“Buying or selling?”

The words fell from my muzzle robotically, echoed in the same way I’d said them to the last pony. Had it really been two weeks since I got home? I tried counting back in my head, marking the days that had passed with small moments. I broke my hammer… three days ago? Yes, it was three. And it was two days before that when a zebra had shown up at my door, asking about their order. There had been delays, I’d explained. The zebra seemed satisfied when she left, but I still felt a stone in my gut. Doubling down on my work time lead to breaking my hammer. Nothing major, nothing I couldn’t fix. Just a crack in the handle.

“How much for this one?” The question from the stallion at my counter snapped me out of my head. Relieved, I glanced at the piece he’d indicated - a sturdy, compact wrench.

“10 caps,” I responded, and the earth pony lifted one hoof, nudging it, turning it over. He nodded, then pulled a bag of caps from a neck pouch, counting out ten and taking the wrench with him.

Staring up at the light fading from the sky, I decided it was time to close up shop. Should get back to my forge. Needed to keep working. I began gathering up the tools, knives, and other supplies from the display counter and locking them up for the night. As I retrieved my stock of armored barding from the wall, I caught sight of Grit on the far side of the marketplace. For a few strained seconds, our eyes locked. Then he looked away and walked on. He and I had barely spoken since the morning after I returned from the Harbor.

He had, of course, immediately confronted me to ask what happened. Even I could tell how worried he was. I’d told him the whole story, that Malice had wanted Copper dead anyway, and she was satisfied.

“In the end,” I’d finished, “she even offered me a home down there.”

Grit had recoiled in shock. When I said nothing else, he urged me on. “An’ what’d y’ say?”

“Nothing. And then she sent me home on an airboat. Said she’d leave the offer open.”

He didn’t ask if I was going to take her up on it.

“What happens now?” he finally asked.

“We just… go back to our lives. That’s it.” It’s all I’d wanted the whole time. To be home. Back to my life, back to my forge and store.

“That’s it?”

I’d nodded, standing up. “I should get ready to open the shop soon. Need to make up for time, and I’ll need to make some new stock later.”

Grit took a step forward. Opened his mouth as if to object, to say something. But he closed it again, looking away from me with a deep breath and a flick of his ear. “Alrigh’ then.”

In the two weeks since then, he’d only stopped at my store once, and then only to fix a broken magazine on one of his pistols. The whole time he’d been there, he said nothing, setting me on edge. I barely said anything back. All business.

That’s what I’d wanted, right?

But pressing in at the forefront of my mind like somepony standing over my shoulder every waking hour was my complete lack of productivity when I sat down at my forge. Whenever I had my tools in front of me, the bits of metal in the bin, I just…. stared into it. Nothing would come to me. No inspiration, none of the scrap metal made any ideas spring to life. If I forced myself to make something basic, it came out just that - basic. Every step of the process was forced, every moment my mind wandered, and time simply dragged onward. What felt like hours and hours would pass, but light wouldn’t even have begun to fade from the sky.

Out of sheer habit, I forced myself to sit down at my forge every day at the same time, but it felt like I spent less and less time there each day. I searched my meager collection of magazines for inspiration, even rereading the Sword Mare comic book over and over, but nothing ever clicked. That spark, the feeling that had clutched my heart the first time I saw the comic’s art depicting Princess Luna and Celestia, didn’t come back.

My mind snapped back to my worktable, staring at the cluttered bits of scrap before me. I scowled briefly at the metal before brushing it back into the bin, cursing myself for letting my mind wander again. It was almost part of my routine at this point.

Tomorrow. I’d surely be able to discipline myself into getting more done tomorrow.

* * * * * * *

The next day, I found myself again staring at my bits of scrap. I’d at least managed to finish a few more tools for Nikale’s order and start on a set of leg armor. But after sketching out the concept for the armor on a worn piece of paper, I let myself take a break, feeling unjustly satisfied. Now the evening was almost over, and I still had so little to show for it.

A flapping of wings and then approaching steps reached my ears, drawing my attention to the muddied ground beyond my forge. Not like I was getting much done anyway. I pulled out my bin of junk metal, searching, rummaging. Maybe I’d find something to kickstart a new idea, but if not, I’d at least look busier than I felt. Discourage whoever was approaching. I heard the steps round the corner, and a voice exclaimed, “Well shit, whaddya know. I was hoping to find you here.”

The voice was familiar, somehow; a bit raspy, but familiar. I didn’t linger on it, or look up. “I’m closed for sales. Come back tomorrow.”

“That’s alright, I wasn’t gonna buy anythin’ anyway.” She paused, and finally I looked up at who had bothered me in my workspace.

A griffon.

She had blueish-grey fur, grey feathers, and a frosting of purple on her crest. The memory flashed through my head, unbidden: Grit and I standing in the small room in Sugarland, trying and failing to negotiate with the griffon for help with… Didn’t matter anymore. What was her name again? For the life of me, I couldn’t remember. I wrinkled my nose briefly. “It can wait until tomorrow, then,” I repeated, turning to rummage back through the bin of junk metal.

“Last I remember, you had something urgent you needed done,” she continued, walking in and leaning against my unlit forge, scratching one talon at the underside of her beak. “Something about a pony you needed found, right? I, uh,” she swallowed, pausing a moment. “I got permission from my boss t’ renegotiate the price if you-.”

“Job’s done,” I snapped back. Before I’d known what happened, my whole body was tense. Before me, a piece of a toy robot floated in a green haze of my magic.

A pause, long and slow. “Ah. Right, ‘course.” I glanced up at the griffon to find her still there, but no longer leaning against my forge. One of her front claws dug at the ground, idly scratching. “Anythin’ else the Talons can do for you?”

I cut my magic off and dropped the half-toy back into my scrap bin, staring at her and feeling that prickling on the back of my neck and ears as I clenched my jaw tight. Why won’t she just leave! “No.” I locked my eyes on hers, but she didn’t return the glare. “Go away.”

“I need a job.”

My temper simmered down, confusion replacing it. It was obvious that she’d been after something but for it to be so bluntly put just left me speechless. “Need a job?”

“My bosses…” she began, then cut herself off. “Look, it’s just internal Talon bullshit, alright?” She stood up and started walking away. “If you don’t have anything, I can ask around, but I figured you could use a bodyguard, or someone to run the shop while you’re out.”

Some small part of me spoke out of turn, stopping the griffon in her tracks as she was leaving. “Why me?”

“Was easy to get here, and last I knew you needed somethin’ done.” She looked away, towards my forge, gently swishing her long tail back and forth. “And I… didn’t really give you a fair cop back in Sugarland.” She fluffed her wings at her sides idly. “One o’ the other Talons at my base was able to point me to where I’d find you.”

She grinned and shook her head. “I swear, that dick Alda takes every chance she can t’ show off her fancy wing blades and brag ‘bout how she got em custom made. Even named em, too, if you can believe it!”

She had my full attention now. I remembered forging those wing blades. It felt so long ago now, before Malice or Copper or any of this. And the griffon liked my work that much? I’d been proud of them, of course--they’d posed a significant challenge to make--but nearly all of my interactions with clients were… impassive. The mental picture of someone bragging about the blades I’d made for them tugged at the corners of my mouth and washed away some of my weariness. I snapped back to the griffon still standing in my workspace. Silence hung in the air as I tried to determine a way to broach the next subject. With a slow, deep breath, I finally said, “I don’t remember your name.”

“Kyra.” She answered. “S’fine. Wasn’t like we met for very long either.” She shook her head briefly before meeting my gaze again. There was something about how she looked at me. I couldn’t put my hoof on it, but it called to mind the way ponies sometimes looked in New Appleloosa. “So, about that job?”

My mouth opened immediately and then closed again. This didn’t feel right. I didn’t like any part of it. The signs of a bad deal, one I was being pressured into before I had a chance to learn all the facts. Not to mention that Talons were supposed to be elite mercenaries, and yet here one was, practically begging for any menial job I could give her. I shook my head. “I don’t need to hire. I can look after myself and the shop.”

Kyra’s wings drooped a bit at my answer, and she didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Well,” she said, finally turning to leave, “If you think of anythin’ I can do, let me know, alright? I’ll be in town a bit longer, asking around.”

I nodded, and turned back to my scrap bin once she had walked out of view. Briefly I’d considered pointing her towards Grit, but--no. No, that had too many ways of going poorly. Kyra could ask around town and find out who to talk to for guard duty.

Anypony else could point her the right way.

* * * * * * *

Kyra was still around two days later, and on the third morning, as I started setting up shop for the day, I caught sight of her stumbling out of one of the unoccupied, caved-in houses further down the street, away from Four Shoes proper. She hurried to straighten out her feathers and fur before briskly walking towards the town, probably for breakfast. I wasn't sure if she had gotten a job from someone or not, but it didn’t seem like she was hanging around any one store in particular. She’ll probably move on soon.

I shook my head, trying to focus instead on the task at hoof. My shop had enough of the essentials stocked, but the order for Nikale was still incomplete. Wouldn’t be long now, though; another day or two and I’d be able to finish and head to Shipper.

“Alloy,” a voice called to me. I didn’t even need to look up from display case to know who it was, though the chewy, drawling accent sounded more brusque than I was used to hearing.

Grit came to a stop in front of my counter, stiffly watching me.

I nodded at him, gently scuffing at the ground with my forehoof.

“Grit,” I answered. “What can I do for you?”

“Got a favor t’ ask.”

Of course. “What kind of-”

“There y’are!” Kyra’s slightly raspy voice called out from above us, swooping down and perching herself atop the awning above my storefront, the metal creaking under her weight.

“Get down from there!” I barked, hurrying out from behind my counter to stand next to Grit and stare at her. “You’re going to break it!”

Kyra, lying down on her stomach with front claws and head hanging over the edge, looked down at the sheet of metal under her, rapping against it with a claw. It creaked again, but only briefly. “Naw, it’ll be fine. I’m lighter than I look.”

I snorted, flicking my tail sharply. “You break it, you fix it.”

She waved a claw at the air, dismissing me. Grit glanced between us for another few seconds before interjecting, sounding much more like his usual self. “Aren’t you th’ Talon from Sugarland?” He tilted his head to one side. “Kyra, right?”

“Got it in one.” She grinned, glancing at me. Of course Grit was better with names than I was.

“You were lookin’ for me?”

Kyra slouched a little. “For a bit now, yeah, ‘til someone mentioned you’d left on a little trip. Decided to settle in and wait for ya.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Had somethin’ t’ track down by th’ old Ministry o’ Morale buildin’.” He smiled at her, chuckling casually. Hearing him laugh again-- “Well, I’m here now. Somethin’ y’need?”

“Sure do!” she answered from her perch. “I’m looking for a job. Nobody else seems to be hiring, so I asked about guard duty. The traders in town told me you were the pony to see, but I couldn’t find you.” She glanced around the town, and briefly I wondered what Four Shoes looked like from her vantage point, or even flying overhead. “I’m surprised the town doesn't have more guards. Are you the only one?”

Grit just waved a hoof in the air idly, giving a lopsided grin. “Somethin’ like that. Mostly I jus’ keep th’ caravans comin’ and goin’ safe. There’s a couple other ponies ‘round that help out, but they spend most o’ their time huntin’. Most everypony else in Four Shoes’ pretty good with a gun, so we don’t get a lotta trouble.” He glanced at me, then back up at Kyra. “But you said somethin’ ‘bout a job?”

“Yeah. I’d like to sign on as a guard. I’m a pro at this stuff, and especially with Bertha here.” She unslung the huge gun from her back and held it in one claw, patting the barrel with the other. I rolled my eyes. Hadn’t she laughed at her friend naming the wing blades? And ‘Bertha’?

Beside me, Grit just cocked an eye slightly. “What’s a Talon doin’ lookin’ for guard duty? I’m sure you’re damn good, jus’ a lil’ curious.”

She shifted in place, another series of creaks and groans issuing from the protesting metal awning, making me wince briefly. “Bosses want me to take on a contract. Don’t care what it is or what it pays. That’s all there is to it.”

For a long while, they just stared at each other. Finally, Grit broke the silence. “Might have somethin’ for ya. Gimme a few days t’ wrap up some more business an’ we’ll talk.”

The griffon’s head immediately perked up. “Sure thing! I got time, if you’ve got the work for me.” She extended her wings and leapt off the awning, causing it one last rattle and squeal before gliding in a circle and landing next to us both. “Hey, if it’s more of that ruin-digging you were talking about before, I can give you a claw.”

Grit shook his head briefly. “Naw, nothin’ like that, an’ I can handle myself out there anyway. It’s jus’ me diggin’ through some history. Old wartime stuff, like th’ history o’ the Ministry o’ Wartime Technology or th’ Pinks in-”

“The Pinks?” Kyra snickered, echoing my own thoughts. “No way, who the fuck names their group ‘Pinks?’ ”

“Ministry o’ Morale, apparently.” Grit smiled, shaking his head. “Even wore matchin’ pink suits! Y’couldn’t make this stuff up.”

Pink suits?

Kyra let out a squawking laugh. “You Stable ponies always love diving into this shit.”

The image flooded into my mind, of two ponies in pink suits and sunglasses. In my mind’s eye, there they were again, standing in the doorway to a plush office. “I think I’ve seen them,” I said quietly.

Grit and Kyra’s attention was immediately on me. Too late now. I turned to Grit, his eyes a little wide. “Ponies in matching pink suits, right?” He nodded. “I think I saw them in,” I glanced at Kyra for a heartbeat, “in a memory orb.”

Grit’s eyes went even wider, his ears standing up high. “Where’d you get it? D’you still have it?”

I nodded, turning back towards my door. “I got it from the Ministry of Morale office. Just a minute.” I walked into my house, and thanked Celestia they didn’t follow me in. Inside the small locker in my house, next to the compartment set aside for my coal, was the small wooden box holding the memory orb. What was the stallion’s name again? Silver something? I shook my head, dismissing the idle thought and lifting the box with a cushion of green magic and taking it back outside, passing it to Grit. “Here. I wasn’t doing anything with it anyway.”

Grit opened the box gingerly, staring at the soft, silver light of the orb, but taking care not to establish contact with it. He closed it, and set it inside his bags gingerly. “I,” he started, looking at me, scuffing a hoof at the ground. “Thanks, Alloy. This means a lot t’ me.” His voice lacked some of the energy he had when talking to Kyra.

I just watched him, waiting for him to elaborate on the favor he’d come to me about, but he said nothing. One of my ears flicked at the air, and I looked briefly at my store, and then back at Grit. Behind him, Kyra was just looking back and forth between us. “You said something about a favor?”

Grit’s eyes snapped back to mine. When had he looked away? “Oh. Oh! Right.” He nodded. “Well, while I was out, one o’ th’ spritebots from 15 showed up. Had a recorded message for me, from Pillar. He wants me t’ bring you down t’ th’ Stable for some big commission. Didn’t say what, but he seemed like he wanted it in a hurry.”

“Ah.” I looked back at my storefront, recalling the work I needed to still do for Nikale. “Sorry, I can’t yet.” I thought to myself about getting the jobs done, how long it might take to finish up. If I closed up now, I could work the rest of the day and finish everything. Then tomorrow I could bring the finished order to Shipper and come back. “I need to finish an order for Shipper. I’ll head out tomorrow morning for Shipper and come back before sundown, and then we can leave for Stable 15 the day after.” Grit’s face didn’t change, and an alternative hit me. “Or, we could both set out first thing in the morning, and pass through Shipper before continuing to 15.”

He nodded, looking off to one side for a moment. “I’ll go with you t’ Shipper t’morrow.”

“Okay.” I scuffed a hoof at the ground.

“Okay.” He didn’t move just yet, and I tried to find words, anything to say. Despite his old attitude being annoying sometimes, it was better than this… stiff, emotionless Grit I’d been seeing the past two weeks, and his conversation with Kyra had only thrown it into sharper light. “Guess I’ll see you t’morrow then.”

I just nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” cut in a raspy voice. Both of us jumped, looking at Kyra. “Could you two be any more tense?” Neither of us said anything. “Alright, fuck it. Grit, I gotta idea. Nevermind on th’ town guard job, I’m officially making my job to go with you two to Stable 15 or wherever. The way you’re going on, you ponies are gonna choke each other on awkward silence, and then there’ll be nopony here to hire me for another job.”

I took a step back from her, ears flat against my head. A glance at Grit told me he was just as taken aback as I was, though he recovered faster. “Now… hold up a tick, that’s an awful fast judgement call t’ make ‘bout us. An’ this business could get a bit… personal.”

Kyra rolled her eyes, making a noise between a squawk and a snort. “Well, how about this, then: since the two of you are my best shot at landing a job, I’ll come along and watch your backs. Free of charge. Get to see a Talon on the job, then maybe you’ll find somethin’ for me when we get back.”

Her offer was appealing, in a few ways, even if I was still reeling from the way she first presented it. I’d certainly appreciate another gun along, not to mention if the two of them struck up conversation, they might leave me be for the long trek. With a glance at Grit, I stepped forward, “Well, I have no problems with it.”

Grit shot me a quick look before bobbing his head to the side. “Yea, alrigh’ then. Y’can come along. Be ready t’ leave t’morrow mornin’.”

“Won’t be too hard, not like I have to really pack,” she chuckled back. “And… thanks.” With that, she flew off, leaving Grit to give me one last glance over his shoulder before he walked back towards the town center.

Had I overstepped? Spoken up on something that was more his business than mine? It was me that Pillar wanted, so this was technically to meet a customer, but it was Grit’s home. I hadn’t even thought to ask how he felt about bringing along an outsider. For a few heartbeats, I was frozen in place, weighing if I should chase him down and say he could refuse her after all. But my legs refused to move. How would I even phrase that? It didn’t matter anyway, he had already agreed, and Kyra had made it clear she’d follow us if we wanted her or not.

A distant rumble of thunder brought my thoughts back in place as I glanced up at the darkening sky. I still had an order to finish. If Grit had sincerely objected to Kyra’s presence, he would have said something for himself.

Right?

Yes. Of course he would have.

* * * * * * *

Even closing up my shop right after they left, I still found myself working well past dark to finish Nikale’s order. My mind wandered at critical moments, racing with ideas of what might happen this time I left home. At least the trip to Stable 15 wasn’t far, but I still felt my blood turn to ice at the idea of leaving again, and with every swing of my hammer, I spat a new argument at my frozen nerves. Of course, I’d have to leave eventually. I owed Nikale an order. The trip to Shipper is one I’d made every month for years. I could make it alone.

Bang

I knew the route in my head.

Clang!

This was just a short trip.

Clang!

I’d be home again soon.

CRACK!

With a sharp yelp, breaking the calm night, my hammer glanced off my forehoof, instead of the half-formed screwdriver it was bracing, and skittered away from its intended target. Gingerly, I rubbed my nicked hoof against the back of my other foreleg, though it hadn’t hurt. Feeling my cheeks flush with anger, I searched the ground for my lost hammer, finding it relatively quickly in the flickering light of my forge. I was just tired. That was it. It was the last item on the order. Just needed to finish up and go to bed. That’s all.

I forced myself to focus on each swing of the hammer, like this was the first piece of metal I’d ever smithed. But that didn’t last long, either. The motions were too familiar to me, the process almost boring. None of the flair or intellectual challenge like that pair of wingblades I made for the griffon.

Shaking my head, I looked up at the crackling, roaring fire.

Maybe I need to get a radio. Play some of that DJ-PON3 music, even if I already knew every song on his playlist by heart. He didn’t have that many. How’d that one about a pegasus on his honeymoon go again?

Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away…

Clang!

If you can use some exotic booze…

Bang.

* * * * * * *

There were times I wished for an alarm clock. Or any clock, really. I’d heard PipBucks had them. Maybe I should find an old clock and fix it. They couldn’t be that hard to work on. I didn’t need it to be that precise. And maybe then I’d be spared the embarrassment of having Grit and Kyra wake me up by banging loudly on my door.

“Well someone’s overslept!” Kyra declared with a grin as I opened the door, my mane ruffled and standing up in odd places. “Not that I can really judge.”

“I was working late. Sorry for the delay,” I stepped back from the door and dug out my saddlebags and barding. “Just let me get the order loaded and I’ll be ready.”

Grit just nodded, saying nothing and staying outside. Kyra let herself in, however, and immediately started digging through my stuff, ignoring my glares at her. I gave up quickly, and pulled out Nikale’s order to check each item off the list as it was loaded.

“Kinda small, innit?” she asked, looking around before her eyes fell on my open locker. “What’s all that black stuff?”

I gave her a sidelong glance, flicking my tail at the air. “It’s coal.”

“Oh, wow, where’d you get real coal?”

I didn’t answer at first, checking a few more pieces off the list. “From Nikale in Shipper.” Trying to preempt another question, I continued. “I make odds and ends for him, and he gives me coal to run my forge.”

It seemed to work, as Kyra just nodded and then leapt atop a cabinet with a flap of her wings. I was somewhat impressed she could even fit in the small space up there, but she seemed comfortable. She let one claw hang off the edge, swinging it back and forth and tapping it against the wood with each swing, like an old grandfather clock.

She kept that up until I’d finished loading, and I was about ready to smash her claw with my hammer to stop that fucking tapping, but at least she hadn’t pressed for more answers. With the order loaded, I strapped on my armored barding and ran a brush through my mane before re-braiding it in the reflection of a slightly-polished hubcap. Lastly, I grabbed my sheathed sword and-

I froze.

Next to my sword was the revolver. The one I’d used to…

It was just sitting there.

I could still smell th-

“You alright down there?”

I shook my head briefly, realizing Kyra was staring at me from her perch atop the bookshelf. “Fine.” Before she could say anything else, I swept up the sword and holstered pistol in my magical grip, strapping them to opposite sides. “Let’s go.”

She hopped down off the cabinet and followed me out, where Grit joined us as we started down the path to Shipper. I took the lead, watching for the little landmarks along the way.

* * * * * * *

“I can’t believe this place is still standing!” Kyra gave a low whistle as she sat atop a broken street light, staring at the Ministry of Morale building and then the sky above it. I glanced up at her and kept walking alongside Grit, crossing the threshold of the main entrance. “Woah, woah, we’re going in?”

Stopping, I turned back, one ear flicking at the air. “It’s the only crossing nearby for this ravine. And I’ve been through here for years. It’s safe.” Except for last time… when Chainlink and his crew were here. I shook my head briefly, then turned to head inside. The humid air stank, heavier than outside, and I reflexively snorted.

Overhead, I heard Kyra fly lazily through the windows and glide down to land atop the desk in front of us. “This where you went to hunt down that memory orb, Grit?”

He nodded as we kept walking. “Yeah. Found th’ open safe in th’ top floor office, too. Surprised y’ got it open, Alloy.”

I shook my head. “No, no, I just found a key.” We walked towards the staircase, Kyra following behind us. “Did you watch the orb yet?”

Grit glanced over at me, one eye cocked. “Pretty much soon’s I got home last night.”

“What’d you think?” I asked, part of me hoping he could make sense of it. I remembered what happened in the orb, with Silver Something being arrested by ponies in pink suits after his secretary called them.

He seemed genuinely surprised by my interest. “Well, it kinda confirmed somethin’ I wasn’t sure ‘bout, that somepony was, uh, impersonatin’ Silver Trim.” He gave an odd emphasis on “impersonating,” and briefly I wondered what he meant before the answer hit me.

Changelings.

A changeling had impersonated Silver Trim.

That’s why Grit had been hunting down wartime history. And suddenly, the secretary’s concern made a lot more sense. How much did wartime ponies know about changelings anyway? “Th’ rest of it though, jus’ raised more questions, heh. Seems like wartime ponies loved their secrets.” He chuckled, and I couldn’t help but smile a little in return. Hearing him speak more easily to me again was something of a relief, but I wasn’t even sure why.

I was about to ask him about the pink-suited ponies when Kyra, now hovering in front of us at the top of the first landing of stairs, raised a claw to stop us. Her eyes were narrow and her head cocked to one side. I strained my ears to listen, too, and then I heard it.

Buzzing wings.

My heart started pounding, and I yanked my sword free of its sheath. “Downstairs!” Kyra bellowed, before sending deafening gunshots down the hallway. She charged back down the stairs at us. I ran. Grit was beside me, his pistols drawn.

We stopped in the lobby, my breathing already heavy. Kyra bolted around the corner after us, firing again and again with her shotgun before she flew into the lobby herself

She wasn’t alone.

At least a dozen bloodsprites were hot on her tail, I couldn’t count them well at a glance. Grit and Kyra immediately started blasting away with their guns, popping them like reddened balloons. More kept coming. A pack broke off and flew towards me. I charged. Ducked under them and swung my sword up, slicing one of them cleanly in two. Something scraped my side, and I jumped away, whipping my head around, swinging wildly and catching another.

I didn’t stop to think.

The gunshots rang continuously. Kyra let loose a guttural roar. Or was that Grit? I didn’t know. My heart thundered as I ran.

My hoof caught a pool of goo and slipped. I crashed to one side, skidding along the ground. Two bloodsprites barreled at me, and I swept my sword in a wild arc as I stumbled to my hooves. One died, but the other got to me, sinking its needle-mouth into my flank.

My throat raw from a scream, I smashed it quickly, yanking the needle out. My sword floated before me, but no more of them came. Kyra and Grit stood among a sea of ichor and bodies, breathing heavily.

I took a few steps towards them, but my left hind leg wavered and I stumbled, slipping and almost falling over again. Glancing back, I saw the open wound where the bloodsprite had bit me, slowly leaking red. It looked worse than it felt, but I still scrambled to open my pack and root around to try and find a bandage.

“Y’alrigh’, Alloy?” Grit called out, trotting over to me as Kyra landed next to him.

Waving a hoof in the air at him, I kept digging. “I’m fine, just… got bit.” I must still have some leftover from my last trip, right?

“Here.” A roll of bandages hovered next to me, wrapped in Grit’s blue-tinted magic. “Lemme get that, I got a better angle.”

Nodding, I stood up and turned my side towards him so he could wrap the bandage around me, pressing a clean pad to the hole itself to staunch the bleeding. “Thanks.”

“Don’ mention it.” He finished, tying the wrap tightly. “Careful though, bloodsprites’r s’posed t’ have some kinda… poison I guess, t’ make blood flow more. Don’t do any runnin’ if y’ can help it.”

I nodded, and looked at Kyra, who was wiping her claws and gun clean, as well as some kind of spiked bat. I hadn’t seen her use it, but judging from the green and red staining it, she knew how. She put the weapon away and looked back at me. “Saw some of those moves. Not bad, not bad at all. Could use some work though, you swing that thing around way too much.” I scrunched my nose up at her, feeling defensive about her backhanded compliment. I knew I wasn’t especially great with my sword, but I felt some amount of pride. “Mind if I see your sword?” she asked, snapping me out of my train of thought.

Glancing at my still-messy blade, I found a torn-up couch nearby, wiped the ichor off on the cushions, and floated the blade to her. She gripped the handle firmly in one claw, staring at the edge before giving it a few test swings. “Hey, this’s good stuff, Blue.” I winced. She tossed it back to me, and I caught it midair with my magic before sheathing it. “I might ask you to do something for me later on.”

With a flick of my ear, I looked back towards the staircase of the Ministry building. “It’ll have to wait until we’re back home. Let’s keep moving.” I started walking, favoring my right hind leg as I did so. “And it’s Alloy.”

“Hey, we got time to kill. Why not hammer out the details now, eh?” She grinned as she floated in the air beside me, lazily flapping her wings to stay aloft. “I’m thinkin… maybe a spiked chainsaw! Oh! Or you could make some kinda chainsaw bayonet for ol’ Bertha!” I just stared at her, dumbfounded, almost tripping over a crack in the floor. Did she even understand what I did?

“I,” I glanced at Grit, hoping for some kind of change in conversation topic, but he just remained silent, turning on his PipBuck radio as we crossed the collapsed roof-bridge of the Ministry building. “I can’t make something mechanical like that. Not to mention it’d be too heavy for a bayonet.”

“Aww,” she answered, and landed to walk next to me again.

For a moment, I thought that was the end of it, but then she let out a triumphant squawk. “I got it! Electric gloves!”

* * * * * * *

It was a long walk to Shipper from the Ministry building.

By the time we arrived, I had managed to steer Kyra to the more practical solution of either a serrated machete, or a long bayonet for her shotgun. She seemed determined to have some kind of bayonet, despite my insistence that the weapon wouldn’t be as useful. The occasional glance I spared Grit showed me a grin he was trying to hide the whole time.

For the eighth or ninth time, Kyra was trying to talk me into wrapping the handle with barbed wire when the warehouse came into view, the familiar “Shipper’s Cargo Handling and Romance Novels” sign across the side. “Hold on,” I cut her off, meeting her eyes. “Let me talk to them.” Truthfully, I didn’t know how Nikale and the others would react to me bringing another new face to their home, but I braced myself for the worst. They trusted me, didn’t they? That must count for something.

As we ascended the ramp to Shipper, a few of the zebras turned to watch. Some younger ones bounced excitedly before being restrained by their parents.

“Blacksmith,” the rich, exotic voice of Nikale carried across open space serving as the main plaza. “I take it you are here with our goods?”

“I am.” I carefully unfastened my saddlebags, pulling out the list of goods requested, and unloading the contents of the saddlebag one by one.

Checking each item off the list, Nikale didn’t speak again until everything was accounted for. “Thank you. I will have Xekan bring you the coal in a moment.”

I nodded. “I…” I searched for the right words, “I apologize for the delay. Something came up. It shouldn’t be a problem again.” I wouldn’t be taking on any more 'errands' for Malice anyway.

Nikale shook his head. “It is no concern. Something to do with your visit several weeks ago, yes?” I said nothing. “Who is this griffon you have brought? Another business partner?”

Following his gaze to Kyra, I turned back to him. “Ah, she’s,” business partner was close enough, wasn’t it? “Yes, she’s working with Grit and I.”

“I see. You certainly keep interesting company, Blacksmith.”

Just what did that mean? I was about to answer him when Grit cleared his throat. Looking back at him, he jerked his head towards the café stand where a zebra was serving some kind of stew. “Gonna get us somethin’ t’ eat.”

Come to think of it, I was starving, too. The long-winded discussion with Kyra had distracted me long enough that I’d forgotten my growling stomach. “Okay.”

With that and nothing else, Grit walked off, Kyra following closely behind. I started to follow, but Nikale stopped me. “A moment, please.”

Turning around, I scuffed a hoof at the ground. “Something wrong?”

“I do not know. Is there?”

My tail flicked at the air. What was with the mystery? I started running through the order again in my head. Some of it wasn’t my best work, but it was all functional, if not pretty.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his voice. “I am sorry, I have bad habits from my grandfather.” He glanced past me, watching Kyra and Grit. I followed his gaze and saw the two of them laughing casually over something. Probably one of Grit’s stories. “I was just noticing. The way your unicorn friend acted around you, it was not like the last time you came here.”

Well, that was to be expected. A lot had happened. I wasn’t sure we could ever act that way around each other again, so casually. “Things change.”

“I suppose. But we can also make them change.” I turned back to face him. “Your voice, for example.”

I flicked my tail at the air sharply. The hell was he on about now?

Nikale took a step back, raising a hoof in the air. “I apologize again. Forget I mentioned anything.” He turned to walk away, but Luna-damn him, now I had to know.

“What do you mean?” I pressed, taking a few steps forward to catch up with him.

Turning back to face me, he bobbed his head briefly. “Simply that the way you speak is somehow different. You do not sound as sure of what you say. A businessmare should have more confidence, yes?”

My mouth worked in silence. How could I sound that differently? I tried to find the words to defend myself, but I couldn’t find any ground to stand on. Nopony else had said anything, but then again I was only ever close enough to Grit for him to say anything. Nopony else knew me very well, except the zebra before me.

Dipping his head low, Nikale continued in my silence, “Never you mind. Xekan will bring you the coal. Enjoy your meal, and do not concern yourself with my words.”

And with that, he just walked away.

The hell did he mean I sounded less confident? I sounded just fine! At least, I thought I did.

But what if he was onto something? Nikale had known me longer than almost anypony in the Bayou. Almost as long as…

I looked over at Grit, talking energetically with Kyra, smiling in a way I hadn’t seen him smile since the last time he and I passed through Shipper.

A gut feeling accompanied that realization. An instinct, reacting faster than I could imagine.

I needed to set things right with him.

But I had no idea how.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Footnote: N/A

Alloy Shaper’s Smithy
Sales Journal

Author's Notes:

Well here it finally is at last. Once again I am very sorry about the delay on this one, but I hope y'all enjoy. I'll be pushing myself to try and get chapters out faster than every other month in 2016, maybe even as fast as once a month? I dunno, let's not get too crazy!

Once again thanks to Pipistrelle, Mondo, and Promptanon for their work on this one, especially for putting up with me while I wallowed in writer's block.