Icy cold sweat trickled down Dim’s side beneath his sodden, already soaked light cloak. This town reminded him far too much of another, the memories were far too fresh, far to vivid, leaving his mouth aching with a thirst that water could not, and would not quench. Shepherd’s Shore was a thin, fragile scab, with the merest thought capable of causing the diseased blood to trickle forth. Dim’s mind had done its best to protect him, to convince him that his hallucination had been real, and that many bandits had died that day. His mind had a desperate need to enforce the notion that those had in fact, been bandits, and that he had not been the cause of the civil war that had broken out, sundering the Grittish Isles, tearing them in twain.

His thin legs—almost pipe cleaner thin given his current state—trembled so much that it was a wonder that he remained upright. The stench of his own sweat was sour, unpleasant, and he itched in every crusted crevice. The weight of the half-filled rum bottle in his grasp was like what he imagined raising the moon had to have been like—an impossible task indeed—and he struggled not to drop it.

The roads here were not cobbled, not even graveled, they were just packed dirt. The buildings were framed with heavy beams, and then finished off with wattle and daub. The roofs were thatched and most of the windows had glass in them, indicating a certain level of prosperity. There was no electricity here, no sign of any sort of modernisation, and the town’s wells were picturesque opportunities for tourists.

There were griffons here, with a majority of ponies. Dim hoped that the relationship between them was amicable—protection rackets were a thing—and he held onto a sincere hope that things would not take a turn for the worse during his stay here. In a rickety looking wooden watchtower near the town’s gate, two griffon fusiliers kept watch, clinging to two fusils that appeared to be from the age of antiquity. They had let him and Blackbird through the gate without question.

A foolish mistake? Only time would tell.

“You’re taking a bath, Mister.” The tone of Blackbird’s voice left no room for argument, no bargaining, no negotiation. Being a good bit larger than Dim, she used her bulk to be intimidating, and her feathers fluffed out, further enhancing the effect. “The vardo is a mighty small space to be sharing, and you… you’ve got a stink that could bring a tear to a glass eye.”

“That might be pleasant?” Dim did not mind the suggestion, in fact, he welcomed it. He longed to wash the stench of Tortoise-Tuga off of him. Maybe a good trim might be nice as well, but the idea of somepony snipping away with scissors too close to his ears made the corner of his mouth begin twitching.

“There’s a laundry here, and a general goods store. I wonder what they sell. I am running low on shot and powder.” Blackbird’s ears pivoted around, and for the first time, Dim noticed that they were tufted at the tips, very much like those of the nocturnal pegasus ponies.

Dim didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring at Blackbird. She was the blackest black creature that he had ever seen, a deep, rich, glossy black. Every inch of her was black as black could be, save for her hind hooves and her claws, which were a dark matte grey. Even the avian scales on her front legs that led down to her talons, those were an inky, hypnotic shade of black. Her mane was like strands of midnight, and the way they clung to her face and neck made Dim think poetic thoughts.

“With Grenadine… you had the chance to turn on me… you could have taken his money, walked away, and left me to my fate.” Blackbird shook her head, and her somewhat curled forelock slid over her left eye, then came to rest against her temple while she held her head cocked off to one side to stare at Dim. “I mean, I haven’t paid you a thing. Why?”

“I would very much like to have carnal relations with you,” Dim blurted out in response. “I wish to probe the depths of your darkness.” Stunned, he wondered what had just made him say that, and behind the dark glass of his goggles, his eyes were wide with sudden terror. Blackbird could wring his neck, and no doubt, he would let her. He might even enjoy it.

“Well, I can’t fault you for being honest.” Her head leveled out and her lips drew taut, revealing bulges caused by long, pointed canine teeth. “A reminder… no means no, and don’t you dare betray my trust. You have to sleep sometime, and that’s when I’ll drop you overboard.”

“Being dropped overboard would hurt my plans of gaining your trust.” Dim couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, the sincerity, the honesty, the vulnerability. “Trust is important, should a pony choose to lie down with a lioness.”

“Hmm, I suppose it is.” Blackbird’s expression became thoughtful. “My mother, she had claws that could rake grooves into steel plating. She was a big, burly, powerful creature, and she did a lot of the heavy lifting on the various farms she watched over. Yeah, yeah”—an enthusiastic nod made her head bob up and down—“I can see what you are saying.”

Dim sighed with relief.

“My mom, she once lifted a steam powered tractor up out of the mud. I mean, she had some help, but what few pegasus ponies we had around couldn’t have done that without her. Now I’m thinking… my mother really did have to work hard to gain their trust. How does one let a creature that big, that powerful live around them and not be just a little bit afraid? Huh… I guess that explains why little ponies are so slow to accept me. Maybe I just took my home situation for granted.”

“I know all about taking things for granted…”

“I bet you do.” Blackbird’s face had a cloud of concern pass over it. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up, I’m tired of stinking.”

The water stung, but in a good way. It was hot, almost too hot, and it soaked into filthy, crusted-over places. The pain in his dock was almost unbearable, and beside him, Dim could hear Blackbird hissing while she tried to settle into her copper basin tub. She was, of course, far too big, and it was like trying to stuff a pony into a bucket. Dim reasoned that he could stuff a pony into a bucket, but it would be messy. There would be a great deal of squishing.

With much caution, Dim pulled off his goggles. The room was darkened, the blinds drawn, and the oil burning lamps were low. He had smothered the light a bit, leaving the room at tolerable levels, and after blinking a few times, his eyes adjusted to the unwanted, unwelcomed light. Above him were a mess of pipes, all of which led to a coal-burning copper boiler that glowed with a faint orange in the corner.

“On Tortoise-Tuga, there was a shortage of clean, fresh water,” Dim said, trying to start a conversation with small talk. “Baths were available, but they cost a king’s ransom. You could buy used bathwater though, or really used bathwater, if you were almost broke.”

“Ugh!” There was a splash as Blackbird struggled to get more of herself into her tub.

“Having troubles?” Dim asked, and he was thankful that the shadows hid his smile.

“Yes! How am I supposed to clean the clitty litter from my kitty slitty in this tiny little teacup I find myself in?” There was more splashing, and then a string of expletives streamed from Blackbird’s mouth, like refugees fleeing a war.

“You don’t talk like other mares I know.” Dim reached up and with one wet foreleg, he rubbed his eyes, trying to clean away the grit and grime. The hot water felt great when it soaked into his face, and it stung his eyes in a not so pleasant way.

“I grew up on a farm with ponies who had bright red sunburned necks.” There was a creak of metal, followed by the sound of metal scraping against the wooden floor. “We didn’t mince words, and you were considered educated by how vulgar you could be. You had to be creative, see, if you hoped to make a pony laugh. You had to be even more creative to leave a pony disgusted.”

“So you went to school?” Dim asked.

“Not at first… when I was little, I was still bigger than everypony else my age… and the schoolmarm was worried about that. It got my mother heated, and she made things worse, but my dad, he finally sorted things out by being patient and calm. I was a good student, and Mrs. Clover was glad to have me.”

“Can I ask you a more personal question?” These words were slow to be said, as Dim feared rejection.

“Why not… I mean, we’re in the getting to know and trust one another phase. Go right ahead.”

“What’s it like being a crossbreed? A hippogriff?”

“You know, the only reason I am going to answer you is because you don’t seem offended by my very existence.” There was pain in Blackbird’s voice, bitterness, and all of her cheerfulness vanished. “Griffons are chimerae, crossbreeds, but they have become stable, harmonious crossbreeds. We hippogriffs however…” her words trailed off and she went silent.

The silence persisted and Dim wondered if she would continue. The pain in her voice was palpable, it could not be ignored, and the feeling that he had made a mistake had settled into the back of his mind. He wished that he could take the question back, but there was no undoing what had been done. All that could be done was hope that she didn’t resent him.

“We hippogriffs are a disharmonious chimerae. We’re a slapdash creation, thrown together by magic, and the magic tries to make all of the different parts work. Because of this, we tend to be chaotic… we can be violent, dangerous, and unpredictable. My dad… I’d like to think that he scolded the chaos right out of me, but I still have my moments. There is a reason why ponies and griffons both don’t trust hippogriffs in general, and why we’re feared.”

“Griffons too, can be violent, dangerous, and unpredictable.” Confused, Dim was at a loss to understand what had been said, and his keen mind shoved aside everything else to begin trying to sort out the issue.

“They can, but griffons can also make for fine soldiers. They have a proud, noble, martial history, full of discipline and honour, or they did before the decline.” There was a soft sigh, and the hard edge in Blackbird’s voice was softened when she spoke again. “We hippogriffs, we don’t have a good history. Look, I’m sorry, I gave you your answer, and I do not wish to keep talking about it.”

“I understand.” Dim did, in fact, understand, and when he lapsed into silence, he thought long and hard about his own history, and that of the House of Dark.

Dim felt like a new pony. Sleek, gleaming, well brushed, groomed, he almost felt like showing off. His grullo pelt now had a near-mirror finish. With all of his clothing in the laundry, including his vizard hats, he had braved the sun just long enough to duck into the one and only cafe in the town, an eatery that shared space with the inn.

Still wearing his goggles, he sat in a dark, shadowy corner, reading a newspaper, and drinking a cup of coffee. His cigarette holder protruded from his lips, (it doubled as a wand in emergencies) and a clove and cannabis cigarette released a haze of blue smoke that curled upwards in lazy loops. A bowl of corn and potato chowder was cooling in front of him, and he would get to that soon enough.

“You clean up well, I’ll confess,” Blackbird said while she filed away with a fresh emery board that made scritchy-scritchy sounds while it honed and sharpened her claws. She worked with swift movements that were precise, quick, and nimble for a creature of her size. “You help me find my mother, and I’ll be mighty grateful.”

Dim’s newspaper rumpled a bit, but he did not reveal his face.

“I reckon that once I find her, I’ll need to help her get sober again. I’m not looking forwards to that, but it is a job like any other. Once I get her sorted out, then, maybe, perhaps… you can ask her permission to take me on a date. Until then, I’m off limits.”

This time, he did lower his newspaper, and then squinted through his goggles.

“With my father gone, you have to get permission from somebirdy…”

Author's Notes:

“She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close.”

―Terry Pratchett