Dating.

I don’t want to say that’s what I’m doing, but that’s essentially what it boils down to; for the first time in seventeen years, I’m going on a date.

Goodness gracious, that sounds tacky as fuck.

I close my eyes and bow my head with a sigh, rubbing my brow at just how low I’ve let myself sink. My standards haven’t changed, I tell myself, this is just the next step in something greater — something I’ve probably been meaning to ask in some capacity sooner or later, but never had the courage to.

Courage, or motivation?

One in the same, really.

Not quite. This is happening only because you—

I shake my head and stop that thought dead in its tracks. I’m not thinking about that today. As far as we’re concerned, it never happened. Clean slate. Not quite, or we wouldn’t be at this point, and he wouldn’t be meeting me here, in Baltimare.

If we were different ponies, I’d suggest any number of locations within the city itself to visit — to take in the sights of a city he wouldn’t be staying in for too long. But we aren’t different ponies, so we’ll just have to make do with what’s possible, because as much as this place is quite a boon to explore, especially the harbour and all its fine dining options, we’re too famous for our own good. I can get away with a new disguise every so often, such as the one I’m wearing now, but he’s the only one of his kind and practically impossible to miss, even in a crowd.

His timing could use a little work, however.

“Excuse me, miss,” the tram driver beckons from the doorway, “we’re due to depart right about now.”

“I know,” I answer, glancing at him from behind purple shades and the shadow of a finely woven straw sunhat. “Just a few more minutes, please.”

A sympathetic look crosses his face. “I do have other passengers.”

“None like him.”

He lingers on me for a moment, then brings up his foreleg and examines the watch. “Five past five, no later.” He sighs, returning to me. “But that’s only because I’m a sucker for romance.”

My teeth clench and I glance away, folding my forelegs against my stomach as I shift in my seat. I don’t like being figured out so easily and I want to refute him, but complaining won’t do me any good, especially if I’m relying on his generosity at the expense of the… fifteen or so travellers already aboard. One or two of them give me dirty looks when they think I’m not looking.

Baltimare’s famous for its connection with the past; the architecture, the décor, even the streetlamps here echo with more personality than the featureless, efficient designs in some of the more modern cities, like Manehatten. Piccadilly the Northern Horseshoe Tram is no exception, and neither is her station — relics of an age when art deco was all the rage, now maintained well into the modern era, and there’s no sign they’ll ever slow down.

Unless you count right now, when I’ve thrown a spanner in the works.

But such is the price the world must pay for me to find some closure. Maybe things will work out, maybe they won’t, but I know what I want, and some part of me needs this. And by the way we were talking the other day, I think I can safely say he feels the same, or darn near close enough.

I just hope, whatever happens, this doesn’t turn out like…

…Great, now I’m starting to consciously think about it.

It’s never going to go away.

I can try my best.

Trying isn’t the same as doing.

My hindlegs come a little closer together as I distract myself with another scan of my surroundings. It’s a U-shaped platform cradling the tram, with two pairs of benches sitting back to back under shelters on either side. I’m on the one closest to the park just across the road, and there’s plenty of traffic today, on hoof, on the wing, and by towed cart. Not nearly enough that one can’t pass through with ease, just… more than normal. It seems that way, at any rate — I suppose my nerves inflating the numbers somewhat.

Being the southernmost coastal city of Equestria, Baltimare’s no stranger to diversity. Maybe one out of every ten ponies isn’t an actual pony — a comparatively high figure when taking into account the rest of the kingdom — and with certain borders becoming more porous, that figure’s set to grow. I’ve seen Abyssinians, Saddle Arabians, kirin, griffons, hippogriffs, and even the very occasional dragon, though only the younger, smaller varieties.

Even so, he’d stand out.

And when I hear the honk of a horn from down the street and turn my attention toward it, I blink in surprise; he’s not making much of an attempt to blend in.

Cars are everywhere on his Earth, or so he says. Every inch of asphalt is dedicated to them, and even though pedestrians normally have the legal right of way, everypony makes room for them. So integral they are to the average human’s life that houses are often built with something called a carport, like a land version of a boathouse. It would be unthinkable to live in the ‘developed world’ and not own one.

On my Earth, they’ve only been around since the start of the year, and are in extremely limited supply. I’ve seen some on the news, about how they — the unknowable, omnipotent they — had been able to reverse engineer what remained of the crash into a working prototype, with trials to be conducted towards the end of the month. I don’t doubt Twilight, the portal, and Sunset What’s Her Face had something to do with it.

But never have I seen one in person.

Functionally, it’s almost exactly like an open-air, pony-drawn carriage, but where there would’ve been a team up front is instead replaced by a compartment for the engine, and a seat for the driver on its left. Spoked wheels with white hubcaps and rubber tyres. The body is painted black and polished to a shine, with yellow checkers running along the sides — the colours of the local taxi service. The driver seems pretty proud of herself.

Behind her in the passenger section… him. He sits between Brave and Ironside, the newbie on the opposite seat facing him, and he watches me steadily. I can’t see his eyes, covered by custom-made sunglasses — at this point, it’d be easier to list what isn’t custom-made — but I can tell he’s seen me. He wouldn’t be smiling otherwise. Not overjoyed, just… pleased to make my acquaintance once more.

Trailing the vehicle on the walkways either side are a number of photographers and journalists, constantly snapping pictures and jotting down notes, and some shouting out a question or six, all going without an answer.

If I weren’t so stunned… I don’t know what I’d do.

The car rounds the corner of the park and pulls into a parking space, where she then turns back and tips her hat, saying a goodbye that’s drowned out by the distance and the mutterings of a gathering crowd. The guards dismount and form a perimeter as he shakes her hoof and pays the fare, then dismounts in turn and crosses the street while the guards spearhead his path and keep the press at bay. He ascends a short flight of steps with the newbie, the other two blocking the entrance off, and they proceed toward me.

I feel the sudden urge to back away, for whatever reason.

“Fleetfoot, ma’am,” Able greets with a dutiful salute. “We’ve arrived.”

I slowly nod, shifting my gaze from him to Philip. “Whatever happened to subtlety?”

“Well… there was always going to be a crowd, Fleet.” He shrugs uneasily. “And I’ve always wanted a car from the nineteen-twenties, so… when I saw that beauty pass by the train station, I figured why the hell not.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. Of course he’d pick today of all days to be spontaneous.

He sighs, peering over his shoulder with his hands on his hips. “Look, I don’t like it either, but we’re not going to be here long anyway, are we? I just thought… maybe I could have some fun. I mean, not that I think this won’t be — it’s just—”

“I get you,” I interrupt, but not mean-spiritedly; I’m just wary of what company we have, and don’t want him saying anything incriminating. Things look bad enough as they are — we don’t need to confirm it for all to hear.

As far as everypony’s concerned, myself and him included, we’re just two good friends finally managing to reconnect after some major disagreement, the details of which aren’t for anypony but us to know. And if this really does lead to something… more… then that’s for us to know too, and nopony else. They’ll question and theorise, they’ll gush and judge, but this isn’t their life and this isn’t their day.

Today is ours.

His.

Mine.

Ours.

He knows it well enough; he’s dressed for the occasion too. A white, button-up shirt with maroon roses patterned in the fabric, and the faint outline of a singlet beneath. Stylishly faded blue jeans, neither baggy nor tight, and not a hole to be seen. The same pair of sneakers, but I suppose it would’ve taken too long to commission another, less worn couple within the schedule we’d set. Not that I mind, to be perfectly clear.

Or does the very fact I notice it mean I mind?

…I hope he doesn’t mind how I look…

I don’t normally dress up myself. For occasions? Yes. For ponies? No. Not until he dropped into my life, at least. Consequently, my wardrobe has been really quite small for the majority of my life, even before I became a Wonderbolt, so I had to do a bit of shopping when I got back home. What I ended up buying was pretty slapdash, considering my limited sense of fashion and experience, but I hope I did alright; a plain, long-sleeved, pale pink blouse, and an equally plain, hock-length skirt.

I’m not ashamed to admit I’m also wearing undies for the first time ever. For obvious reasons. And it makes me feel dirty, in a way.

But if he doesn’t ask, I won’t have to tell.

He wouldn’t be looking down there anyway.

Shouldn’t.

I shift in my seat a little more just in case. “So, uh… we’d better get going, shouldn’t we?”

“Not so fast,” Able chimes in with a stalwart tone. “I’ll need to check the ID of everyone we'll be travelling with, just to be safe.”

The two of us give him confused, curious, slightly troubled looks, but Philip’s the one who speak up first. “I’m not sure that’s entirely necessary.”

“If it concerns your safety, then yes, it’s entirely necessary.” Able looks defiantly at us both. “Celestia chose me to take care of you and that’s what I intend to do. You’ve already attracted enough attention as it is. I may be new to this little clique you’ve established for yourselves, but I’m not new to my job, so please, let me do my job.”

Philip blinks and draws his head back, surprised, glancing to me for some kind of assurance, but only finds a similar expression on my face, or what little of it I’m allowing the world to see. “Uh…” he begins, returning to Able, but soon cuts himself off with a sigh and rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Okay, fine, bother them to your heart’s content, just make it quick.”

Able salutes and swivels about, marching to the closest tram door and the driver still staring at the scene with his beak agape. He’s brought back to the present when he’s asked for his citizen’s card and licence to operate the vehicle, however.

Philip sighs again and walks closer, taking a seat beside me. He pulls his sunglasses up and sets them in his hair, gazing out toward the eager crowd with a squint and a slow lick of the lips. “So,” he says slowly, quietly, almost aloofly, as if talking to himself, “this is… actually happening.”

“Yep,” I simply reply, trying not to let myself worry too much about how our audience only seems to be growing.

“And you and I are…”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And… this is fine.”

I listlessly nod and peer over to my right, spying Able proceeding down the carriage, inspecting the other passengers. Those dirty looks have all vanished. “As far as relationships go… I guess there’ve been worse arrangements.”

“You speak from experience?”

I shake my head, returning to the onlookers. “Just general knowledge.”

“Hmm.” He nods in a similar fashion. “Well, this’ll certainly be one. An experience, that is.”

“For both of us,” I remind, daring to sneak a glimpse at him… and the second I do, I linger, and the urge to punctuate that statement by giving his hand a squeeze overwhelms me. But we’re in public and the cameras are out. It wouldn’t be appropriate. My head tells me I should be relieved I caught myself in time, but the twinge in my chest and the odd, empty feeling in my hoof say otherwise. “I’m… new to this too, remember.”

He angles his head to his right and peers at me from the corner of his eye, and he offers a small, discreet, but undeniably appreciative smile. Less a smile, really, and more like pressing his lips together with the corners of his mouth in a strained, upward curl, but it’s heartfelt enough.

It makes me want to hold him again.

But then his expression morphs to something far less reassured, and his graze drifts off into the distance behind me; a sudden thought has struck him. “Speaking of new…” he murmurs apprehensively, scarcely audible over the clicking of shutters and the shouting of a few overzealous journalists, “There’s no risk of us being… you know…”

My ear twitches. I get the feeling I shouldn’t like where this is going, but I honestly can’t tell what he’s on about.

“I mean, like, there’s no way you could ever… well…”

I squint at him, genuinely confused.

He continues covertly watching the tram driver — a middle-aged, darkly-coloured hippogriff — but eventually meets my eyes again, sharing his hesitant gaze. And then he leans a little closer.

I take the hint and meet him halfway, warily bowing my head toward him so he can whisper.

“We’re not… compatible, are we?”

I blink, processing the words, but as I’m about to ask for a little more clarity, the meaning smashes me over the head like a rubber mallet and I lurch away and baulk at him. “Oh my stars, you did not just…!”

His barely restrained expression of panic silences me as he glances urgently, meaningfully at the tram and the street, and all who may be listening.

With my mind still reeling from the notion, I do my best to bring myself back into a more manageable state. But seriously, couldn’t he have asked me somewhere more private? “No,” I answer quietly and decisively, adding an irritated growl. “And please, don’t… ever mention that again.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but… I just wanted to be sure, you know?” He shrugs uncomfortably. “Can’t research it myself without looking suspicious, or just feeling plain… wrong. I mean, it wasn’t easy spending a whole month apart and thinking that, maybe—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” I frustratedly dismiss with the flick of a hoof as I close my eyes and shake my head to the floor, crossing my hindlegs. “Just… please… we’re not thinking about that today.”

He takes a deep breath in and out, and I can feel him nodding in compliant agreement. “So long as you didn’t have to do anything because of me.”

“Merciful Sisters, Philip, what did I just say?”

“Sorry.”

I huff a sigh and open my eyes to half-mast, looking at the tram.

Able works fast — he’s almost checked the entire cabin; just a few more passengers to go, and then we’ll be clear to leave. Less than a minute, I reckon. Which means I have about that long to turn the tone of this conversation around if I don’t want the whole trip to pass by in awkward silence.

“We’re going on a date,” I unsteadily announce, as much an admission as it is a statement, and as much to Philip as to myself. And then I slowly turn to him. “It’s going to be nice. It’s going to be fun. And we’re going to see if this is indeed what we really want.”

“Well, we already know what your answer will be.”

“Oh, shut up,” I sneer, folding my forelegs as I roll my eyes and shake my head in disbelief. But I know, deep down, he’s only telling the truth some dithering part of me doesn’t want to accept. Why it’s in denial, I can’t say; perhaps it’s still holding out hope that this really is just a crush, and I’ll be back to normal in the next few days or so, exercising daily, spending more time with the team, being a Wonderbolt.

But even after that fateful night, and the raging dumpster fire that was the morning after, and a month spent apart and a week to ourselves to prepare… he knows me as well as I know myself. And I can’t help feeling the fuzzy warmth of gratitude simmer inside of me, or the bashful smile sneak its way across my muzzle.

“God, you’re adorable.”

I scrunch my face as I tilt my head lower, the sunhat hiding me from both him and the press in case I start getting red-faced. I cup my hooves around my cheeks and temples for good measure. “Stop making me feel things,” I groan. “I don’t like it.”

“Oh, but I do.”

I peer up at him through a narrow gap between the shades and the brim.

He’s watching me with upturned brows and another of those smiles I can’t ever get over. And when our eyes meet, it stretches wide, he puckers his lips and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you make it too easy sometimes.”

“The date hasn’t started yet, Romeo. Let’s ease it up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” I let a heavy breath go and sit more upright, hooves flopping to my lap, but the warmth remains, much to my satisfaction, and it steels my nerves against the hundred or so onlookers. “Don’t want to be blushing for the whole world to see.”

“Oh no, we can’t have that, can we?”

I pause, turning my head and squinting at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be nervous?”

“Are you kidding?” He chuckles with an awkward shrug. “Of course I’m nervous.”

“Then why act so casual?”

He looks at me and quirks an eyebrow, his smile falling. “Should I not?”

I pauses again, blinking at him, then avert my gaze as my brows furrow in realisation. “No,” I reply aloofly, then shake my head and turn a little further away. “Sorry, I don’t know where I was going with that.”

“It’s fine,” he assures with a small, nonchalant wave. “Can’t all be—”

“Sir, ma’am.” Able steps out of the tram and marches toward us, the shifting of segmented armour announcing his presence as readily as he does. “The driver and passengers are verified; the tram is secure. I recommend we leave immediately.”

An expression of disappointment flashes momentarily across Philip’s face before he looks up and acknowledges the declaration with a nod and a forced smile. But then he returns to me, and although the smile shrinks, it becomes genuine. “I guess our time here’s up.”

“Seems like.”

“Only one thing for it.” He pulls his sunglasses back down and stands up, taking a step away to face me, the gestures for the tram. “Shall we?”

A flutter of hesitation threatens to shiver through me, perhaps spurred by the crowd, but I quash it with a brief nod as I slide onto my hooves, then drag out the wicker picnic basket I’d stowed underneath the bench with a wingtip. “Indeed we shall,” I answer, grinning up at him as I settle it on my loin.

He huffs a little air from his nose in a small laugh, shaking his head at it amusedly. “Always amazes me how you can do that. The balancing act, I mean.”

“You’ll get used to it. Just don’t stare too long, or it’ll get weird.”

“True, true,” he replies, glancing over at the tram once again. “Well then, lead the way.”

“Certainly,” I say with another nod, and immediately question myself over how out of character that sounded, coming from me, before dismissing the thought with a quick roll of the eyes as I stroll onward.

Able steps aside for both of us, then stamps the floor. “Brave, Ironside! They’re ready!”

Philip and I are through the door before I can see their reaction. Instead, what I see are the stunned looks of the ponies already aboard, as well as three griffons, all of whom watch us intently as I guide him down the aisle to a vacant booth on the right; four cushioned seats made from varnished redwood and violet velveteen, with carved accents and highlights of polished tin.

Really, they don’t make them like Piccadilly anymore.

I sidle in and take my place by the window, setting the basket between myself and the wall.

Philip moves to follow, but catches the guards entering the cabin from the corner of his eye, and that seems to remind him of something. “Oh, uh…” he begins, lifting a finger and looking to all the other occupants, “I know I’m not terribly camera-shy anymore, and Fleetfoot here’s been in the spotlight for far longer than I have, but… if we could please not have anyone photograph us for the time being, that’d be great.”

Silence. Some glances are shared, but nothing more.

“Thanks.” He gives them a thumbs-up and slips into the booth beside me, staring ahead with a seemingly straight face and patting his knees idly. “Cool beans.”

“Sweet mother of Celestia,” I mutter to him, hopefully not loud enough for anypony else to hear, “subtlety really has gone up in smoke for you, hasn’t it?”

“Well, excuse me for putting a little faith in the goodwill of the people.”

I roll my eyes and sigh, resting my chin on a hoof and looking out the window. The ride itself would only take about thirty minutes, tops, but at this rate, it may as well be forever.

He leans closer.

My eyelids lower to half-mast; I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say.

“You look nice, by the way.”

…Okay, maybe I kinda-sorta do.

The clinking of armour yanks me from my confusedly overjoyed reverie as Able walks past for a seat of his own, while Brave and Ironside shuffle into the booth and settle themselves on the bench facing us. But contrary to the newest member of their band of three, and despite carrying themselves with an air of professionalism and devotion, sitting on their haunches, ready at a moment’s notice, they’re not nearly as stoic.

Ironside looks between us with an appraising, sincerely appreciative look.

Brave, however, watches me through narrowed eyes and grins a wide, sly, indulgent grin.

I bow my head and pull the sunhat a little lower. Yes, the ride may as well be forever.

But that’s only because I’m beaming and blushing like an idiot.

---

“Redcliff,” Philip reads aloud as we descend the wooden platform, which is surprisingly well-maintained for an out of the way coastal village posing as a town, and the last stop for the tramline up the northern point of Horseshoe Bay. “Let me guess: it has red cliffs.”

“Supposedly,” I answer, looking to the couple dozen houses scattered about the gently rising slope. “Alternatively, you could believe the rumours and say it was named for how dangerous the shoals were before they built the lighthouse.”

“Grisly,” he observes, bobbing his head with his hands on his hips as he stops alongside me. “But you can’t fool me, Fleetybee: Equestrian naming conventions forbid grisly titles.”

“Curses, foiled again,” I mockingly concede as I centre the picnic basket on my loin with a wingtip. “Whenever shall I outwit you, dastardly fiend?”

He shrugs. “Not that hard, I suspect. All you need to do is come up with a zinger that’s zingier than whatever zinger I have in stock.”

I snort. “In other words, when pigs fly.”

“No need to be so pessimistic.” He turns and shares another of his smiles with me. “You’ve surprised me before.”

I look away before I break into a smile of my own, finding my gaze drawn over my shoulder and to the guards following us. Two out of three have all but verbally confirmed they know what’s really going on here, and I’d be ever so thankful if they kept their suspicions to themselves; the last thing I need to know is how far they think we plan on taking this, or have already taken it.

Able either doesn’t care or is just plain oblivious. Honestly, both options are fine by me — one less opinion I’ll have to worry about and live with for as long as he sticks around.

“Why do you always do that?” Philip asks.

I swing back to him and cock quirk an eyebrow.

“You look away when something makes you happy.”

“Oh.” I pause, staring blankly off into the distance, then shrug and begin ambling along the cobblestone path leading up to the village proper. “Just a habit.”

He follows at my side. “It’s an easy tell.”

“Well, I’ve never claimed to be a master of deception, have I?”

“No, I suppose you haven’t. As a matter of fact, neither have I.”

“I’ll say. Your tell is that you stop and gawk.”

“When have I ever—”

“Tiny Dancer, on the roof, after the song.”

Even behind his shades, he blinks at me in surprise — they’re not so dark that I can’t see through from certain angles. “You… knew?”

“I knew it affected you, but I didn’t know how much.”

“Affected is one word for it.” He emits a chuckle, but it quickly dies down and he clears his throat, probably realising the implications. And then he returns to the way ahead. “I was, uh… actually thinking about bringing it, you know. The ukulele.”

I raise an eyebrow to myself, pondering the notion, assessing my personal feelings on the matter. “That would’ve been nice.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, glancing away. “Maybe.”

“I just thought, well… I didn’t think it would’ve been very appropriate, given the context.”

I sigh. “Philip…”

“Look, I wasn’t sure, okay? I didn’t know if it would’ve sparked some bad memories, but I didn’t want to disturb you, so I didn’t say anything. Better safe than sorry.”

“The gifts weren’t the problem, Philip,” I reply, looking up at him earnestly. “We were. Now, can we please try to relax and enjoy what we’re doing?”

“Okay.” He slows his stride to heave a deep breath, then nods to himself and matches my pace again. “I just want everything to go well, you know?”

“I know.” I nod to myself as well, my gaze drifting off to scan our surroundings. “Me too.”

Redcliff is a quiet place, as somewhere so relatively isolated naturally would be — almost indistinguishable from a ghost town if it weren’t for two stallions sharing tea at a small café, or a mare escorting a colt along another path to our right. I get the feeling nothing much happens here, and the fact both pairs of ponies have indeed noticed us, but aren’t staring… is actually quite refreshing. Certainly a welcome break after the pandemonium at the station in Baltimare. I’m sure the guards would be thankful too.

Quaint comes to mind as a perfectly adequate description, although that describes a great many Equestrian villages, towns, hamlets, and even some cities. What this place reminds me of are the cosy little settlements up in the Griffish Isles, surrounded by hedgerows and fields. I passed through some of them, once upon a time, while stretching my wings on a leisurely flight when the team had finished training for the day in Trottingham, preparing for a show.

Here, though, things are more dynamic: there are older buildings, of course, made from cobbled stone and plastered white, some built into the earth itself, but the further down the slope, the more modern the dwellings become. However, nothing seems particularly out of place, and as we continue strolling up the winding trail, it’s a little like walking through history.

The houses are quite comfortably distanced from one another, affording plenty of privacy, and most of them have a garden of some description out the front, marked by a fence of the owner’s choosing. Surprisingly, I spy only one dwelling with white pickets, which sits on a small ridge toward the southern end of the village. Slate roofing, plastered exterior with rounded corners, a green door with a knocker, a flap for the mail, and the address nailed to the wood: 18.

I’ve always liked white picket fences.

But I gently shake my head and resume course, leading us past yet more dwellings until, at last, the slope levels out. The lighthouse stands tall and proud a fair distance to our right, and a griffon sits reclined on a picnic blanket to our left, reading a book. She glances up when she hears us approach, which then turns into a curious stare, but I pay her no mind — I’ve grown used to it, and I can allow at least one exception to the rule of a peaceful, quiet town where everypony keeps to themselves. She’s not harming me anyhow.

Another, altogether different sight has caught my attention, however. And no matter how many times I see it, sunset on the ocean is marvellous; how the light catches on countless ripples, shining like a shattered chandelier. Not exactly the prettiest metaphor, but I’m sticking with it because I can say I’ve seen the real deal, courtesy of Thunderlane having too many drinks at the manor of a lesser Abyssinian noble.

My time’s better spent relishing the moment anyway, and with him no less, rather than wondering how best to illustrate how beautiful the golden sky is, or the magnificent pinks, purples and reds of the clouds are.

I feel myself sag a little on an outward breath, captivated by the scene.

Perfection.

“Wow…” Philip breathes, putting a hand to shield his eyes. He should’ve brought a hat as well as sunglasses. “Some view…”

“You should see it on the winter solstice,” the griffon suggests. “The snow’s a bitch, but you’ll get this glorious green flash every time, I swear.”

We turn toward her.

She props herself up on an elbow as she lowers her book, close to midway through. A basket of her own lies within her reach. Her fur is a shade of ochre, her plumage a near flawless white, and her folded wings are tipped in black. Blue-grey eyes watch us from behind frameless reading glasses, which she lowers just a touch to gain a clearer view.

A subtle shiver of aversion runs through me, urging me to find some other place, or come back another time, when the cliffside isn’t so crowded.

A crowd of one.

But of course, the voice in my head is already on top of things.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She chuckles with a small, apologetic wave. “By all means, sit anywhere you like. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be reading.”

I blink, somewhat stunned. I consider saying something in response, but can’t think what, and decide it’s better not to question anything and take the offer while it lasts.

“Good evening to you too,” Philip replies with an upbeat tone and a courteous nod. Of course he’d have other ideas. “Not the usual welcome we’re used to.”

She snorts — an odd thing, coming from a beak. “I don’t doubt it. Whether you like it or not, you two do make an interesting duo. Not that I mean to imply anything.” She nods over to the rest of the village behind us. “Welcome to Redcliff, by the way. Not often we get big names like yourselves out here — never, in fact; you’re the first. Please, enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks, Miss…”

“Gytha. It’s a pleasure. And it’s Missus Gytha, for future reference. My husband’s down at the café with his brother.”

I blink again. Hard. “Your… husband?”

“Yep.”

“Dark grey coat, black hair, yellow eyes?”

She smirks. “Lucky guess.”

Once more, I blink. Harder. “You’re married to a pony?”

She rolls her eyes and looks out to the ocean, her smirk widening to a smile. “If I had a bit for every time someone said that…”

“Well, sorry, it’s just…” Now I’m struggling to find words for an entirely different reason, feeling a certain heaviness in my chest and a lightness in my head. “Well…”

“Fleet didn’t mean anything by it,” Philip interjects. “It’s just rare to find one of your… disposition, dare I say?”

She clasps a claw over her beak as another, more guttural snort escapes her. “That’s rich, coming from you, Mister Montero, I’ll give you that,” she says, bobbing her head as she returns to us. “My disposition. Good gods, you make it sound like I didn’t have any control over it.”

“Did you?” I ask, and immediately wish I hadn’t.

Her gaze turns to me, and whether it’s my nerves poking needles down my spine or I really did see it, I think I spy a glint of recognition. “Yes and no,” she hums, lowering her book and she shifts focus to Philip. “There were others in my life, and particular cards I could’ve played differently… but the heart wants what it wants, and so did his. One thing led to another, and… here we are.”

I seriously can’t tell if I’m reading too deeply into this or there’s a hidden message here.

“Fate and free will.” She reaches into the basket and pulls out a chocolate-chip cookie, eyeing it fondly. “Two sides of the same coin, if you ask me. We’re brought together by things beyond our control, make a decision, and then we have to live with it, for better or worse.”

…Okay, there’s a message here, she’s not being subtle about it, and she’s savouring the role of sagely mentor far too much.

Gytha looks at us once more and beams a shrewd grin. “Now, I don’t wish to presume anything, so please correct me if I’m wrong, but I somehow get the feeling this little picnic of yours isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

I look up to Philip.

He looks down to me.

We’re both thinking the same thing.

It’s rash, it’s foolish, and it may be usurping the entire point of this expedition, but we might not get another chance. Not without more publicity.

“Do you mind if we sit with you?” Philip asks.

The shrewdness fades to kindliness. “By all means,” she chirps, setting down her book and folding her reading glasses on top of it, then shimmies into a slightly more attentive pose. “Question is, what about your guards? That earth pony there seems raring to go.”

We turn and look to see Able staring intently at her, with Brave muttering something reassuring to him and Ironside standing close by.

“Only packed lunch for two, unfortunately,” I coolly explain, swinging back to Gytha and tapping my basket with another wingtip. “Wanted to keep it a lowkey affair. They can’t keep the press away if they’re gorging themselves.”

“Fair call.” She nods, then gestures to the patch of grass before her. “Well then, make yourselves at home.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Philip happily remarks, obliging and sitting cross-legged, just off the side of the blanket.

I follow suit, resting our basket between us and unveiling the plastic container holding the first of a planned three-course meal.

“Fleet, you shouldn’t have!” he exclaims with a hand to his chest as I take off the lid. “Homemade, crosscut PB&J sandwiches? You spoil me, girl!”

“Shut up,” I mumble, shyly glancing at him as I offer him his serving. “I’m a terrible cook and you know it. You’re lucky I didn’t ruin the curry.”

“You made curry too?”

I look away, and that warmth I’ve come to crave bubbles up in my barrel. “For you, yes.”

He snorts amusedly, and I can feel him return to Gytha. “Would you believe she’s still not sure if I’m right for her?”

“Completely.”

I snap to her, my restrained smile falling, and Philip doesn’t look so hot either.

Gytha, however, watches us with a sense of calm. “I wish I could say otherwise, but… the fact is, unless you’re that one in a million who can commit to something without a shred of doubt… there’ll always be some part of you that thinks ‘what if’. What if it doesn’t work out? What if my needs are different to theirs? What if I’m too different?" She scoffs with an eye roll. "It’s utter bullshit, really, but most people can’t help it — the healthy amount of scepticism they have refuses to shut itself up; the trick is to not let it become an unhealthy amount of scepticism.”

“And how do you do that?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow, setting the container on the grass in front of me and picking up the first half of my sandwich.

“Take a step back. Limit the amount of stress in your life, if you can. Don’t let others project their concerns on you — or more rarely, their prejudices. You know what you want, you know what you need, and only you can discover them. And when they both line up… you can’t ever go wrong.”

I feel like we’re treading old ground — that this is basic stuff I should and do already know. But hearing it from another mouth, and one who I suspect has quite the story to tell… it somehow does the trick. Less about sharing wisdom and more like sharing the load.

“Communication is key,” Gytha continues, calm and composed as ever. “Never stop talking. Any concerns you have, you share them; no exceptions, and you don’t wait to share them either.”

“Oh, I think we’ve already learned that lesson,” Philip murmurs, puckering his lips and nodding as he glances at me. “It… wasn’t the proudest moment of our lives.”

“I won’t ask for details,” she assures with a wave of her cookie, which seems to remind her to take a bite, and proceeds to talk with a half-full mouth. “Trust me, anyone who lives here will tell you they’re sometimes glad the houses are spaced so far apart; makes the arguments harder to hear. One’s up for sale, actually — nasty divorce left a sour taste in the owner’s mouth, and now she’s moving to be with her family up in Vanhoover.”

“Ouch.” Philip winces. “That’s a long way to go.”

Gytha shrugs. “Some people come here to escape their woes, but your woes follow you until you resolve them. Can’t say I knew her well, anyway, so… that’s that.”

“That’s the way her cookie crumbled…” I muse to myself.

“Ha!” She pats the blanket with a clenched claw and swallows. “Not the best application for the phrase, but hey, points for effort.”

I look up from my sandwich and blink at her, startled I’d let my thoughts come to the surface. “Sorry, I, uh… I didn’t mean to—”

“No worries!” she exclaims with another casual wave. “Seriously, stop acting like everything’s such a massive deal. You have nothing to apologise for. Well, I mean, some smalltalk would’ve been nice before we got into the heavy shit, but considering we’ve only just met, I’m not sure what there’d be to talk about.”

“How was your day?” Philip offers.

Her expression turns neutral. And then she chuckles coyly. “Yeah, that… that’d be a start, I guess.” She clears her throat. “Well, uh… my day was relatively uneventful until you two arrived. Woke up, had leftover spaghetti for breakfast, then spent the entire afternoon out in Horseshoe Bay, fishing with the other teams.”

“You fish?” I query.

“Coastal griffon, born and raised,” Gytha states with a claw to her chest. “I don’t want to say it’s in my blood, but I can’t deny the sea — and by extension, seafood — is a big part of who I am. Surprisingly enough, the ponies here in Redcliff aren’t that averse to the occasional trout or founder, my husband included.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “I’ve tried salmon once.”

“Only once?”

I shrug and take a bite from my sandwich. “Not sure how I feel about it.”

“Understandable.” She nods idly. “Embracing your inner omnivore isn’t easy, is it?”

“Neither is going vegetarian,” Philip comments, taking a bite from his as well. “Took me a while to get over my thirst for bacon.”

“And scrambled eggs, yes!” She shuts her eyes to savour the image. “Marinated pork chops with orange and lemon zest rubbed in… Lamb pilaf with chickpeas and flatbread… So many good memories from way back when.”

“Don’t remind me, please.”

“Lamb?” I echo. “As in, they’re not even a full-grown adult before you…”

Her eyes open again and she gives me an understanding look. “It’s a different land, Griffonia. And although I’m comfortable living here now, that doesn’t mean I’m fundamentally different from when I left my old home.”

“And what, pray tell, persuaded you to leave?” Philip chimes in again.

“Wanderlust. I wanted to travel the world — see all there is to see, experience all there is to experience.”

We stare at her straight-facedly.

“You don’t believe a word of that, do you?”

We both shake our heads.

“Thank the gods,” she mutters good-naturedly, rolling her eyes. “It was a troubled childhood, frankly speaking. Don’t want to be going into details yet, but let’s just say it’s really not that different from a lot of other griffons still on the continent. The kingdoms themselves may have healed, but not all family bonds have.”

“I understand,” I say with an idle nod of my own, and feel a little hollow at the prospect of bringing up the subject of Philip with Mum. “In a sense.”

“Now, that, I’d ask for some details on, but I’d be a hypocrite if I did. And I don’t do double standards.” She smirks, but then a thought strikes her when a silence begins to settle between us, and she sets the cookie down, leans over and reaches into her basket once again. “Oh, and by the way, I need to ask you for a favour, if you’d be so obliged.”

Philip quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

She pulls out an old-fashioned analogue camera and gazes up at us in a silent, apologetic plea; the opportunity’s too good to pass up. “Sorry, it’s the GK in me. Consider it payment for whatever help I’m able to provide.”

“Oh my stars,” I scoff amusedly. “And here I was thinking you were different.”

“I am!” she protests, rising to her haunches and turning her attention to the dials. “We’re kindred spirits, us three — got to look out for—”

And then she disappears in the blink of an eye as Able leaps out of literally nowhere and tackles her to the ground.

“Sisters!”

“Jesus!”

“NO PHOTOGRAPHY ALLOWED!”

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