, the more I realized that my irritation had been a reaction that stemmed from jealousy. I thought about mentioning it to Iron, but before I did, I realized how moot of a point it was in the first place to be envious of a society that I was a part of because it was more lively than the one that had cast me out.

Instead of mentioning the differences in our cultures, I focused on enjoying the performance. The auditorium we were in wasn’t exactly run-down, but it could have used a fresh coat of paint. The cushions looked comfortable enough, though, and I moved mine right next to Iron’s before sitting down and resting my head on his shoulder.

When the lights dimmed, the play began. It told a simple story that revolved around two warring pony nations, which was an interesting tidbit of history – I hadn’t ever heard of anything other than a unified Equestria. I dismissed it as fictional, at least, and focused on the plot. When the story began to focus on two lovestruck ponies whose warring countries forbade them from being together, though, I turned and glared at Iron. “Really?” I whispered.

He looked mortified when he whispered back, “I swear I didn’t know what this was about before I got the tickets.”

I just shook my head quietly and watched the rest of the play silently, up until the two main characters got married, which ended up stopping their countries’ war. “Ha! Wrong!” I whispered. Iron started cracking up, much to the dismay of an older patron sitting behind us. She hushed us, so we went back to watching the end of the play in silence.

When the play was over and we were outside, Iron apologized again. “If it means anything, Sherry was the one who suggested it to me in the first place.”

I felt bad for him; he was really bent out of shape over the parallels between the play and our relationship. I stopped walking, so Iron stopped, and I rubbed his neck with my head. After the gesture, I pulled back and said, “I was just kidding. I liked the play.”

Iron smiled back at me and said, “I’m glad, then.”

We walked to the southern gate and kissed goodbye. As Iron pulled back up, we shared a quick smile; it was the first time that we had managed the gesture without him cutting his lip. I was glad, too; I didn’t mind cauterizing the wounds I gave him, but at the same time, there was something inherently wrong with knowing how good his blood tasted.

As it stood, though, it was a good end to a good week. I flew home, but I was filled with warmth at how, when things weren’t falling apart around us, Iron made me happy.

I should have known it was too good to last.

It all started on Tuesday morning, when my lieutenant was waiting for me in the citadel with an air of disdain. Sherry wasn’t much for presentation-level authority, but my lieutenant did expect a proper greeting, so I saluted him and offered as sincere a “Sir?” as I could manage.

He quickly tapped his temple before he started, “You’re on duty this Thursday night. Which adjoining day do you want off to accommodate that?”

I blinked at the abrupt change to my schedule. “Uh... Friday,” I decided, thinking it would be better to rest after the double-shift than before it.

He gave me a curt nod before heading out of the Guard’s quarters, so I went over to Sherry to see what the hell was going on.

“Your patrol starts in two minutes, so I’ll give you the short version: Starfall’s coming back, but he requested a patrol. Theoretically we’re gaining two guards because he’s doing both a sergeant’s and an officer’s duties, but in practice... the schedule gets a bit weird to accommodate him because...” She pointed at me. “But actually, any new hire in your position would have gotten the ‘lone patroler’ route, so that’s not your fault. But one plus one is two, except no one thinks it’s a good idea for Sergeant Starfall to partner up with you, so throw in another officer’s long-overdue shift transfer request...” Sherry shrugged. “Enjoy your Friday off, huh?”

I stared at her blankly. “I think I might have everything you just told me worked out by then.”

She let out a bark of laughter. “Anyway, Residential District. Dismissed. Et cetera. Scoot.” She waved me away, so I just went to my morning patrol before someone could change it to include the top of Mount Farrington.

By lunch time, I still didn’t know why I was working that Thursday night, so I went to go ask Iron to shed some light on the convoluted situation.

“It’s not that...” He bobbed his head and squinted. “Okay, I’ll admit. It’s either incredibly graceful or horribly convoluted. Basically, every morning and day sergeant gets three patrols they need to have covered. Through a series of unfortunate events in April, one of Sherry’s five officers got fired, and his partner resigned in protest. So, she was down to three day officers when you showed up, and even then she had to split up a pair of long-standing partners to manage that. Normally we don’t like having lone guards on patrols, but...” He shrugged. “We’re currently under capacity. When you joined under Sherry, though, she grouped that other pair back together, which left you the odd griffin out. Since there haven’t been any new hires in a few months now, Starfall was going to patrol under her, technically, but then another day officer reminded me that she had previously asked to be put on the night shift, so she’s getting that and Starfall’s getting her old spot. Usually when someone changes their shift like that, they pull a double-shift in order to keep things running smoothly; however, when it came to him for authorization, Lieutenant Horatio personally volunteered you instead.”

“Lucky me,” I grumbled as I tried to make sense of the logistics Iron had just buried me in. Finally, I gave up and admitted defeat: “What sort of hell goes into planning everything like that?”

Iron chuckled, “It’s easier to learn it if you have to deal with it, I suppose.”

“I’ll say,” I agreed. “Still... a double-shift?”

“A double-shift,” Iron replied. “Even if I wanted to change it, that would be a difficult situation due to how we’ve agreed to do things. I’m sorry, but I can’t play favorites.”

“I wasn’t asking you to,” I cocked my eyebrow. “I was just wondering what the hours on that are.”

Iron nodded, pleased. “Your usual shift, then a six-hour break, and then from eleven to seven.”

Six hours, I mentally scoffed. I had community service that night, too; after my patrol, I’d have to read, leave the city to eat, come back, kill three hours, and then start another patrol.

Instead of focusing on just what level of torture that night was going to be, I decided to take a proactive route and give myself something to look forward to. “So, what do you want to do this weekend?”

Iron knew what I had on my mind. He nodded and assured me, “Something to make up for the days leading into it. However, if you want something before that, we can get breakfast after your patrol, too.”

“That sounds good,” I replied. That evening was going to be hell on my sleep schedule, and I didn’t like how I was being forced into it out of what felt like a grudge, but the prospect of spending a proper weekend with Iron at least made it bearable. With a shrug, I decided that it would be over soon enough.

*        *        *

By the time Thursday night came around, I had come to terms with it as much as I was ever going to. I had gone to sleep early Wednesday evening, so I was well-rested for the day. After my community service and meal, I spent most of the time at what amounted to my favorite diner. The waitress there was definitely in a better mood than she had been after my run-in with the media; we both sat at the counter, bored, so we passed the time by swapping stories. Apparently, she was putting away money to move out-of-town and start an acting career in Manehattan; I had never heard of the city, but I wished her luck nonetheless.

She was an interesting conversational partner, but by ten-thirty, I was still getting drowsy. I bought one last cup of coffee, hoping against all reason that it would be enough to last me the night. On that note, though, it was time for me to start my shift, so I paid twice as much money as I owed her “for the company” and went south toward the citadel.

My sergeant – or ‘the’ sergeant, there was only one night sergeant – was a colt I had never seen before because he worked nights. Nonetheless, he seemed excited to see me; as soon as he saw me walk through the doors of the Guard’s quarters, he commented, “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

There was a crowd of about thirty guards around him, but they were facing the opposite wall from where I was; with a loud ruckus of clanking metal, they all looked at me. I heard murmuring as I walked over to join them, but I discounted it; half of me reminded myself that I had a job to do, and the other half was thoroughly convinced that I couldn’t care less what a bunch of ponies I’d never see again thought of me.

When I got over to the crowd, they parted in what was either politeness to accommodate me or willingness to give me a wide berth. The sergeant asked me, “So, do you know how things work here at night?”

“No, sir,” I answered. Iron had given me some of the basics, but I didn’t know what patrol I would be assigned to or who I would be assigned as a partner. I didn’t know what to make of the sergeant, either, but I didn’t want to give him any reasons to make my night more miserable than it already would be.

He nodded with a shrug, as if he were somehow disappointed with the answer. “Basically, it’s the same thing as the day: make laps, stop crimes. However...” He stopped speaking, grabbed a wooden rod, and pulled down a rolled-up map of the city. “The routes are a little different.”

I read the map as quickly as I could. My first reaction was to note that almost every patrol ran through some part of the Artisan District, focusing mainly in the west and central part. There was the same shorthand for ‘multiple patrols on the same route’ as the day map – arrows indicated the direction of each patrol, and the number of arrows corresponded to the number of patrols on the route. Other than the heavier presence in one single district, though, things were the same, so I simply nodded and waited to be assigned my patrol.

“Before you get a route, though, you’re going to need a partner. You’re standing in for Officer Brass tonight, and his partner was–”

He didn’t get to finish, which struck me as odd. Two guards cut him off, politely but technically out-of-line:

“Sir, don’t pair me with that beast.”

“Sir... requesting permission to partner with the griffin this evening.”

Everyone in the room looked at the two speakers, who were standing side-by-side. A murmur overcame the crowd, but our sergeant frowned and held up a hoof for silence. He scowled at both of the guards who had interrupted him, but instead of rebuking them for it, he focused on the issue they brought up. “Okay, then. Officer Gilda, your partner for the evening is Officer Scabbard, not Shield.”

I looked at the colt who had volunteered to be my patrol partner; with a slight reel, I decided that the only thing I liked less than someone who was unwilling to pair up with a ‘beast’ was someone who was overeager to do it. I had eight hours to try and discern what sort of angle he was playing, but I was already wary and making guesses as to what it was.

After I had a partner, though, the planning segment of the evening was settled in fairly short order. We were assigned our patrols; Officer Scabbard – the last name of ‘Empty Scabbard’ – and I were assigned to a patrol that was right on the edge of the Artisan and Market districts. My favorite place to be at night, I thought. My patrol route was one of the two that passed through the Market Square; based on the schedule we were keeping, I realized that I had just missed the patrol when I got there for my duel with Starfall.

Lucky me.

At any rate, Officer Scabbard and I fell into ‘formation’, which was basically a line of pairs of guards. We marched out of the citadel and to the north, at various intersections, pairs of guards would leave our line to start on their patrols. As we did it, I noted the grace and intricacy of the formation and wondered why we didn’t do that in the morning. I came to the conclusion that it had something to do with schedules, and decided I wouldn’t try to learn the specific reason from Iron; the actual reason was probably some long, drawn-out procedure that was also overly complicated for something so simple.

I spent the first half hour of my patrol trying to make small talk with Officer Scabbard, but he didn’t make it easy. Every time I asked him a question, he’d respond with as simple an answer as possible. I still didn’t know what his deal was, but I could take a hint well enough: He wanted to be my partner, but he didn’t want to talk to me.

With conversation out of the picture, I instead focused on being alert and watching out for suspicious-looking ponies. Between the bars and the run-down apartment complexes in the Artisan District, there were plenty of those, though, so I quickly revised my criteria from ‘suspicious’ to ‘actively breaking the law’.

It was still tiring work, and the coffee definitely wore off around midnight. Our shift included a quick break around three o’ clock to eat or use the bathroom or whatever, so I miserably shuffled along as I kept an eye on where I was going and the dwindling number of ponies who were still outdoors that evening. There was a city-wide curfew at two o’clock, so the last hour leading up to my break was especially miserable – no one was out that late, so there wasn’t even that to distract me from tedious vigilance.

When the clock tower finally struck the halfway point of our shift, I turned to Officer Scabbard and said, “I need some cof–”

My partner wasn’t there.

Instinctively, I stopped and looked around for some trace of him. I knew for a fact that I was on the correct patrol; there was a fairly long stretch in the Artisan district that didn’t turn until a block away from the northern wall, and that was just over five blocks still. There weren’t any diners or bars nearby that he might have ducked into, either, and that concerned me: I had just seen him out of the corner of my eye. Now, he had disappeared.

I came to terms with the situation as quickly as I could: I was alone in one of the not-so-great parts of Farrington. My gut reaction was to find another patrol and ask them for assistance. Sure, they weren’t thrilled with me as an individual, but at the same time, based on the sheer amount of coordination that the night patrols required, I was pretty sure that I didn’t want to stay alone for too long.

The nearest patrol to me, then, was several blocks west. I turned left to meet up with them; the longer I was alone, the more sure I was that I didn’t want to stay that way.

As I ran through the streets of the city, I was driven by a rare sense of duty – honor. In what amounted to a bona fide, down-to-earth moment of clarity, I realized the money wasn’t worth it to keep silent, and I needed to try and put a stop to everything that was happening that night.

From there, it would be a simple matter of getting to my apartment, lying low for a few hours, and then getting the hell out of Farrington to move on with my life and start over someplace. First, though, I needed to square things away so that maybe, someday in the future, I might be able to live with myself.

Now, that didn’t mean I was going to go around showing my face to everyone and telling them how much I had to do with everything, either. The challenge became finding a way to stop what I had helped to start, and to do it without letting anyone involved know that I was a part of it in the first place. I mean, they’d find out eventually, but I just needed to buy a few hours so I could get out of town.

I wasn’t that good of a planner, coordinator, or even a blackjack player, but as I ran to the northern part of the Market District – the opposite direction from my home – I thought of one colt I thought could do something about it. He wasn’t in the Guard, true, but he still had a good sense of justice and an even better combat training regimen. If I woke him up, he’d probably go looking for a guard to report suspicious behavior, and from there...

I hoped to Luna I was right about his ability to hold himself in a fight, but then again, it wasn’t like I was going to stick around in Farrington to hear the outcome, either...

I woke up when someone pounded on my front door. At three-fifteen in the morning. I hoped to Luna that whoever it was had a good reason; otherwise, my door wasn’t the only thing that was going to have several hoof-shaped dents in it.

Comet woke up next to me and groaned, “Who’s at the door so late?”

I rolled out of bed as elegantly as possible and grabbed my knife, the sheath of which was now reattached to its harness, off the nightstand. “Someone who had better have a damned good reason.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Star,” she chided me, as always, about the knife.

Instead of throwing her comment back in her face by reminding her how stupid it would be to answer the door unarmed this late at night, I simply grunted agreement. She was right, in a way; I wasn’t the happiest pony in Equestria when my sleep got disturbed.

The pounding didn’t repeat itself, which was a small favor; from the sounds of it, Hailey and Moonshine were still asleep, but I didn’t know if that would last another round of knocking. When I got to our foyer, I debated the best way of opening the door; I settled on doing it as quickly as possible.

No one was on the landing.

Granted, that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone waiting outside, just out of sight. I recognized the thought as idle paranoia, but at the same time, there was a thin, blurry line between paranoia and preparedness. I unsheathed my knife and used it as a mirror to slowly check both sides of the landing, but no one was lying in wait, either.

Finally, I risked sticking my head outside to look around. When I checked our yard, the first thing I saw was that the front gate was hanging open, despite my nightly ritual of closing it, but there wasn’t anyone in the street. That only added to my level of concern, though: they might still be around my house, lurking at a window or something.

“Who was it?” my wife asked in a quiet voice behind me that almost made me jump out of my skin.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “Check the lock on the back door and get the kids in the living room; I’m going to look around outside.”

“You think it’s some sort of ambush?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, turning to face her. “But better safe than sorry, huh?”

She nodded briefly, turned on the light in the living room, and left to go wake our children. If I ever found out who was responsible for this... I shook my head. Anger wouldn’t solve anything. I needed my intuition now.

I stepped outside, locking the door behind me, and started looking around for signs of my unwanted guest. If it was some burglar, he had picked the wrong house to target. I honestly couldn’t think of any sort of pleasant alternative to him being a thief, but I fueled that disgust into alertness as I searched the perimeter of my house...

My goal to meet up with another patrol hit a roadblock – literally. There was a huge stack of crates and barrels that were blocking the entire street. It was at least fifteen feet high, so I wouldn’t be able to clear it in a single jump – maybe if I used my wings, but I still wasn’t completely clear on the rules of how that worked. I thought about climbing over, but that only reminded me of another disturbing truth: I had gone down that very road earlier that night, and it had been clear less than an hour ago.

Someone had put obstacles in my path, and I didn’t like that one bit.

With a sigh, I looked around again. If it was some sort of trap or message or something, I didn’t want to expose my back to the rest of the street where an unknown adversary might be hiding. Climbing was out of the question, then, and I still hadn’t found my partner, so I was desperately alone. Now, the best option to continue west toward another patrol had been blocked.

The next-best route, then, was to cut through a fairly long alleyway nearby that let out in the north, roughly two blocks away from a new patrol route that I could meet up with. I didn’t like the feeling that I was being herded, but I was getting anxious from being alone, so I muttered, “Was soll’s,” and entered into the alley. There were a few lit torches in it, which struck me as both curious and fortuitous; I didn’t like the idea of walking alone through a dark alley. In the flickering light, though, I could see that there wasn’t anyone in it, which further set my mind at ease. The only thing in the alley was a sizable amount of crates and barrels. Here, though, they weren’t obstructing the path; they were simply piled behind various buildings, and they probably held supplies for the businesses that were ran inside.

About three quarters of the way through the alley, I heard hooffalls behind me. My first thought was that Officer Scabbard had finally caught up with me, so I turned around to ask him just where the hell he had gotten to.

Instead, I was met with a colt who was instantly familiar, yet I had no idea from where. He was almost the same color as Dash, if slightly darker; however, unlike her mane, his was a solid, bright red that made me think of fire because of how the torchlight was hitting it.

His eyes scared me. Before I got a chance to dwell on that fact, though, he began speaking in a thick accent that, again, was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “Good evenin’, Officer Griffin.” He smiled broadly at me, but combined with his eyes and the strange sense of deja vu that I now felt, it was a more unsettling gesture than if he had pulled out a weapon.

It reminded me of Father, and that gave me as good a reason as any to shorten my time with this individual. I swallowed my fear and spoke as boldly as I could, “You are out past curfew. Go back to your home or I will place you under arrest.”

He laughed. It was deep, almost merry, which made me feel it was genuine, but that didn’t do any favors for my outlook on the situation. Anyone who straight-up laughed at a guard’s threat wasn’t going to be easy to bring to compliance.

As soon as I thought it, I realized where I knew this individual from. He saved me any doubts, though. “You clearly don’ know who you’re dealin’ with, Officer Griffin. Allow me t’introduce myself: I am Red ‘ooves, buisinesscolt extraordinaire, and master o’ this fair ci’y.”

Despite my situation, I couldn’t help myself. “Huh. I thought that was some filly up in city hall.”

Red Hooves gave me a wink and a grin. “Ci’y Hall and me, we’ve got a bit o’ agreement. I’d go inta details, but I don’ wan’ t’ bore you, Officer Griffin.” Every time he referred to me as that, he lowered his mouth slightly to make more direct eye contact with me. It annoyed me on several levels. “But you’re a bright gal, from wha’ I hear. I’ll bet you don’ need two guesses as t’ why we’re ‘ere.”

“I arrested your sister.” I nodded. I didn’t know what his specific plans were, but I was definitely ready to end this confrontation.

I took a step towards him, and his smile hardened into a glare. His accent dropped into a cold, murderous tone. “Now, now, there’s no reason not to be civil, is there? I just want to say my piece and we’ll go from there, right?” I was confused, but he continued before I had a chance to reply. “Now, I believe in ‘onesty above all other things, Officer Griffin.” He clenched his jaw that time, but he continued on with, “That’s why I’m here with you now; I don’t want you having thoughts like I’m doing what I’ve planned for fun. But Bulwark, he’s got someone I love locked away, see. So I figure, we can make things nice ‘n square, if I get someone he loves. His sister’s a shut-in in this city, though, which makes her hard-to-get. That leaves you ‘n the pegasus, and I figure you’re more likely than he is to think about what I’m about to offer. And if not that, then at least you’re more directly involved anyway.”

My stomach felt like it dropped a foot. Despite his faux-polite demeanor, he wanted to take me hostage. I was torn between how much I hated that idea and how thick this colt’s head had to be that he thought he was going to be a threat to me, unarmed, to a point where I would actually comply. “Thanks, but I’ve got a better idea for a solution to your sibling troubles. You miss your sister? Let’s go visit her. You’re under arrest.”

I walked towards him, but from above me, I heard the echoing sound of crossbows being drawn. I didn’t know enough about them to recognize their model by sound alone, but if they were anything like the crossbows that the Guard used, they were hoof-mounted sleeves that, because of the lever built into the firing mechanism, could fire at a steady, deadly rate. I stopped walking mid-step. Red Hooves burst out laughing again, and I finally recognized it as a condescending laugh. “Do you really think I came to this little meetin’ under-prepared? Please, Officer Griffin, please. Right now, you’ve got two options: come peaceably, or we’re gonna get a bit... nasty.”

The alley exploded all around me, and about a dozen ponies – mostly colts, but I saw at least two fillies in the mix – burst out from inside crates and doorways. They were all carrying some sort of weapon: maces, swords... one of the fillies had what looked like three chains tied together. Within a matter of seconds, I was surrounded by the small army. What disturbed me more, though, was the distant sound of a fight. Red Hooves heard it too, and he commented with a broad smile, “Well, well, well. Looks like your friends have run into a bi’ of trouble themselves, huh? I guess that makes you all alone, Officer Griffin, and there’s fourteen of us. So...” He started speaking with his accent again. “Wha’s i’ gonna be then, eh?”

I thought about his question for a moment. I was desperately surrounded, and these ponies wanted to take me prisoner. It would probably be suicide to resist, but at the same time, there was no telling what level of hell lay in store for me if I was the hostage to a criminal organization. If there had been one thing that I was reminded of in reading my tribe’s histories, it was that, compared to being kept alive, death wasn’t the worst fate one could endure.

Plus, I didn’t like the idea of simply ‘accepting fate’. I wasn’t going to kill any of these ponies, not if I could help it – there was a difference in killing for food and killing a thinking, knowing being – but I sure as hell wasn’t going to go down without a fight, either.

That was even if it came to a fight – I figured that, with a hard and fast enough push, I could get through the ponies in front of me, they’d be behind me, and I could try my luck at outrunning them. The crossbows on the roof of the buildings on either side of the alley worried me, but I figured that the farrier’s apprentice hadn’t scrimped on materials when he reforged my armor. As long as they didn’t hit me in the neck, I’d probably live long enough to get help, but again, it all depended on how fast I could run. My gauntlets would help in that regard; I just had to make a decisive move.

I surveyed the hoof stances of the ponies in front of me, looking for weakness or something that would reduce balance. They were all standing on three hooves so they could hold their weapons, but I saw one stance that was a bit too wide in the front and narrow in the back.

I had a target, so now I just needed to buy some surprise. I tried a tactical feint: I shut my eyes and shook my head, clearly stating, “Neither of those options. You...” I opened my eyes and gestured to everyone around me. “All of you are now under arrest.”

The gale of laughter that my response drew was perfect; in a flash, I pounced on the colt with the unsteady stance. I figured I could hedge my bets slightly by disabling him, so I bit into his shoulder socket as quickly as I could. It was intellectually disgusting but familiar in a primal sense. At any rate, I severed his tendon before pulling my beak out and jumping over him in a mad sprint down the alleyway.

The ponies on the rooftops were quick. I had barely cleared the colt when I heard the clattering of a bolt deflecting off the cobblestones behind me. Before I could register the luck of a miss, I heard a metallic blow and felt a sharp pain in my left wing: I had been shot. From the feel of it, the bolt didn’t pass through the second level of armor, beneath my wing and the wing guard, but that only meant that my wing was now pinned to my armor. I couldn’t fly, which was a shame, because I just realized that flying at a low altitude would be faster than running. With flight out of the question, though, at least I had adrenaline from the injury that made it easier to run.

I heard a gust of compressed air, and seconds later, there was a fluid weight that tangled around me, especially my legs. Finally, I tripped, and lamented that, while the net guns that the Farrington Guard used were good for grounding flying targets, they were also effective against fleeing ground-based ones. I fought to get out of the net, but struggling only made it worse. In a matter of seconds, I was completely and totally trapped, and I began to despair.

I finished searching the neighbors’ and my back yards; no one was in them. Optimistically, I wanted to call it a prankster and go back to sleep, but realistically, that wouldn’t happen. Someone had disturbed my family’s rest, and I would not stand for it.

On that note, I went back to check how they were doing. Inside our living room, Comet was sitting on the couch with our two children. As soon as they saw me, they came over to me and asked what was the matter.

I weighed the truth versus my desire to not scare them; in the end, I settled on, “Someone knocked on our door and ran away. It’s probably nothing, but I want you two to stay with your mother while I tell the guards in this area about it.”

“But–”

“No buts,” I interrupted. Looking at my wife, I told her, “I’ll be back shortly, they’re probably on the main drag as we speak.”

She nodded, and I made sure the knife’s harness was tight around my shoulders before I turned to walk out into the streets of Farrington.

I calmed myself down as quickly as I could; it would only make things worse if I wasted time complaining. However, I also had a hard time appreciating my armor at that moment. Sure, it was a great gift, and yes, it made walking bearable, but in that situation, the gauntlets only served as a blunt metal barrier between my talons and my bonds.

Of course, Red Hooves and his group were already rushing over to me. I had gotten a good head start in running away from them, but I was currently immobilized, so they would be upon me shortly. I was done panicking, though, so I worked calmly to get myself free. I compacted my shoulders, and worked my right gauntlet up to my beak as best as I could. It was a painstakingly slow and deliberate process, but I knew better than to try and rush it. As I worked on freeing myself from that net, I was reminded of an instance of ‘training’ with my father, one that had ended with me exhausted and bruised, but luckily, not broken.

He stepped back to admire his work, and I tried not to glare as I stood back up. “You hate me,” he said with relish. “I see it on your pathetic face as clearly as I can see the leaves on the trees. As amusing as it is, your hate is good. You hate me now, but just know that one day, there will be those who intend to hurt you.”

I got the gauntlet to my beak and shredded the leather strap. I bit one of the metal fingers and pulled my hand free, grateful that I could now start to work on the ropes of the net.

His words did nothing to assuage my resentment. “Why... who...” I tried to speak, but I was winded from about six punches too many to my diaphragm.

Progress was slow at first, but after I got a big enough hole to free my arm, I just had to work on cutting all the ropes in a row until I could fit my head and other shoulder through. I heard the crowd of Fast Hooves’ army drawing closer; they were less than thirty feet away now.

“Why?” he asked in an amused tone. “You are too young to understand. Or perhaps, you are selfish and want to know ‘why me?’ If that is the case, name a sister, and I will gladly rid our race of your ineptitude.”

I got free of the net and turned around to face my assailants. They were about ten feet away from me. Red Hooves held up a hoof to stop everyone, but when he spoke, his eyes were flared and his accent was replaced by flat tone of hatred. “Last chance, half-breed. If you make my boys shoot again, I’m gonna let ‘em know t’ shoot for the kill. Ransom’s easier than you’re making it; don’t make me choose an easier target.”

I came in low and fast on his left, where he couldn’t see well, if at all. He moved to dodge but I hadn’t been aiming to hit him, but to grapple. I got behind his head and brought my right hand down, hoping to injure his good eye. Before it landed, though, he grabbed my wrist and swung me to the ground like a club. He chuckled “It is good you have someone to fight for. But always remember to choose your battles wisely. Some are worth fighting. Others...” He twisted his hand, snapping my wrist. “Will only bring pain.”

My eyes darted across the rooftops. There were three ponies up there; two had crossbows, one of them had the huge, metal tube of a now-spent net launcher. The two with crossbows had set up flanking positions, and were now directly to my right and left. They were the real threat; as long as I didn’t get surrounded again, the melee-range ponies on the ground would be... not easy, not in that volume, but certainly manageable.

I could run, I realized, but Red Hooves’ literal threat also worried me. I didn’t want someone else to pay the price for my failure to win a fight. It was either me or someone else. At that thought, anger welled up at that colt, a lowlife piece of criminal scum, who dared to threaten me, my boyfriend, the citizens in my city... it was an anger that I thought I had forgotten, but now, I welcomed it like an old friend and wore it like a second suit of armor.

If Red Hooves wanted to kill me, I could show him just how hard it was for a mud-borne Beute to kill a Sky Lord.

Fury tinted my vision, and I realized I could kill them all if I wanted. A tiny shred of restraint held me back, though; that would probably result in my death, too. Instead, I released a centuries-old battle cry, shrieking like an eagle. The ponies in front of me shrank back slightly, afraid of their superior; as the sound echoed through the night, I had no illusions that there was a single guard in the city that hadn’t heard me. From a tactical standpoint, the battle was already won: There would be reinforcements soon, and Red Hooves wouldn’t be able to escape.

Until then, I had a score to settle. I grabbed the bolt in my wing, and pulled it out. It hurt even more coming out, but the pain steeled my will, and I needed my wing for what I was about to do.

“Officer Griffin...” Red Hooves warned in what I guessed was his version of a polite tone.

“Mein Name,” I hissed, “ist Gilda.”

I whipped the crossbow bolt at the colt on the roof to my right before darting off to the left. At that point, I still didn’t know the legal difference between flying and jumping, but I wasn’t really drowning in options, so I flapped my wings in a giant leap up to the ledge of the roof on the left. Using one hand to steady myself, I grabbed the forelimb of the colt there with the other. I was rewarded with a sharp pain in my back; the other colt had hit me. I was alive, though, so I pulled my victim down to the street, right into the crowd that had formed below me. I landed with one foot in his groin, but even before his breath escaped him in a yelp, I sank my right hand’s talons into his shoulder. He was thoroughly disabled; even if he stood back up, he couldn’t wield a weapon unless he wanted to break his neck trying to swing a sword in his mouth.

I stood back up, and the crowd quickly recovered from having one of their own thrown at them, but not quickly enough. They started to close in, so I grabbed my baton with my left hand, ready to meet them. There was still another colt with a crossbow to worry about, but he still had to reset his weapon, so I had a few seconds’ break from his danger.

Two colts came at me, one from the side, one from the front. I hit the one on my left across the eye with my baton before turning, sinking my right hand into the other colt’s shoulder, and jumping with my back legs. I flapped my wings as I leaped over him, severing his shoulder socket’s tendon in the process. I landed as the two I injured started screaming; now, there were three colts and a filly near me.

I swiped my claws across one colt’s face. As he screamed, the colt next to him swung a mace,  but it was slow and easy to dodge – but I stepped right into the arc of the filly’s chains as she swung them. They hit my left elbow, causing me to drop my baton in pain. The chains wrapped, and she pulled me in, but I let her; seconds later, she was on the ground and unable to move her impotently-twitching forelimb.

I saw movement on the roof where the crossbow-wielding colt was, so without thinking, I used my right hand to grab the chains off my arm and fling them at him. They flew over his head as I threw a left-handed punch at someone’s face, so I didn’t hit him, but it was enough to make him duck, which bought me some more time.

Now that I was without my baton, I bit the strap of my left hand’s gauntlet to let me fight with my talons. I still didn’t want to kill these ponies, but it would be easier to disable them with my talons than with punching. Two colts emerged from the edge of the group and now stood between me and the roof. Another pony came at me from my left, so I dove forward and in between the colts in front of me. Using my wings to stand up in a spin, I backhanded one in the temple and swiped the other one’s face. At the end of my maneuver, I used the momentum to hurl my gauntlet at the colt on the roof. It missed.

I’ll have to deal with you in close-quarters, I mused as I jumped up to pull the colt down off the roof. He was smart, though, and he pulled back; without a second thought, I pulled myself up to the ledge, right as he shot his crossbow at me. The bolt hit my arm, which would have been agony if I weren’t enraged, but I flapped my wings to get me up on the roof with him.

“That’s cheating!” he yelled, and I rewarded his stupidity by merely grappling him and throwing him over the ledge. The other colt on the roof swung the net launcher at me, but I dodged it and sunk both of my hands into his shoulders before throwing him down to the alleyway as well.

With the roof support taken care of, it was time to focus on my main target: Red Hooves. I felt myself calming down slightly, which was not what I wanted. The clarity of reason reminded me that, according to procedure, I had given him a warning, so he was technically in the ‘resisting arrest’ stage of things; however, he still hadn’t crossed the line where ‘lethal force’ would be authorized. I would have to subdue him the old-fashioned way.

I looked down at the crowd; they were huddled around the building’s base, and there were nine of them – Red Hooves and eight of his lackeys – remaining that weren’t blinded or disabled. In order to get myself ready for the fight, I pulled the bolt out of my arm and spat on the wound; the pain helped bring back some of my earlier furor. Red Hooves was hiding like a coward behind his troops, so I decided that the simplest attack would be to glide over everyone and hit him from behind. I got ready to jump...

At the last second, someone threw a sword at me.

It didn’t hit me, but it threw me off-balance; instead of a giant leap, I simply fell into the crowd. I recovered as quickly as I could and got both a colt’s and a filly’s shoulders in the process, but the sheer mass of everyone made it difficult to move, let alone dodge blows. Someone hit me in the head, another in the back; someone hit me in the elbow, and my rage finally abandoned me. My legs gave out, and I dropped to the ground.

The colts – there weren’t any fillies left – piled around and on top of me. Not content to have finally beaten me, they proceeded to bludgeon me some more. I tried to struggle, to resist, but the pain and weight of everyone became too much. I went limp, finally admitting defeat.

To their honor’s credit, the colts didn’t keep hitting me for that much longer. Once they stopped, I felt my wrists being bound together, and someone tied my feet together. They at least had the decency to bind my wings to my body instead of breaking them, but they had to rip the bolt out of my back in the process. It hurt like hell, but I had felt worse.

When they were finally done with their knots, I could barely breathe, let alone move. Red Hooves took his victory in a smarmy manner. Leaning in next to my face, he gloated, “Well, well, well. You’re quite the fighter, eh?” I snapped at him, but he pulled back and chuckled. “But no matter, le’s get the lioness to ‘er cage, then.”

“What about everyone else?” one of the other colts asked.

“No time. They knew what they were gettin’ into. Get the weapons ‘n they’ll go to hospital, not prison.”

After Red Hooves finished abandoning his injured troops, I felt myself being hoisted up onto the backs of pair of colts. When the colts that weren’t carrying me were done gathering weapons, we all started heading... north, I noted, but it wasn’t as if that was helpful knowledge at that point. I began to despair: I was going to be held prisoner, and Iron was going to have to choose between my life and his job.

I didn’t know what scared me more: That I didn’t know which option he would choose, or that I didn’t know which one I wanted him to choose.

Red Hooves was relentless with his gloating, now that I was captive. His faux-accent returned when he mocked, “Lookit you, screamin’ like a bird, not no-one showed up t’ help. Makes me ‘ope you’re even worth somethin’ as ransom; otherwise, we’ll have t’ find some other way t’ make up for the nuisance you’ve been.” I just glared at the road ahead of me, trying not to think about what that was supposed to mean.

Instead, I tried to make peace with death, because one way or another, I felt that it was in my near future. I had many regrets, things I should have done sooner, things I should have said to the individuals that were close to me. I regretted that, if I was going to die, I didn’t at least have the chance to see my family one last time. On the contrary, I was probably going to die underground in some sort of a cage.

When the mob that was escorting me to my tomb was about to reach the intersection, I saw Starfall gallop past the opening of the alleyway. Or at least, he almost did. Instead of running past, he gave a confused sneer that quickly turned to rage. The crowd that had taken me hostage stopped for a moment, and finally, Starfall turned to face us with his hoof on his knife.

“You are all going to cease and desist at once,” he spat.

Red Hooves sounded overjoyed. “Or wha’, ex-Lieutenan’, no’-yet-Sergean’ Starfall? You’ll arres’ us?”

“Fights are breaking out all over the city. Two guards are dead, and here you are... taking... a third. I’ll let the courts settle this one; it’s a citizen’s arrest.”

“It’s one-on-seven, son. You don’t stand a chance.”

One of my captors drew a sword and put it near my neck. “Get out of the way, fly boy, or you’ll take her place.”

I didn’t even see Starfall’s hoof move as the captor fell away from me, gurgling with a knife sticking out of his throat. I was still alive, but Starfall was already running, unarmed, towards the now-six colts that were holding me captive.

In response to his attack, the two that were holding up let me fall, and I heard the clattering of weapons as the other colts dropped their loads. I landed on my back, so my world was dazzling in pain and upside-down as Starfall rolled through the attackers, pulled his knife out of the dead colt’s throat, and cut my bonds in a quick motion. He was rougher than he probably should have been, and I got cut on my feet and one wing, but when I flexed, the bonds slithered away loosely.

Without wasting any more time, I ripped two colts’ shoulders as Starfall performed a similar action with his knife to a third.

The last two colts near us looked at each other before dropping onto the ground, prostrate, in a gesture of surrender.

We had won.

Except for one fairly-important detail: Red Hooves was missing.

Turning around, I saw him behind us, running south. Starfall told me, “I can’t arrest him if I catch him. Go.”

Every muscle in my body screamed protest, but I tried to take a step. Without adrenaline, though, I was completely spent.

The crossbow that was on the ground next to me wasn’t, though.

I picked it up and set it; there was already a bolt in the firing mechanism. I tried to use it with my bare hands, but it was made to be worn, not held. I managed to fit my right arm through it so I could fire it with my wrist, but by that point, Red Hooves was at least a hundred feet away.

I had no idea how accurate the weapon was supposed to be, but I lined up the sights as best as I could, aiming for his right knee. I aimed above him, figuring gravity would have something to do with the equation, and I twisted my wrist to fire the hopefully-incapacitating bolt at Red Hooves.

It hit him square in the groin.

Or, I imagine... all things considered, his tail was blocking my view. Wherever I hit him, though, the effect was immediate. Instead of continuing to run, he fell forward, on his stomach, before he jerked onto his side in a fetal position. He threw up, and I figured that the only reason that I couldn’t hear his screaming was because he didn’t have enough breath in his lungs for it.

Behind me, I heard Starfall half-shudder, half-cough before saying, “Ah, r... really?”

I was about to retort, but I saw another pair of officers turn the bend at the southern end of the alley and start galloping toward us. Their presence raised an interesting question, though, so I asked Starfall, “What now?”

He gave me a serene grin and pointed at them. “Those guards are going to arrest everyone properly, and take us all down to the citadel.”

I nodded before it dawned on me and I shook my head, “Wait, us?”

Starfall nodded back. “Citizens’ arrests are one thing, but vigilantism is a crime. Don’t worry about me, though.” He pointed at the guards at the other end of the alley, “Once they secure the scene, you should get to the hospital.”

It was good advice, and I tried to take it, but the rest of that night was a blur. Pain and exhaustion took their toll on me, and everything turned foggy and distant. Eventually, I made my way to Farrington General, and the nurse or whoever helped me to a room, even though I was bleeding from at least four different injuries. My last thought before I fell asleep was how I was going to pay for my bills, but as the darkness welcomed me, I decided that I didn’t care too much.

*        *        *

The sun was up and peeking in through the window when I woke up on my side. Iron was there and dressed in his captain’s regalia, but instead of greeting me with words, he leaned down in a kiss. I turned to meet him, but he broke away before things got too heavy.

“Starfall told me what happened. Are you okay?”

I ran my hands over my limbs; nothing was broken, but the more I woke up, the more I felt that I had a substantial headache. “I’ll be fine. What about everything else? Red Hooves?” I tried sitting up, but the world started spinning, so Iron pushed me back down, firmly, but gently.

He rubbed my shoulder through the bed sheet I was under and told me, “There’s still some work to do, but from what I can tell, you’ve gone two for three on imprisoning the Hooves siblings.”

“Three?” I suppressed a groan.

“Don’t worry. From what I recall, the third moved far away from here with her daughter, and aside from being their half-sister, she has nothing to do with them.”

That was good enough for me. I didn’t want to have any more run-ins with that family if I could help it. “And Starfall?”

“Managed to delay his return to the Guard by at least a month, but as he was following Guard protocol despite not wearing the armor, I doubt his sentence is going to be anything serious. Which is good; we lost three guards last night, I wouldn’t want to lose another due to valiance.”

Something about his tone caused me to question what he meant, but before I could ask, he brought up a small bag from a bakery. “I promised you breakfast, though I didn’t want it to be like this.” He set the bag on my bedside table, and I nodded at it.

Iron couldn’t stay for long, though; his shift was starting. We kissed good-bye as well as we could manage, given our positions, and then I was alone again.

I ignored whatever baked good that Iron left me, though, and fell back asleep almost instantly.

*        *        *

I woke up when Sherry coughed, and though it was weird to have her sitting where Iron had been sitting when I woke up the first time, I was more perplexed by her expression. “Uh... hi?” I tried, still trying to make out whether she was going to hug me or punch me.

“Twelve ponies, injured or dead, in an altercation last night. That you were part of. My officer. Do you have any idea what that’s going to look like on paper?”

“Like a cheesy fight scene from a book?” I offered. I didn’t know whether I was on-duty or not, but I decided that I didn’t care to be berated for the consequences of my actions.

Instead of responding, though, Sherry stood up and hugged me, again, as best as she could manage given that I was lying on my side. I was perplexed before I remembered that I had arrested the colt who had killed her boyfriend a few years ago. I tried to pat her on the back, but my talons sliced through the bed sheet, so I just put my arm back down.

She whispered a quiet “Thank you” before breaking away, and after that, she snapped open her saddlebags and pulled out some documents. In a louder, deathly-serious voice, she told me, “You will help me through all this shit, though.”

I sat up and the room stayed in one place this time, so I nodded back at her. Together, we started to sort through the aftermath of my night on the Farrington Guard.

I looked at Starfall through the glass in the Farrington Jail’s visiting room.

It had been almost nine hours since he came home for a few minutes to tell me where he was going, but I was still having trouble wrapping my mind around the situation. My husband was in jail after killing someone. Granted, it was in defense of an officer – Officer Gilda, no less – and he had made several efforts to let me know what was going on, but still, it was a rather pressing situation. Visiting hours were at one o’ clock, so now was the first time that I could finally ask him, “So... what happened?”

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Where do you want me to begin?”

I fought to keep from glaring as I told him the obvious, “How about starting with what happened after you left our home?”

Starfall nodded and leaned in towards the holes in the glass so he could speak in a lower voice. I mirrored his movement so I could hear him. He told me about how, during his search for a guard, he came across the corpses of two; after that, he went to investigate what sounded like a sword fight, but he was distracted by a piercing screech. It then boiled down to a desperate, ‘I killed him or he would kill her’ situation, and now he was here, in jail.

When he finished his explanation, I sat back up straight and shook my head slowly, almost in disbelief. Starfall took that as a prompt to sit up and start defending himself with, “I already told you I’m sorry, but I’ll tell you again: I’m sorry. But at the same time, once I got to the scene, I wasn’t going to just stand around and do nothing. I mean–”

“Star,” I interrupted. “I’m not mad at you over this.”

His eyes widened. “You’re not?”

This time, I did glare at him. “You want me to be?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “But I thought you might be, is all.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well, I can’t say I’m thrilled about you being locked up, but out of every scenario I can think of where you end up behind bars, this definitely...” I shook my head. “I mean, you’re... a guard, and you killed a criminal in the middle of committing a crime.”

“Well, technically...” He paused to roll his eyes. “Technically, I didn’t start my first shift until Monday, nor was I wearing my armor, so I’m being tried as a citizen.”

“That’s a load of crap. Can’t Iron–”

Starfall shook his head. “He already looked into it. He can’t retroactively deputize me, which was the closest sort of a save he could do, given the situation.”

I shrugged. “Well, then, what’s going to happen?”

He let out a sigh that almost sounded ashamed. “Iron’s going to help out as much as he can. He pulled some strings with a judge who owes him a favor to get my bail hearing moved to tomorrow, so unless that’s some ridiculous amount, I should be able to come home soon.”

At the mention of money, I felt my stomach churn. “And what–”

“Iron said he’ll take care of it for now, and help out with groceries and stuff until the dust settles.”

I hadn’t really noticed that I had been on the verge of tears, but apparently, that was the tipping point for me. I shut my eyes as I broke down, and heard Starfall say, “Hey, hey,” followed by a loud bang that startled my eyes back open.

On the other side of the glass, Starfall was standing on the counter and frowning slightly at his hoof; apparently, he had hit it on the glass which, to the credit of the ponies who made it, didn’t break. In spite of the situation, I chuckled quietly at his gusto. He gave me a warm smile in return, and assured me, “It’s going to be okay.”

I believed him.

There was a moment of silence after that, which he finally broke by asking, “Where are the kids?”

“I left them with Hard Hat for the afternoon, so probably playing with her son.”

A concerned look came over Starfall, and his voice turned grave. “You should probably get back to them right after this... Iron thinks there’s a chance of some sort of retaliatory strike from Red Hooves, so if they went after his girlfriend...”

I cut him off with a nod. “Okay, then.”

“Iron also asked if he and his sister can stay the night at our place, just to be sure. I said yes, but he wants to ask you personally.”

“Okay, I’ll stop by the south gate, but that’s no problem. Did he tell you when his sister’s going to show up?”

At five o’ clock, I left the post office, hating my brother.

Or... at least, I hated all of the crap he was pulling. He had come into the post office a little after noon, talked to Mr. McFeely, and now I was on vacation for a few weeks. I hated that job, but it was my job; Iron didn’t have the right to just waltz in and get me fired.

That would’ve been bad enough, but then he mentioned how he might be ‘putting me up’ in a hotel in Hoofington with Comet and ‘maybe Starfall’ for the next few weeks. I almost lost it at that, but he backed down pretty quickly. He still wanted me to go to their house after work, though, and he had been pretty adamant about that, so I agreed to that.

I headed to the north end of town, ‘being careful’, but not really worrying: during the day, there were enough guards on the main drag of Farrington where nothing was going to happen. After I crossed the main intersection of Farrington, though, I stepped into a bar. I didn’t even care anymore; if Iron had a problem with a drink or two after he uprooted my entire life, he could get stuffed.

Ten minutes and three shots later, I was feeling better, a little. But a little too better. So, I had to make sure not to, uh, stumble. I wasn't drunk, but if I started walking funny, then someone'd find Iron, then that whole thing again...

Still, it was still his fault for messing me up with everything in the first place.

Suddenly, I saw Iron's old sergeant, or friend, or girlfriend, or whatever they had going on for those few months... Whatever. She was headed towards me, and all I could think was, Well, shit. She was going to pick up on everything, then it'd get back to Iron anyway, then more shouting, and damn it...

After I left the hospital, I ran into Iron’s sister a few blocks away. She and Iron lived in the eastern part of the Residential District, so I was somewhat curious as to what she was doing so far north. I smiled at her and said hello, but like always, she gave the bare minimum of conversation required to get away – today, it was a rushed, “Hi.” I had heard of her Stalliongrad nightlife, but I didn’t know how true those rumors were. I was almost inclined to dismiss them, based solely on how shy she was. I pushed it out of my mind – I had more important things to do that evening.

For starters, I had two saddlebags that were heavy with all of the damn paperwork from Officer Gilda’s late night debacle. It had been eleven o’ clock when Iron gave me leave from the citadel to go visit Officer Gilda. It was close to six when we were done filling out forms, taking statements, and, despite how wary as I was about making friends with my subordinates, bonding over it.

Special Sergeant Stabler had offered to take over the bureaucratic end, as technically, she was serving under him; however, seeing as how one of his own guards was now being hunted down and two had died, I figured he had enough on his plate.

Plus, Gilda was my officer. I wouldn’t have shirked that responsibility for anything.

I got to the citadel and I took care of business, which was just a quiet manner of dropping off the forms in the appropriate mailbox. They almost didn’t fit, and I had a quiet chuckle at the sheer amount of paper.

Any humor I felt drained from me when I left the citadel, though. I had a difficult decision ahead of me, and even though I had a shift the next day, I already knew that it wasn’t one that I was going to be able to think about while sober. On that front, I stopped at a liquor store on the way back to my home.

Red Hooves was apprehended now. I was aware that Red Hooves was in prison and probably soon going to be sent straight back to Hell. I had also heard that Gilda had made a gelding out of him.

He was still getting off too easy.

In a last-ditch effort, he had tried to wax heroic and offered a full confession, complete with evidence, in exchange for leniency for his twin sister. There was enough evidence, currently, to convict him of attempted kidnapping and assaulting a guard, but those crimes were minute compared to the actual extent of his evil regime. But, they were also crimes that we didn’t have evidence for.

Iron had told me all of this before my shift started because, in his words, it was my choice to make more than anyone else in the Guard. It was that, more than my sense of duty for my underlings, that drove me to visit Officer Gilda in the hospital that morning.

One of the two siblings had killed my husband. I needed to know for sure which one it was before making my decision.

Gilda hadn’t been much help in that regard, though, and in hindsight, it was obvious. She wasn’t a psychologist; she was just someone who had met both of them – briefly, before arresting them. I would be better off asking Iron, or one of the interrogators... Even sober, though, I was slowly coming to the conclusion that I knew what had to be done.

When I got back to my house, I put on my favorite record – our favorite record. It was a slow song, but I remembered how we had used to move the coffee table against the wall and dance in our living room. I blinked back tears; there was so much I would have done with him, so much I would have said, if I had just known that we were going to be taken away from each other so abruptly.

It got too hard to think about, but I had come home prepared for that. Three hours later, I had gotten two-thirds into my first handle of whiskey, and I had come to a depressing realization: It didn’t matter which sibling got an easier sentence. Well, not to me, at least. Nothing was going to bring my husband back. We would never be able to dance or caress or even talk with each other again.

His murderer, whoever it was, was finally captured by the Guard. But it wasn’t enough for me. When I recognized how close I was to ‘justice’ and how far away I was from ‘things being fixed’, all I could do was sit there, get drunk, and weep.

I missed him so much.

I would never see him again.

END CHAPTER TEN