Five Star Service – A Diplomatic Affair

By Five Stars of Manehattan
Special to the New York Life and Manehattan Post Magazines
October 12 issues

New York Life Chief Editor’s Note:

We at the New York Life would like to once again express our gratitude for the support we’ve received from some surprising quarters, both human and Equestrian. The good Prince Blueblood followed up his visit and editorial with a catered affair for magazine staff at a local resort—a chance to cut loose we all sorely needed—and then threw an impromptu press conference on our front step where he did not back down from his support for us, answering several snarky questions that seemed to be more about sound bites than journalistic objectivity with his usual sharp wit and more than a few pointed putdowns that had us all cheering.

In this age of political correctness and fear of giving offense, it’s rather refreshing to see anyone, person or pony, turning their nose up at this nonsense to say nothing of outright flouting it. And to our latest opponents, who seem to think themselves hip because they can write 144-character putdowns on twitter… unlike you, we can accept a difference of opinion without seeking to silence you for it. Unlike you, we can take a few mean words and don’t need to hide in safe rooms or require trigger warnings to be protected from it.

These are not your college cocoons; this is the real world, and you’re not getting your way just because your feelings were hurt or think you’re on some great social crusade to right a grave injustice. Trust me, you’re not. And speaking for myself, I’d be very leery of hiring any new college graduates right now, simply because far too many completely lack critical thinking skills and are obviously not equipped to deal with the real world.

—Jamie Kason, acting chief editor, New York Life magazine

Manehattan Post Owner’s Note:

I have to say, In some ways, I’m more revolted by this behavior than the more overt harassment of the HERD crowd. It’s amazing how the very people who claim to be ‘enlightened’ or ‘tolerant’ are invariably anything but, thin-skinned bullies unable to accept any other viewpoint than their own and attacking anything that strays from their precious orthodoxy. If this is what higher human education is teaching, then I can’t fathom how any parent would spend so many bits on it.

Kalido assures me that most colleges and students are NOT like that, that these are just particularly vocal ones who have sway. Be that as it may, the only reason they have sway is that they’ve been indulged, pampered and coddled for far too long, not challenged on their hypocrisy or exposed to alternate viewpoints as they should be. Unlike Jamie, I would hire a few of them… if only to make them face the real world.

—Hot Topic, owner and founder, Manehattan Post magazine

Dear readers—

I expected this week’s article was going to be a difficult one for me, for the tale I would tell. I did not expect it would be for one of the letters I was to receive, a letter which has rocked me to my core. I have gone through the mountain of mail again that has followed the last Q&A session, and picked out several worth sharing… but only one will be shared today.

For the record, the ratio of fan to hate mail continues to be a bit better than two to one. It’s been pretty much steady the whole way through these articles, with the exception of the time surrounding the HERD harassment, when there were several orchestrated hate mail campaigns against me. I know they were orchestrated because I got a slew of form letters all saying the same thing. Needless to say, those went right in the garbage unread, along with anything that wasn’t signed.

This time, however, I’m getting a surprising number of letters from self-described ‘feminists’ and ‘Social Justice Warriors’ calling me every name in the book, bandying around terms I’d never even heard before like accusing me of ‘multiple microaggressions’ and ‘promoting patriarchy and male privilege’, not ‘understanding the ongoing struggle for gender equality’ that my encouraging men to be with mares is somehow undermining.

My requests to gentlemen to explain these terms were met with eyerolls and derisive laughter, and their explanations would have had me laughing as well except they’re apparently taken all too seriously. It’s funny, but I thought higher education was a place where you learned how to think critically, not to parrot slogans and spout nonsense phrases that even a moment’s thought should tell you are ridiculous.

Well, sorry to disappoint, but I couldn’t care less if I’m offending people. Princess Celestia herself noted there is no right to not be offended, and that applies no matter the reason for the offense. I’ve never shied away from speaking my mind and telling my story, and I’m sure as Tartarus not going to stop now because some groups say I’m undermining a vision of “gender equality” that seems to be anything but.

I have enough to deal with this week without getting into that as well, both for the story I’m going to tell and the letter I’m about to share. It’s long, but I now present it in full, with minimal redactions—a letter from Autumn Leaf, who readers may remember as the lead mare of my first herd:

Dear Five Stars,

It’s [Autumn Leaf]. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I’m well aware there’s little love lost between the two of us and you probably weren’t expecting to hear from me. But I believe we’re both aware now of who was truly at fault for what happened to our herd… and I’m not talking about Discord.

Let me get right to the point and say I’ve been forced to do some soul-searching recently, and I don’t like what I’ve found. Looking back on our herd days, the warning signs were all there, I realize that now. The first was when you returned Cayenne’s feather. I confess that, at the time, I didn’t really care, since it meant I could focus on him more… which, in reality, meant forcing him to focus on me.

The next warning sign came later, when Acacia and Ember abandoned the herd. Again, I wasn’t terribly concerned, and I thought that this meant Cayenne would begin to fully recover from his booster overuse, and I intended to help him every step of the way. And by ‘help’ I mean… well, I think you can guess, Five Stars, given your glowing description of what your first experience with him was like!

But those nights after Ember and Acacia left… he wasn’t the same. He was far less passionate, more perfunctory than anything. I didn’t understand. I tried everything to excite him, but nothing seemed to work. And outside of the bedroom, he was rather listless towards me… at least at first. Over time, listlessness gave way to surliness. I didn’t know why, but I managed to convince myself it was booster withdrawal and he would be his old self again in due time.

That illusion was thoroughly shattered when he confronted me one day and snatched his feather right out of my mane. I was, understandably, startled by this, and again by what he said to me immediately after. He said I was the reason you, Ember, and Acacia had all left. He said that my abuse of my position of lead mare had collapsed the herd. And he said that he was leaving me, for good.

You already know from Cayenne’s letter how I responded. Indeed, I told him he would never work in Manehattan again. That wasn’t all I said to him by a long shot, but I won’t repeat the rest here. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one lifetime, after all.

After Cayenne left, I hired a new chef and put the whole business out of my mind. Business for the Shemareaton continued on as normal, as did my own life, although I had to resort to a cooler when my bi-annual ‘visitor’ came along… and, I’m sad to say, an occasional comfort horse, since no stallion seemed interested in me at all. I entertained thoughts of joining another herd, but never indulged them because, for reasons I was still blind to; I was about the last mare anypony would want to mate or marry. Never did try any human men, but I ended up implementing a strict policy against employees seeing them… which was roundly ignored, like so many other of my edicts over the years.

It was then, sometime around last spring, business began to slip. I wasn’t terribly concerned at first, but when weeks went by and the hotel’s profits continued to shrink, I started investigating. To my surprise, several regulars of the Shemareaton, ponies who would avail themselves of our services—if not a room—on a normal basis had suddenly stopped showing up. And more such regulars were disappearing from our books by the week, with some longtime employees quickly following, turning in their resignations without any explanation or notice.

Sealed in my office cocoon, I had no idea why so I began asking around using my social contacts in Manehattan. The response I got was startling—more than once, my former regulars cited you as the reason they were leaving. I didn’t know it then, but that was around the time your first set of articles had been published. I couldn’t comprehend why so many of my loyal customers had abandoned me, using you as an excuse—I hadn’t given you a single thought in ten years, why were you reentering my life now? And why were people and ponies now whispering about me behind my back?

I tried my best, but it was inevitable. Several of my regulars were wealthy, influential patrons, and when they stopped showing, business started dropping ever more swiftly. After a summer of continually shrinking profits, the Shemareaton was operating at a net loss per month. I myself was flush with bits, but my savings would have only delayed the inevitable and my stakeholders made it clear that were I to stay, the Shemareaton would go under. So I was bought out and, nearly eight months to the day after your original article, I gave up the deed to the Shemareaton. I took my bits, my belongings, and my wounded pride, and much like you ten years ago, I left Manehattan behind, moving on.

It wasn’t until a month ago that I started reading your articles. I’d known about them for some time, by that point, but I avoided them, blaming you for my misfortune, making up all sorts of excuses how it was really all your fault. Finally, I gave one of them a read, just to kill some time. How ironic that it was the first one you published; your description of your first night with Cayenne… it very nearly made me wet just reading it!

And then out of morbid curiosity or simple self-loathing I read the next article… wherein you described how I’d made it next to impossible for you to enjoy any more of Cayenne’s attention, finally driving you away. As I read that article, my emotions were on… I believe the humans say, roller coaster? I started off angry when you blamed me for your unhappiness, embarrassed when Discord’s influence caused us to… well, you remember that, and for the record, that memo you posted upon leaving describing it made me the laughing stock of the entire staff.

Finally, I felt a twinge of sadness when you described how you had to resign both from the Shemareaton and the herd, leaving everything behind for the uncertainty of Las Pegasus.

No… I take that back. It wasn’t sadness. It was guilt.

It was then I realized… I wasn’t happy, and I hadn’t been for many years. Not since the herd had broken up. Not since Cayenne had left me.

‘You never truly know what you have until you’ve lost it’. I’m not sure who said that, but it was then, reading your article, that I realized what a foal I’d been. Looking back on myself, I wasn’t some caring alpha mare trying to juggle the competing interests of herself and her herdmates, I was a tyrant. A mini-Sombra, looking to place the herd as firmly under my control as the hotel itself was. And when all was said and done, I was left with no friends, no mates or prospects, and the more I looked back on myself, the more I came to realize I had done it to myself—that this wasn’t who I meant to be.

So to make a long story short… I’m writing to you now from my cousin Golden Harvest’s home in Ponyville. I hated having to ask her for aid, but I didn’t have much choice. It seems my reputation—at least, the reputation stated by you in your articles—has preceded me, and my name is now mud. I’ve apparently burned all my bridges save this one, as nopony else who knows me wants anything to do with me. And as much as I tried to blame you for the longest time, I am now forced to conclude that the fault is mine—that I have reaped what I’ve sown, and a very bitter harvest it is as I now find myself with no influence, no friends… and tending carrots on a farm instead of ledgers and business meetings in Manehattan.

Five Stars, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I was an arrogant, greedy, prideful mare who tried to run our herd like my own private kingdom, and as a result, I lost it. The two of us could have been the best of friends, if I hadn’t so foalishly treated you and the rest like a rival for Cayenne’s attention instead of the friend and herdmate you deserved.

Cayenne, Acacia, and Ember… if Five Stars publishes this letter, and you read the article it’s attached to, know that my apologies extend to you as well. I ran you all roughshod, taking the lion’s share of your attention, Cayenne, and neglecting you two, Acacia and Ember. You weren’t some prize to be won, Cayenne, you were a pony who just wanted to be a good herd stallion, and I made that impossible for you. And you weren’t competition or employees, Acacia and Ember, you were my fellow mares and herdmates, ones who I treated like dirt.

We were a family… a family that I ruined with my thoughtlessness and careless, foalish pride. Again, I’m so sorry.

I don’t know if it’s even possible, but I would like to mend fences with all of you… starting with you, Five Stars. Thank you for opening my eyes. And I give you permission to use my real name from now on. Truth be told, I’m unsure why you bothered using an alias for me in the first place—the Shemareaton is well-known, and most of Manehattan knew that I ran it for years.

Sincerely,

Harvest Moon, a.k.a. ‘Autumn Leaf’

For once in my life… I really don’t know what to say. I only saw this letter a day ago, and I’m still absorbing it now.

There are times when you think an old injury has healed, a past long put to bed only to realize it really hasn’t been, and that sometimes all it takes is a single letter to rip the scab off and bare that wound once more. I’m not lying when I say I had to ask Platinum for a day off after reading this because I was in no shape to write or train anyone, just needing to be alone with my thoughts and memories for a bit. I ended up donning my magical disguise and leaving my griffon bodyguards behind so I could walk the city unhindered, clear my head and think.

To my surprise, I ended up taking a carriage over to the Shemareaton and walking inside—a place I’d conspicuously avoided ever since my return to Manehattan three years ago. In fact, I’d never been back there once since returning Cayenne’s feather and leaving the building for the train station eleven years ago.

I still don’t know what possessed me to return now as I found myself walking inside, despite the clenching of my guts. I arrived to find the sights, sounds and smells were still pretty much the same; even the old flower shop I started in was there. There were a few upgrades here and there, mostly to accommodate human guests, but for the most part the place was unchanged.

And yet I was not. I felt like a ghost returning to the place she had once lived, if not died. It literally felt like I was walking through a past life, in the hoofsteps of a pony who no longer existed…

And in truth, she does not. The eager and ambitious young mare who once walked the hallways and manned the concierge booth at the Shemareaton, who was so happy to be in her first herd, the one she so naively thought would be the only one she would ever have or need… is gone. And in her place? A wiser, sadder, but in some ways happier pony, who acknowledges she would never have ended up where she did—never found her life’s purpose or gotten to where she was needed—without having been there and gone through what she had.

Returning to one’s roots like that makes you reflect on your journey, on your mistakes, on what might have been… on everything, really. They say we shouldn’t dwell in the past, but sometimes we do have to visit it, just to remind ourselves of where we’ve been and how far we’ve come. How I’ve grown, how I’ve loved and lost, laughed and cried…

In short, how I have lived.

If I’m reminded of anything right now, it’s that I’m not the same pony I was then. It’s also quite true that that place was in many ways where my life both ended and began anew—and though time has dimmed it, the pain of that place remains only all too real. I certainly remember all the highs and lows—my acceptance into the herd, my first time, Discord’s return, my eventual departure… and yet, it was all the little things that also stick with me—Cayenne’s cooking, the enduring friendship that I forged with Ember and Acacia, the fun times we had, how much I savored the rare night with Cayenne…

And the wrenching decision to leave them all behind.

They say time heals all wounds, but that’s not my experience at all. Some hurts don’t heal so much as scar. Some pain never truly goes away. I guess in some ways, you never forget your first herd any more than your first time or first love. They were all intertwined, and it’s difficult for me to divorce them in my head, even long after I divorced Cayenne’s herd.

So, let me say this, Harvest. Yes, I’m very surprised to hear from you. I’m also very surprised to hear this coming from you, and I’m honestly not sure how much I believe it. You were never one to apologize, and never once expressed regret for anything you did. So I’m not sure how sincere this is—whether this is more “I’m sorry” or just “I’m sorry all this finally caught up to me.”

You hurt all of us—me, Ember and Acacia, and looking back, Cayenne in some ways the worst of all… taking advantage of his passive nature and desire to not cause strife to drive off the mares of his painstakingly assembled herd, all of whom he chose and loved… eventually sending him fleeing not just Manehattan but all the way across the portal, forcing him to start his own life over as far away from his pain as possible.

I wish you well, but I’m not going to sugar-coat it. For the hurt you did us all, I don’t know if I can ever truly forgive you. As such, I’m afraid I must decline, at least for now, an offer to meet and mend fences. I’m sorry, that wound is just too deep. May you find a fresh start and new purpose as I did, and may you find new friends in the future… and treat them better than you did in the past.

Now that that’s out of the way… back to the story of my life. The tale I’m about to tell is a very difficult one, for reasons you will see at the end. It’s not about a lost herd, but it is important to me on many levels, not just for the unlikely relationship I formed and hard lessons I learned… but for the groundwork it helped lay in my psyche for the coming of humanity.

A Diplomatic Affair

To recap, bare months before the portal opened, I had become the personal manager for a Canterlot Court Bard named Delta Requiem and was preparing to accompany her on a goodwill tour of the Gryphon Kingdom, an adjunct to a state visit by Prince Shining Armor and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.

Being a bard, my new client was not just an entertainer, but a diplomat and an actual agent of the royal court. As such, she is often sent accompanying diplomatic missions to foreign nations. I didn’t know everything she did (and I still don’t to this day!), but it was clear to me that she was far more than just a singer, and seemed to have some official power and authority vested in her by Princess Celestia herself.

Initial arrangements for the trip were handled through the Equestrian Diplomatic Corps and the Gryphon Embassy, and I mostly just had to make sure I was up-to-date on protocols and procedures so as to not accidentally offend our hosts.

And yet, all I could think as I studied up on their history and culture was… them? What about me? I read nothing that immediately changed my mind about them—hunters and carnivores, a militaristic bent, a wild race living in a wild land, at best peripherally touched by harmony… never mind their unprovoked attack on Equestria seven centuries prior. I couldn’t imagine I would like their homeland that much, and found myself dreading the moment when I would step on the royal airship for the overseas trip.

But the moment did come, and I put on my best face for it, bowing and smiling as Delta introduced me to the Prince and Princess for the first time. Any other time, I would have been in awe and all but giddy over meeting them, but given my churning insides I simply couldn't be. Despite the presence of our royal party and attendant good food and luxurious airship we traveled on, it was a three-day journey where I slept and ate little and got repeatedly nauseous, both for being airsick and wondering how I was going to get along when I was no longer surrounded by ponies and had to work with the griffons closely. I had thought myself tolerant of other cultures and races, but found that severely tested as we touched down and I beheld the Gryphon capital city of Arnau for the first time.

Learning a new culture is never easy when you’ve been steeped in your own your whole life, and the first thing that hit me when I stepped off the airship was the smell. There was a strong aroma of bread, to be sure, but there was definitely another, more subtle scent as well, something that made the normally curly hairs of my mane stand on end…

Cooking meat.

It was only then it truly hit me that I was among predators, meat-eaters—beings that might have, in another time and place, seen me as prey, hunted me down and killed me for food.

That is not to say I or any other pony couldn’t defend ourselves from such things, via strength, flight, or magic, but that it was an old instinct and fear still present in the back of our minds, a callback to a time when things were far less civilized and harmony was unknown amongst the species of Tellus. And here I was, visiting a foreign land filled with meat-eaters for the first time, being exposed to all it meant.

I had little time to absorb it all as initial greetings were exchanged and they whisked us off to our quarters by ground carriages pulled by earth-griffons. Instead of at the Equestrian Embassy, which was already crowded with nobles and diplomats and would be housing the Prince and Princess themselves, they put us up in a high-end hotel called the Winged Hall Inn with more pony-flavored rooms and lighting. Most griffons, for the record, are perfectly content to sleep on piles of straw or beds of pine boughs; most see pony (or now human) beds as a luxury. One thing I very quickly learned about them was they have a very deep pride in their toughness and that of their nation, and that their pride was a force to be reckoned with.

My education continued as we attended a state dinner overseen by Queen Molyneux herself, formally introduced to our new hosts. From well-armed, twitchy and slightly-angry looking guards dressed in formal attire to the resplendence of the Queen herself in a grand hall that itself seemed like something out of eras past, consisting of firegem-lit spaces that were almost too dim for Equestrian eyes, it was a lot to take in, and I found myself already yearning for the familiarity of home as the Queen, Prince and Princess each gave speeches in turn.

Delta noticed my discomfort, and as a result, I think she sang a song just for me as she was asked to perform for the Queen for the first time. It was both haunting and soothing, speaking of lost souls and unlikely alliances, of the friendships born of understanding. At the end, the acclaim was quite real even from our hosts, and I have to admit I did feel better, the edge taken off my culture shock. At least I was finally able to sleep at least a few hours that night, though after three days on the airship it still felt to my legs like I was flying!

Speaking of which, one of the things I had to get used to was the fact that all griffons can fly, not just a third of them like ponies. True, there are sky-griffons and earth-griffons much like there are pegasi and earth ponies, though that distinction simply means the latter are more adapted for life in the southern plains, possessing larger, stronger bodies that can’t fly long distances, only shorter ones. Sky-griffons, by contrast, are built for the rugged northern mountains, with larger wings and sleeker bodies and can literally fly hundreds of miles at a time.

They even have some few magic users, or ‘mages’ as they call them, though they can’t control weather like pegasi can. In fact, aside from a very few Equestrian weather teams on call to help mitigate severe storms, their weather is completely wild; they are dependent for rainfall on storms rolling off the northern mountains or out of the southern sea. That fact was another thing that took some getting used to; particularly during one intense thunderstorm that struck the city the first week I was there; booming lightning causing some damage to nearby spires and keeping me wide awake for half the night.

But that lay several days in the future. In truth, I didn’t sleep well at all that first night despite Delta’s intervention. The simple fact was that I was in an alien place surrounded by predators, and no matter how accommodating our hosts tried to be, that fact simply wouldn’t leave my head. Delta reassured me that what I was going through happened to many first-time pony visitors to the Kingdom, and I would adjust in due time. I had a hard time believing I would ever get used to the smell of meat, but she was right on that score; a few days later I barely noticed anymore.

Before long, in fact, I started gaining an appreciation for their architecture and how well it suited them. The griffons love high points and aeries, things they can use as perches. Their cities are built for flying no less than the great pegasi cloud cities are, but also for defense, with spiral walls and battlements left over from the days of yore. Arnau is an old city but remembers its roots and the wars that were fought in the Kingdom’s distant past. Lacking wings, it made it somewhat harder for me to go places, but I eventually figured out my way around… though I tried not to too wander far at first.

Slowly shaking off my culture shock, I began working with my hosts in earnest, making sure everything was ready for Delta’s coming performances. My liaison was an earth-griffon tiercel named Miral Kalishad. He was a cultural attaché who would act as translator and escort when needed, and as leery as I was of him at first, I was glad to have him around. He made things much less awkward for a new Equestrian visitor, and even treated me to dinner a couple times at pony-friendly places when Delta was off at some other function that mere managers weren’t allowed to attend.

Now that was an odd feeling, being treated by a male, and a predator one, no less! He took the time to show me around and get me settled, and after two weeks in Arnau, the Prince and Princess returned to Equestria while we set off on our goodwill tour in earnest, scheduled to hit most major areas of the Kingdom. From the historic old city of Loondon to the one-time (and once-razed) Imperial Capitol of Mosclaw, I found, much to my surprise, that I was gaining a new appreciation for my hosts. They lived in a wild land and had to fight off some deadly foes, both magical and not, just to survive over the long millennia. Yet they not only survived, they thrived. In fact, they took pride in not using weather control or magic more than necessary, scraping their existence with strength and steel out of the harsh lands that were their home.

Admittedly, it was slightly awkward seeing a memorial dedicated to the griffon dead of their war with Equestria some seven hundred years past, but I tried not to begrudge it. In the end, they fought for their nation and race, as did we. Historians still debate the causes of that conflict to this day, but there’s no denying that in the end, we became friends and allies. The war ended in a stalemate, but if soldiers on both sides ultimately fell to realize friendship between us, then perhaps they did not fall in vain.

As the weeks wore on and the performances added up—there was generally one new venue a week with three or four shows—I found myself getting to know my attaché a bit better. He’d certainly had an interesting life, having traveled not only all over his own nation, but to Equestria and the Zebra lands as well, seeing most of Tellus in the process. He had many interesting stories to tell, and yet… the ones I found most fascinating were of him. Of his upbringing, his military service (compulsory in the Gryphon Kingdom)…

And the few relationships he’d had.

Rounds and Rum

Three months into our trip, we were ending our visit to the Kingdom with a tour of the southern farmlands. Ironically, we performed for quite a few Equestrians then, as there are actually a fair number of earth ponies that farm there, working out of steadholts. Food production has always been an issue for the omnivorous griffons, but they did eventually accept the help of Equestria and my fellow earth ponies to raise crops, and even paid well for it—for another thing I had learned well about griffons by then was they considered adequate compensation a matter of honor and always insisted on it in their business dealings.

A week before departure, we were in a gap between performances and I was having dinner with Miral again, this time in the town of Tierra. By that time, we’d worked together so much I had gotten to know him quite well, and him me; I’d even told him about my own past relationships and failed herds. He’d expressed his sympathy to me, noting that griffons didn’t have the unbalanced gender ratios that ponies did and as a result, their culture had developed far differently—“For us, it’s not a one-way flight, Five Stars—whether tiercel or eagless, a griffon must always prove his or her worthiness to their potential mate.”

Leaving aside the fact that our unbalanced gender ratios were in part because of the griffons—they decimated our pegasi stallion numbers during the war—I had to say, I liked the idea of a relationship among equals, where it wasn’t all on the mares… going on to bat my eyes and ask him, thanks in part to a few drinks now in my system (by then I’d acquired a taste for griffon rum)…

Just how did one ‘prove’ themselves in a griffon’s eyes?

A little rose-cheeked himself, Miral regarded me for a moment, then smiled. “We fight rounds, Five Stars,” was his simple answer as he dipped his beak into the bowl of his own rum (their beaks made it difficult to drink from cups unless they were wide). Rounds? Yes, indeed. He explained by saying that griffons who were interested in each other fought mock duels, called “rounds”, semi-serious sparring matches that served two purposes—both to work themselves up and to demonstrate worthiness, to prove that they were a good physical match for their prospective mates.

As he explained, a stray memory clicked—I recalled an instance of a stallion mating an eagless during the New Year’s Eve action in Las Pegasus, and it had involved a rather intense-looking aerial duel and sparring match to start, only ending when the stallion had forced the eagless down, at which point she presented herself to be rutted.

He saw the light go on in my eyes and asked me what I was remembering, so I told him and he chuckled, asking with slightly-more-than-academic interest if such things were normal in Las Pegasus. “Only on New Years…” I told him, feeling wistful as I recalled the events of that night.

“Really? A pity…” he shrugged as he wiped his beak, but there was an odd smile on his face as we continued to eat… and drink.

In hindsight, I think the seed was laid at that point as we wrapped up dinner and lingered long over dessert—a simple but very moist slice of cake. griffons don’t have the sweet tooth that ponies do, but they do enjoy their scones and breads and are generally excellent bakers… particularly, it’s said, once they learned from ponies about baking soda. “So, Five Stars… do you have your eye on anypony now?” he asked me in an offpaw manner, now working on his fourth rum bowl, his head swaying slightly.

I shook my head, saying that it was still too soon after my last herd to consider a new one. “But why do you need a new herd? Why not just a new lover?” Miral asked me, taking another bite of his cake. “From what you said, you were happiest when you had them as opposed to herd stallions. And you know… you might be surprised where you could find one,” he stated in a mild voice.

I regarded him coolly for a moment—like him, I was quite tipsy but wasn’t so drunk I didn’t catch his meaning. “I suppose I might… if I found someone worthy…” I answered in an equally mild tone, surprised that I would say someone and at where my thoughts were going—him? Yes, I liked him. Yes, we were friends, and yes, for as much as we’d worked together and as much as we’d shared, I felt closer to him than I had to anypony since, honestly, Cruise Control. In fact, if he were a pony, I’d pounce him in a second. But a griffon…?

He learned over the table, his eyes going hooded, an almost-predatory glimmer growing within them; a look that I found both disconcerting and strangely exciting. “But how would you know they were worthy?” he challenged me, his leonine tail swishing behind him.

I leaned towards him to answer, leveling my own sultry look at him. Whether due to the alcohol or familiarity or perhaps the memories of that long-ago night in Las Pegasus, there was no doubt about it—he was flirting with me, and I was flirting back, enjoying the attention of this exotic male I had come to know so well over the previous two months. Enjoying the fact that he was coming to me, meeting me halfway—so different than what I’d known as a mare. It wasn’t just that either; the idea of being taken by a predator was definite turn-on to me, and I found my excitement over the idea quickly beginning to grow. “Well, I don’t know… I guess I’d have to test them…” I gave a very deliberate shrug back despite the heat in my cheeks, reflecting that after two months in the Kingdom, I seemed to not only have settled in, but was taking on some griffon proclivities!

His grin got wider as his tail began swishing even more quickly, his talons tapping lightly on the table in audible indication of his own excitement. “That could be arranged. Right now, if you want…” he suggested, a husky undertone to his voice.

We threw back our remaining drink, settled our bill, and as one walked out the door.

When in Roam…

I wasn’t immediately sure what to expect as he led me to a field not far outside the town under a beautiful moonlit and starlit sky, a sharp breeze blowing out of the south, ruffling both fur and feathers. All I was sure of was that I was getting very, very excited at the thought of being taken by this predator, whose eyes were glimmering in the moonlight, adding to the predatory effect… which was only heightened further as he began circling me, almost stalking me, his wings flared for flight.

While he circled, he explained the rules thusly: we would fight until submission, or… “until we could no longer hold back,” and either way, if we were worthy in each other’s eyes… “things would take their proper course.”

I needed no elaboration. I had fought before, of course, both growing up and most recently when me and my sister went at it after too many insults on Hearth’s Warming Day, but this was… different. It was a concept completely foreign to most ponies; fighting and sparring for fun… let alone as a prelude to mating!

But I was in the Kingdom now, among griffons, and… well, the phrase “When in Roam” comes to mind. And in an odd way, part of my societal programming as a mare was making itself known here, in that in order to win a male, I had to come to him, meet my desired mate on his terms. And if those terms meant fighting a ‘round’ with him…

Then so be it. He made the first move—a refreshing change of pace for a mare!—charging me and taking an airborne swipe at me, startling me with his speed—he wasn’t kidding; these ‘rounds’ really were pretty serious! I immediately reared my hooves up to pinwheel them in a defensive manner, warding off his initial charge, then lowered my head and leaped, planting my hooves into his feathered chest. He was visibly surprised as he was knocked backwards hard, then coughed and circled around again. “Not bad…” he told me, briefly rubbing his chest. “I heard earth ponies were pretty strong. Guess I know now why we couldn’t win at Stalliongrad,” he noted, referring to the battle that marked the turning point of the Pony/Gryphon war.

“Well, griffons aren’t the only ones who seek to make their ancestors proud,” I rejoined, lowering my head and inviting him to attack again. You would have thought that my ingrained desire to never harm a male would have come to fore there, but at that point, I wasn’t just acting like a griffon eagless, I honestly believe I was thinking like one as well…

I really had gone native!

And so we went, exchange after exchange, talons and hooves finding their mark, inflicting cuts and bruises… and in at least one case, his beak bit me with something a little stronger than a love bite, breaking the skin on my shoulder. Even now I’m not sure how long we went at it; might have been a single minute, might have been three. Regardless, by the end I was hurt, breathing hard and bleeding from several slashes… and I couldn’t have cared less. I was fully into our ‘round’, delighting in the adrenaline rush and the sheer exhilaration of our simulated struggle between predator and prey, but I also didn’t forget the purpose behind it as I countered his latest attack, leaping and tackling him right out of the air before rolling up on him. I then used my earth pony strength to slam him down on his back as hard as I could, making it clear I could have pounded his head into the dirt if I desired.

“How’s that?” I asked him huskily, feeling his hardness poking me from behind, already eager to know what its shape and texture were… what it would be like to have it inside me. “Am I worthy now, Miral?”

He only response was to reach his paw around my head and clasp it, pulling my muzzle to his beak.

For reasons that will become clear at the end of this article, I am not going into the details of our lovemaking except to say that it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before… his beak, his love nips, the feel of his talons grasping me… to say nothing of his organ inside me, his barbed and tapered shaft scraping my inner walls, causing me both pain and pleasure in equal measure.

He initially took me under the moon before returning to his quarters and having a literal roll in the hay, where I did something a beaked griffon eagless could not, giving him oral, delighting in his exotic body and malehood, watching as he arched his back and clutched hard at his blanket, his talons putting holes in it. In truth, his talons did scratch me more than once in the heat of passion, and I was pretty clawed up by night’s end. But it was an experience to remember, and one I’d never forget…

Though the next day I wished I could.

That night, we went to bed snuggled up, my head nestled in his chest feathers, his taloned paw wrapped around me, all but floating. I was admittedly a little sore, scratched on the outside and a bit raw on the inside. But I was happy, having just indulged a fantasy I didn’t even know I had, found contentment in a place I never dreamed. All was calm, as was well…

And then the next morning, I freaked.

The alcohol and excitement of the night now gone, I was shocked and confused at what had happened, having done things I’d never, ever dreamt I would. It wasn’t like the concept of ponies and griffons mating was unknown to me; I’d certainly seen it done in Las Pegasus, but… like so many other things, seeing and doing were two different things. I didn’t know what to think, I didn’t know what it meant for me, for us, for any future herd prospects… even for my job. And all I could think as I stumbled back to my hotel room in a daze the next morning, dirty and in desperate need of a shower was…

What had I done?

The emotional hangover fierce, I variously tried to convince myself that it had been the alcohol, the moonlit night, a random magical current… any number of things other than admit that I’d acted the part of an eagless and actually enjoyed myself as one—enjoyed a tiercel’s attention.

I didn’t understand why I was so upset, except that it bothered me greatly that I’d fought a male to gain sex—a concept I completely recoiled from now that I was no longer inebriated or in the passion of the moment—and it felt like I’d just crossed a line I somehow wasn’t ready for; one that had blindsided me out of nowhere. Miral realized I was upset and gave me some space, but we still had to work together for the remaining week, which was… awkward.

Delta guessed what had happened and tried to talk to me, but I was inconsolable for a while and very relieved to leave the Kingdom behind. Miral and I did have one last talk just before leaving, where he asked me not to regret what had happened… that he’d enjoyed our time together and that I’d opened his eyes as much he hoped he had mine, hoping that we might yet be together again. In return, I thanked him for his hospitality, but told him I simply wasn’t comfortable with what happened and didn’t know if I ever would be. He offered to keep in touch, but I was noncommittal, saying I needed time to process everything… that if I wanted to talk, I would contact him.

In the end, I never did, and I never saw him again.

Reflections

I imagine readers are starting to see why this is such a painful story for me to tell. Simply put, I wasn’t ready mentally or emotionally for what happened, and ended up losing someone who might have meant a great deal to me… if I’d simply allowed him to be, or even just made the effort to work through my issues and reach out to him afterwards.

Still, some good came of it. So what did I take from our all-too-brief time together? My first interspecies experience, certainly, and a new appreciation for both how wonderfully different they can be and how much extra work they take. Looking back, would I have still done it knowing how I felt after? Honestly, I’d have to say yes—it was an experience I needed to have, and one that would carry forward to the coming of humanity, now just weeks away.

And yet… it was also a very powerful experience, not just for the erotic feeling of being taken by a predator and all the ways it affected me, but for how it lend me insights and respect for a culture I’d never looked favorably upon as a pony. The griffons have honor and remember their warrior roots, they’re as good a friend and ally as they were once implacable of enemies. Miral proved that to me, and showed that ponies and griffons were not natural enemies, that beings from entirely different species could be friends, even lovers… a lesson that is certainly still relevant now.

Unfortunately, and this was the lesson I did not learn in time, he also showed me that such relationships take a great deal of open-mindedness, patience and work, and a willingness on both sides to meet halfway. Yes, you can say such things are true for any relationship, but it’s doubly so for something like this and in the end… he was willing, but I wasn’t. It ended as quickly as it began simply because I wasn’t ready for it, and I do have great regret for it.

I wish very much he could tell you this for himself. I wish I could share a letter from him as I have from Cayenne, Cruise, and so many others. I wish I could see and catch up with him again, as I’ve now been able to do for now all my past herdmates and lovers. And above all else, I wish I could apologize to him directly for how poorly I acted after. He deserved far better than the treatment I gave him.

But sadly… that can never happen, and I have nopony but myself to blame. Three years ago, he was attending to a human diplomatic mission near Aricia when the Cloven of the Sun attacked, and neither he nor those he was escorting have been heard from since. He is officially listed as missing as so many griffons and ponies in that conflict are, but…

But in my heart, I know he’s gone. And there’s nothing of his I have, no souvenir of our time together, no gravesite or homestead out there I could visit that might provide solace… nowhere I can go except perhaps the new war memorial in Arnau where the dead and missing, whether human, pony or griffon have their names etched in obsidian. But until then, the only way I can pay my respects to him is to say this:

Miral, you are remembered. Regretted. And missed.

This story has been, in many ways, my most difficult one to tell. Much was left unresolved with my griffon friend, and by the time I came to terms with it, it was too late to do anything about it. I now very much wish I had stayed in touch with him—could my presence in his life have changed his fate? I’d’ve certainly enjoyed being with him more than my fourth and final herd!—and I can’t help but wonder what his final moments must have been like. Did he fight back? Did his life flash before his eyes? Did he think of me? Did he wonder what might have been?

Selfish thoughts to be sure. One thing this story and Harvest Moon’s letter remind me of now is that life doesn’t happen in isolation. Even chance encounters and long forgotten-events have a ripple effect through time, people and places we haven’t thought about in years can come back to affect us once more in ways we never dreamed possible. It happened to Cayenne, to Braeburn, to Harvest… and now, to me.

So I urge all reading… if there’s someone out there you once knew but lost contact with, somebody who meant something to you… make an effort to get in touch with them again. You just never know when your time will be up.

Or theirs.

A sad and somber ending note for a sad and somber chapter, one enhanced by Harvest’s letter, which I thank my partner in crime and cowriter for other stories, Leo Archon, for writing.

I’m sorry if some people feel stung right now, but not all endings are happy ones, even in Equestria. It’s often the unhappy endings that teach you the most in life, and you can’t truly enjoy or appreciate the good times without having also experienced the bad. There will be more to say about this next chapter, which will have the long-awaited opening of the portal and first contact with humanity. And fear not, far happier moments and chapters lie ahead.

Thanks go to my usual array of prereaders, including AJ Aficionado and Denim Blue for making this chapter is hard-hitting as it is. Thanks as well to Demon Eyes Laharl and Feathered Heart which this chapter heavily draws on for its griffin lore.

And for those of you who would like to know more about the long-ago Gryphon/Pony war referenced there and in this story, you are invited to check out Before the Storm: The Rise of Firefly for a first-person account, a war epic told through the eyes of Firefly, Rainbow Dash’s ancestor and founder of the Wonderbolts. Expect plenty of battles and badassery on both sides.

—Firesight