We swear to ensure that our princess’s sun will set at dusk and rise anew at dawn 

―Phrase which is uttered upon the opening of all meetings of the Council of Nobles.

I did not know where I was going, or even what I would do once I got there. All I needed to do was run, to get away from this castle that was little but a prison to me now. I had to be away from all these people, who were so ignorant and yet so powerful as to hold sway over the most basic emotions and thoughts.

I did not know how, but in my daze I suddenly became aware of the clear blue sky above. This did little to slow me, as I continued to run.

Soon, a more logical part of my mind became aware of a spectrum of colours streaming past me, as I continued to gallop forward.

For the first time since I arrived here in Equestria, I felt free. As long as I continued to run, there could be nothing but the sky above, and the people that surrounded me and yet moved so slow. As I moved, everything that had plagued me—from my cutie mark, to the party—seemed to float away and be left behind.

I do not know for how long I ran, but gradually I became aware that the blurs around me were beginning to coalesce into the distinct shape of ponies.

Suddenly, my exhaustion hit me, and I could move no more. It was all I could do to collapse with my back up against a building, my breathing coming in shallow gasps and my coat drenched in sweat.

As I sat there, all of my burdens suddenly returned, their weight feeling even greater after the brief shining moment where they had left me. Already, I could feel my mark tugging strongly at the corner of my mind, always urging me to give in and knit.

Examining the city around me, for the first time that was not from a distance, I was struck with just how clean it appeared. Every surface was spotless, and the cobblestones underfoot were so close together, there was barely a join between them.

Evidently, I was in one of the richer districts of Canterlot, as everyone around me wore at least some form of clothing. Even without this, it was clear that nearly all of them were some form of noble. It was hard to grasp how I knew this, but it had something to do with how they carried themselves. All of them walked with a stride that was not too fast as to denote urgency but not too slow as to make them appear that they were wandering. Even two ponies that walked past were so arrogant, that their muzzles were pointed straight up to the sky.

Directly across from me was a cafe, where wealthy patrons sat on cushions and shared in idle banter.

A slight movement attracted my eye. One of the patrons was getting up to go inside, probably off to use the restroom. This was of little interest to me, and I would have quickly lost interest, if not for what he had left behind. The stallion had set his saddlebag down on one of the empty chairs at his table. As he passed by, he accidentally nudged the chair, causing the bag to fall to the ground, and spill open. He either didn’t notice, or care, as he simply continued into the cafe.

Peering into the bag, I caught sight of the unmistakable glint of gold. The bag’s owner had left, and every other pony in the area was completely absorbed in their puerile chatter. Taking a more sweeping inspection of the area, I spotted no guards anywhere. The bag was practically begging me to take it. I was still too tired to even think about simply leaving, and so I was left sitting and staring temptation directly in the face.

After five minutes had passed, the owner of the bag had still not returned, and a moral battle was screaming in my mind.

Stealing was wrong. I had been taught that my entire life, and it was a black and white issue. However, this situation was looking to have quite a shade of grey. I knew that I had no money, and I had no intention to return to the castle to get any. The simple act of eating outside that place required money. Besides, its owner was clearly a noble, if I didn’t take it he’d probably end up just spending it all at the next store he planned to visit.

Logically, it made perfect sense for me to take it. I also knew that if I did, I would be crossing an ethical boundary.

Soon enough, my mind was made up. Slowly I struggled to my feet—my breathing now at a much calmer level—and began to creep over to where my target lay. Every few steps I stopped to look around but the world seemed to go by as normal with little regard to my villainous thoughts.

All the while my mind was screaming at me that this was wrong but my sense of reason one out. Every step closer that I took I cursed Celestia for forcing me to such lows as to become a common thief.

 As soon as I made it I reached inside and withdrew them. It appeared that the coins—or bits as I knew they were called—were inside of a purse that thankfully seemed to have an extra long loop designed to go over someone’s neck. Swiftly I swept the coins back into their bag and pulled the drawstring tight with my teeth, the adrenaline coursing through my veins making me temporarily forget my pride.

Looking around me nervously, it seemed that, just like at the party, I didn’t warrant the attention of those around me, even with my blatantly suspicious behaviour.

I hung the bag around my neck, thankful that I didn’t need to use my mouth any further, and took off at a pace akin to a light jog. Soon, I had once again been engulfed by the crowd, leaving behind the cafe, and its slightly poorer customer.

Trotting along, the coins hung heavy around my neck. At every step, they were sent clinking together, a sound that represented simultaneously my salvation and damnation. With them, I was guaranteed freedom from further royal manipulation, but to obtain them, I had to break one of the most basic tenants of the societal contract.

As I continued, the sound grew louder and louder with each step, taunting me with yet another thing that I had lost to at Celestia’s whim, as did my silent curses against Celestia and her brood.

I soon became aware of a decided shift in the general atmosphere and appearance of my surroundings. Where before, the city was practically immaculate, in this area it seemed much more lived in. The cobblestones were worn down from heavy traffic, and the other surfaces seemed to have a much more greyish tone to them, afforded by many years buildup of dirt and dust.

Perhaps the most drastic tell, however, was the ponies around me now seemed to be as naked as I was. I subconsciously relaxed, now that I no longer stood out so prominently. Though beyond this I payed little attention to them, they were all spectres that I walked past with no fear.

Just as I rounded a corner, I caught sight of a pleasant surprise: a bench. As I drew closer, I noticed another piece of good fortune, the bench’s previous occupant had left behind a newspaper.

As gracefully as I could manage, I seated myself comfortably, and began to examine the paper.

It seemed to be today’s copy of the Equestria Daily. Not my ideal choice for reading material, but it would provide a distraction from the continuous compulsion to knit.

Equestria’s food shortage worsens

The food shortage that originally resulted from the return of Discord took another troubling turn yesterday. Prices of the most basic commodities once again underwent a rise, that left many families struggling to adjust. This latest price increase means that inflation is now at over 100% and will only increase if events continue to unfold with no governmental intervention. Already, Princess Celestia is drafting new amendments to the tax laws that will simultaneously increase the tax on the aristocratic class, whilst providing a tax cut to the lower classes, in a bid to offset the losses that many ponies would otherwise encounter. To quickly counteract this issue, our princess is also planning to make a further proposal before the Council of Nobles to also suspend the coming winter period, to allow for farms to immediately begin a replacement crop which should permit a return to normality by this time next year. Already, farmers have begun to do just that, a widespread testament to their well deserved faith. Many poorer families have already begun a number of different attempts to stave off bankruptcy. One of the most prevalent of these, involves risking feeding on the grass outside of the city limits, though if this trend continues unabated, this will only be a temporary solution and even then many families will not accept the disgrace it represents. More close knit communities...

Though I continued to read, I was now merely skimming over the words, as my mind began to wander. Perhaps I could use some of the money I had stolen to buy some knitting supplies; I had the best idea for a sweater that I was dying to create.

Suddenly I became aware of my own thoughts and a spike of fear punctuated me. My marks influence seemed to be growing ever stronger.

Angrily I threw the paper down onto the ground with as much force as I could muster. After this I made to once again begin my unguided wanderings in the hope that I could lose myself in the mindlessness of travel.

This intention left me, when I caught sight of the building just off to the left of where I was sitting.

It was a bar, made apparent by the sign above its oaken door picturing a frothing tankard.

Though I was never partial to drinking, after the events of the day, I felt that perhaps I could make an exception.

Striding over as quickly as possible, I opened the door and entered.

The room that I found myself in was mostly empty, though I could not be sure if this was owing to the fact that it was only early evening, or the increased prices that the paper mentioned. Huddled in one corner were what appeared to be two lovers, who seemed to be more occupied in staring into each other eyes, than attending to their drinks. Also sitting at a table nearly in the exact centre of the room, were two elderly gentlemen enjoying a drink and almost certainly talking about times long gone.

A musty aroma seemed to permeate the air, and there was a chill, afforded by the rooms chronic lack of windows and stone based structure.

To my right seemed to be the bar itself, behind which stood a fat brown stallion, who obviously liked to sample his own wares a little too much. He wore an enormous black handlebar mustache, to complete his look of a cliched bartender. It surprised me, I didn’t even know ponies could grow facial hair.

All of this was of little interest when taking into account who, or rather what, he was talking to.

Located on my side of the bar was what I could only describe as a griffon, and a very enraged one at that.

Standing at what appeared to be around my height, its body was divided between the head and front claws of an eagle and the remainder of the body belonging to a lion. The feline half was covered in fur a colour that was typical of any lion but it was the eagle part that was interesting. Though its feathers were white it appeared that around it eyes as well as the tips of a few feathers that seemed to form some sort of fringe they were instead coloured a light purple. To complete the image by its sides were two folded wings, coloured only a slightly darker shade than its coat.

“Look, all I want is a cider,” it spoke in a clearly irritated voice, “just give me one, and I’ll be happy to pay.”

From its voice, it was undoubtedly female, though it was rather difficult to discern at first, accounted to the strong tone of arrogance it contained.

“Look, I don’t serve to Griffons,” the bartender replied, his jowls wobbling all the while, “if you want a drink so badly, why don’t you go and get one from your own kind?”

“I already told you, I don’t want that piss, I want the good stuff,” her tone moving away from frustration and further towards anger.

It was clear that things were taking a turn for the worse, I had watched enough nature documentaries to recognise a feline getting ready to pounce.

I didn’t know why I decided to help her. Perhaps I could sense a kindred spirit of some kind. The more likely explanation however was that I was trying to settle some of my conscience, after my foray into theft.

“Hey, could I get two ciders?” I called.

Striding over to the bar, I seated myself on the stool right next to the enraged griffoness. Whilst I was doing this the bartender scrambled to fill my request, no doubt relieved to have an excuse to get away from the carnivore that was readying herself to attack him.

Unfortunately my intervention instead allowed for a new outlet for her attention.

“Hey! I was ordering here!” she raged, “why don’t you wait your turn, you damned pony?”

Conscientiously, I decided to ignore the mention of my new species. My still aching jaw was a testimony to the merits of self control and a cool head.

“You didn’t seem to being making much headway,” I replied all the while keeping my eyes facing forward.

Just then the bartender returned with two foaming mugs. I deposited a reasonable number of the coins onto the bar counter and he extracted what at least appeared to be a fair amount, though I had no idea the general value of the amount I had paid. As soon as he had his money he quickly departed with a mumbled excuse that he needed to bring up another barrel from the cellar, though I could not be sure whether this was out of fear of the griffon, or because he had taken too much of my money, and was leaving before I realised.

It was at this moment that I turned to face her and I was struck by a single thing. She was magnificent.

She was staring at me with yellow eagle eyes that were dangerously narrowed. On top of this, she was still in the same stance as she was before that had nearly spelled the death of the barkeep. All the while, her tail lashed backwards and forwards violently and her wings were just slightly unfolded, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Everything about her was tense. Her muscles were clearly outlined, and her claws flexed continuously, all of it in a stark state of readiness.

All of this made up the picture of a predator in the prime of its life, and from seeing her, I could certainly understand why the British Monarchy was so fond of griffons for their emblems.

Perhaps in another life, I would have been terrified at the prospect of a sapient apex predator staring me down. Now, however, I had encountered, disobeyed, and disrespected three immensely powerful beings, and had resoundingly lost a fight, some of that happening only mere hours ago.

Besides, I myself was an apex predator. Even if my current anatomy didn’t agree with me.

Maintaining rigid control over my emotions, both fear and anger, I brought my stump up to the bar and slowly slid one of the tankards over to her.

Watching carefully for a reaction it was clear that she—for a moment at least—was stunned over my actions, though she quickly recovered.

“I don’t need your charity pony,” she said, spitting the last word out as if it was some sort of curse.

“If your reaction is so averse,” I calmly replied, taking a small sip of my drink, “you are more than welcome to reimburse me.”

It was at this moment that the bartender decided to make a reappearance by not so subtly sticking his head around the corner. He quickly caught sight of my compatriot and made to retreat once again but he stopped when he caught sight of the drink now clasped in her right claw. It appeared that this allowed him to grow some sort of a spine as he quickly marched over to her.

“Where did you get that, you filthy griffon?” He questioned, the outrage plain in his voice, as he snatched the tankard out of her claws, “What, you intimidated my customer out of a drink?”

“Actually,” I interrupted before the griffon got a chance to reply and the situation to elevate any further. “I gave it to her.”

“Didn’t you hear me before?” He spluttered, his moustache bristling with indignation, “I don’t serve to griffons.”

“And you didn’t,” I stated, coolly, “You served it to me. After that, it’s my business who drinks it.”

At this he seemed to lose any capacity for cohesive speech as all that escaped his mouth were a few strangled sounds. After trying to articulate a response for several moments, he seemed to give up, opting to once again stalk off into the cellar.

All throughout the exchange, I could hear that the griffoness beside me was struggling to contain her laughter, as every few moments a soft snicker slipped through. Once he had finally stalked off she finally stopped trying and instead let them flow in such volume that I could feel the eyes of the patrons in the bar bore into us. What was surprising was that her laughter was uncharacteristically musical for a creature of her danger and ferocity. For a moment I smiled, at least I was able to do something right today.

“Thanks. You’re alright, for a pony.”

Quickly, she reached into her coin purse that was wrapped around her neck and withdrew a couple of coins and slid them over to me in much the same way as I had her drink.

Once this had concluded she made her way over to one of the tables and seated herself there, taking her tankard with her.

After she had departed I sat at the bar and took slow regular sips of my drink until it was all gone, taking with it about five minutes in the process. I could never hold my alcohol very well and already I felt a buzz coming on and my thoughts—both the ones I did and didn’t want—becoming a little less cohesive. On the plus side, it seemed to make a mildly effective pain killer, as the aching in my jaw was beginning to become a dull throb.

At some point during my drinking session, the bartender returned, though he seemed to alternate his time between staring at me and keeping an eye on the griffon.

Luckily his presence allowed for the easy purchase of another drink. The griffon wasn’t lying when she had called it the ‘good stuff’ and I was more than willing to pay for another. This time however, he seemed reluctant to sell me anything, but his resistance quickly left him once he caught sight of gold.

As I sat with my newly filled tankard, I decided to turn and examine the room, to keep my thoughts my own.

Looking around at the room, my eyes quickly spurned everything else of interest—which was in short supply anyway—and were soon focused on the Griffon.

As I looked at her, I suddenly had the realization that I had never even learned her name. I don’t know why I decided to, but before I realised it I was on my feet and awkwardly stumbling over to her table, my tankard firmly clasped in my right fore hoof.

After what seemed like an eternity I finally made it to her table and gratefully collapsed into the chair facing hers. Every moment over to her I felt like I was just about to fall over, walking on three legs was a new experience for me and things were not helped by the alcohol in my blood.

“What do you want,” she questioned, her eyes narrowing in suspicion, “I already gave you my half and it’s all there.”

“I know, I know, I believe you. I just realised that I never got your name.”

By this point I was beginning to question just what on Earth possessed me to get up and talk to this Griffon again. Perhaps it was that she was the only living thing I had seen without a Cutie Mark since arriving in Equestria.

“Look, just drop the bullshit and tell me your angle. Do you want to know a dangerous griffon, so you can brag to your friends about it?”

“I don’t have an angle,” I replied, my annoyance beginning to rise “I just want to get your name.”

“Fine then, if it will shut you up,” she spoke, giving an annoyed huff in the processes, “It’s Gilda.”

“Joshua,” I replied, sticking my hoof out in the intent to shake her claw.

Though my reaction was dulled by the alcohol quickly I realised that I had just told her my real name without even thinking about it.

Looking over at Gilda she was giving me an odd look as if she were weighing me up like livestock.

Slowly her right talon extended and enveloped my stump. I could feel the ends pushing into my skin but what startled me was that they were blunt, a sharp contrast to her otherwise predatory appearance.

“Why does a pony have a griffon name?” She questioned slowly, each word clearly filled with unease.

Her question represented a dilemma for me. I could either lie about it or I could tell her the truth. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or maybe that I was tired of hiding who I was after my conversation with Cadenza, but I was sorely tempted to tell her everything. So what if I was dragged off to an asylum? It’s not like my day could get any worse.

“It’s not a griffon name. It’s a human one,” I revealed, feeling a slight rush of excitement over telling a complete stranger the truth.

“A what?” She exclaimed, before regaining her composure. “Look, pony, I don’t know what game you're playing here, but I am not going to sit and listen to your lies.”

“It’s not I lie,” I spoke defensively, “and I’ll tell you the whole story, if you listen.”

For a while she appeared to sit and mull it over until she finally made a decision.

“Fine. But only if you buy me another drink.”

“I thought that you didn’t except charity,” I mentioned, before immediately cursing myself for potentially insulting her.

“I don’t, but if I have to sit and listen to your ramblings, then it’s not charity. It’s payment,” She replied with a sly smile.

So I told her everything that had happened to me. From the first day of my arrival, up until the party and my fight with Shining, if you could really call it a “fight”.

After I had finished we sat there for a while. I actually felt much better after getting everything out. My words had contained a lot more venom than they had when I had told Shield, and it had given me a chance to vent.

“Bullshit,” she suddenly exclaimed, “you got into a fight with Shining Armor?”

At this I nodded, at least now I knew my assailants full name.

“The captain of the Solar Guard’s Shining Armor?”

At this revelation I was slightly shocked. It seemed I had an innate skill for tangling with those in positions of power. Though it was hardly my fault, as all those in power seemed to have a fetish for major ethical violations.

Again, I nodded, whilst attempting to keep my expression as neutral as possible to hide my surprise.

Without any warning she swiftly reached across the table and jabbed me in the spot where I had indicated Shining had hit me with his second punch. Her blunted talon’s fierce assault on the already bruised flesh sent a bolt of pain shooting through me. At this I let out an unconscious yelp that coincided with a flaring of my temper.

“Ow!” I said, incredulously, “What did you do that for?”

Despite my incredible annoyance at her, I still managed to keep myself from hitting her back, in line with my new promise to control my anger. It would serve me no purpose to burn this bridge even before it was fully constructed.

“Well, I have to give it to you, at least you seem to have been hit where you say you were, though that doesn’t prove anything,” She said, with mirth, “I mean I hate Celestia as much as the next griffon, but wow! For a pony, of all races, to make up a story about her like that, is amazing.”

Her mention of the griffon’s hatred for Celestia piqued my interest, but at the moment, a far more pressing issue remained. By her referring to me once again as a pony ,and that my story was made up, it was clear that she didn’t believe me.

“But it’s true, you have to believe me.” By this point a hint of desperation was beginning to enter my voice and I was practically begging her. I was desperate to convince her that I was who I said I was, as if my failure with her would prevent everyone else from believing me.

“Look, I’ll do anything to prove it, name it and it will be done.” This was my final gambit, if it was not successful, then I would be left as another pony in the crowd, soon to be enslaved by forces beyond my control. This griffon, in some indistinguishable way, had somehow come to represent my salvation.

For two full agonizing minutes, I waited, whilst Gilda seemed to ponder the issue, continually tapping the side of her beak whilst staring into space.

“Okay, I have one test. If you pass it, then I’ll believe you.” At her words, I experienced relief even greater than what I experienced when Shining let me go.

“What is it then?” I questioned, my voice brimming with eagerness.

“Have dinner at my house.” Her expression containing that same slyness as when she demanded I “pay” her for listening to me.

“...Did you just… Ask me out?” I questioned.

Once my mind registered what my mouth had spewed out, I regretted speaking. What was I thinking, saying something like that to a griffon?

“What?! I—No! Look do you want to prove it or not!” She blustered, though her eyes flashed dangerously.

I swore, I could see a blush through her feathers, but it was probably just my alcohol-addled mind making things up.

Once I understood her challenge, I felt a hint of nervousness. Once I was at her place, then I was at her mercy. She could literally do anything to me, and undoubtedly get away with it. Innumerable sick and disgusting thoughts filled my head, a majority of them in some way involving my grisly death. It seemed that my experiences at the castle had made me more paranoid than I would have originally thought.

Quickly, I strengthened my lagging resolve. These thoughts were nothing but ridiculousness, there was exactly nothing about Gilda that seemed depraved. The only thing that she could be accused of having, was a temper problem, if her exchange at the bar was an indicator.

“Alright then,” I answered, giving a quick conformational nod.

Picking up my tankard, I gulped down the last few mouthfuls and made to stand.

“Let’s get going then. No time like the present,” I boldly proclaimed, before making my way over to the door without even looking to see if she was following.