Sabra let out a sigh of contentment as he let his weight sink, stretching his back and haunches. Moving through the freezing snow had left him a lot more sore than he’d expected.

Then again, maybe the cold was to blame for that.

Then again, perhaps not. A small part of him said it was foolish to lay the blame there, but at the moment he didn’t care. The cold and snow could take the blame for his soreness, whether or not they were responsible for it.

He leaned forward again, pushing his head under the warm spray that made up the front of the shower and letting out another sigh as the hot water ran down his neck and sides. Warmth! Sun-blessed warmth! Part of him simply wanted to stay there, burying his head under the showerhead and pretending that the flow of warm water would last forever. But … it wouldn’t. And Nova was still waiting for his turn at a shower, so he couldn’t simply wait as long as he wanted to.

Still, he could wait a minute or so more. The Hummingbird had a strong—and expensive—filtration system, so the water would be recycled. And there was a nearly endless supply of it. But …

As wonderful as it feels, he thought, tilting his head back and letting the steaming water splash over his closed eyes and muzzle. It is only temporary.

He pulled his head away and turned, pivoting inside the small shower and giving his body a final, warm rinse to make sure that he was free of suds. How does the captain even fit in this thing? he wondered as he took a quick look around the small, enclosed confines. It must be a very tight fit.

He gave his back legs a final glance to make sure that no soap remained, then shut off the water, the warm spray weakening before dying out completely. Sky said to wait a few moments for the steam to fade before opening the door, he thought, running a hoof down his side and pressing water out of his coat. It bounced against the rubber matting that made up the bottom of the shower before pooling and running down the drain.

He continued running his hoof down his coat until the steam had faded, collected through a fan above him or condensed on the walls of the shower. Once the air was clear, he undid the latch on the shower door, bracing himself for what was to come.

Cold. The opening shower door brought with it a rush of freezing air that made his skin prickle, and he all but jumped free of the shower, grabbing his towel and hurriedly trying to press as much water out of his coat as possible. He worked fast, rubbing the towel back and forth over his limbs and sides to generate as much heat as possible and work the chill out. Gradually the cold feeling began to fade, but the air still had a sharp bite to it. His coat smoothed out, standing on its own rather than stuck tightly against his body. He spent another minute working the towel across his body, getting as much water as he could out of his coat and mane, then tossed it over his shoulders and headed for the door.

“The shower is yours,” he said to Nova as he stepped out of the bathroom. The unicorn had been waiting by the door, a towel on his back, clearly ready. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Nova said, stepping past him in the hall. The bathroom door shut with a click a moment later.

Now to dry the towel. Rather than heading forward, toward the galley and crew area, he moved aft, his wet towel slung across his back. A small cabinet at the end of the ‘T’ and opposite the ship from the garbage room opened with a blast of warm air, revealing a small row of numbered drying racks. Half of them were occupied by towels, another half by the winter parkas the group had worn during their exercise. Multiple vents blasted hot air up on the clothes, using spare heat from the boilers to dry their equipment.

He added his own towel to the racks before turning and letting the warm current rolling out of the dryer run across his still-damp back, giving the coat there a final once-over before shutting the cabinet again. His towel would dry quickly under the onslaught, leaving it ready to use once more when he next needed it.

Until then, the cold returns, he thought as the momentary sense of warmth vanished, bringing with it the familiar chill of the airship. A shiver ran unbidden down his back, bringing with it an uncomfortable crawling of his flesh, and he turned and trotted for the galley. At least it would be a bit warmer there.

Not just warmer, he thought as the galley entrance came into sight. But more lively as well. He could hear several voices talking, mirth shining through the words. A scent tickled his nostrils, his stomach growling in response, and he picked up his pace.

The galley was well-lit and surprisingly warm. Or perhaps that was simply his body reacting to what little new warmth it could find after the cold of the hall. Nonetheless, the chill did fade slightly as he stepped in.

It was warm in atmosphere as well. Steel and Dawn were both seated on opposite sides of the table, the captain throwing his head back as he let out a laugh. Between them was a colorful but small cardboard box of some kind, halfway open. Hunter, meanwhile, was occupied with the actual galley, his attention fixed on something frying atop the small stove.

“—not even the end of it!” Hunter was saying, his head twisting and turning as he split his attention between whatever he was cooking and the ponies seated around the table. “So then, Dawn here looks at our loudmouthed new recruit and says ‘Well, then why don’t you go get it?’ And this recruit panics, looks her dead in the eye, and says …”

Dawn spoke up, a look of amusement on her own face. “‘All the way up there?”

Steel laughed again, a deep, rich rumble that competed with the cry of the storm outside the ship. “The pegasus?” Lighter laughter echoed from the cockpit, its door open.

“The very same,” Dawn continued, her smile of amusement widening into a smile. Her eyes flicked to Sabra. “Welcome, Sabra. Have a seat.” She motioned with one hoof toward the side of the table.

“We’re just swapping old stories about recruits and newbies,” the captain said as he sat down. “Dumb mistakes, pranks, embarrassing moments. For example, when I first took a job in the Griffon Empire—”

“I think I remember this one,” Hunter said, smirking.

“Quiet you. Anyway,” Steel continued, his eyes on Sabra. “When I first took a job in the Griffon Empire, I wasn’t quite familiar with the language yet. Actually, 'almost no grasp' would be more accurate. But it was a paying job, so … Anyway, I report to my employer, and she assigns me to this old griffon warrior who had about as good a grasp on Equiish as I had on Griffon. I introduce myself, he does likewise, and then he tells me to follow him. So I did. And he takes me to this bathroom. And explains to me—or at least I thought he had—that I’m to guard the latrine all night. That’s my post. He goes to walk away, and I stay there, so he tells me to come find him when my shift is done.”

“Except that wasn’t what he’d told you at all, was it?” Sabra asked. I think I see where this is going.

“No, it wasn’t,” Steel said, ears folding back. “It turned out, what they wanted me to guard was this old griffon’s office. He was a logistical commander, and they’d been having an issue with someone raiding their supplies at night. My job was to patrol the office and the attached supplies to keep an eye out for things and maybe catch the crook.”

“What happened instead?”

“I spent two hours guarding a latrine, getting all kinds of strange looks from the everyone who came by to use it, and really questioning my career choices. Then after two hours, that old griffon, who was seriously starting to wonder where I was and why they hadn’t seen me, tracked me down.” Hunter’s laughter split the air, and Steel rolled his eyes. “Thankfully, none of them were too upset about it and understood the mistake almost immediately. Turns out that he’d just wanted to show me where the latrine was in case I needed to go before or during my shift. Didn’t stop the jokes from following me for a while. Or the smell, for that matter.”

“Oooh.” Sabra shook his head. “Did you ever catch the thief?”

Steel let out a laugh. “We did. Didn’t take long, either. Turned out to be one of the talon-members at the outpost who’d had a dispute over their pay. They were sneaking into the supplies and swiping low-key items to ‘make up’ for the difference. He put up a fight when I caught him, but I took him down, and that got my contract picked up elsewhere.”

“But that,” the captain said, shifting and rolling his shoulders. “Leads into other stories for another time.”

“Though there were probably plenty of mistakes there, too,” Hunter added.

“Oh sure.” The captain waved a hoof. “But guarding a latrine for two hours because you didn’t understand your orders is pretty hard to beat.”

“Didn’t you wonder why you were guarding a latrine?” Sabra asked.

“Oh sure,” Steel replied. “But I figured it was just some sort of hazing or someone in the command chain wanting to test my resolve. The Guard does that in the academy. They’ll pick cadets at random and assign them to protect something that doesn’t really need protecting at all—like a rose bush, or some cadet’s bunk—and then leave them there for a while. The way the cadet reacts to it tells you a lot about the cadet.”

“This sounds like a personal experience,” Dawn said. “What were you assigned to watch?”

“A teacher’s stuffed parrot,” Steel said, his voice flat. “In the middle of the academy quad. For five hours. In the sun. And if anyone mimicked a parrot, I had to turn and offer the parrot crackers.” He paused for a moment. “I may have been a little obstinate with the teacher and gotten my just desserts. Anyway …” he said, shooting a narrow-eyed look at Hunter before giving Sabra his attention once more. “I assumed that being asked to guard the latrine was sort-of the same thing.”

“A humility test,” Sabra said, nodding. “I understand.”

“Pretty much,” Steel confirmed. “If a pony reacts poorly too it, like it’s beneath them or something, it’s time to consider that being a Guard might not be for them. Or that they’re doing it for the wrong reasons. Granted, there are plenty of places where being a guard isn’t just standing keeping watch on one location, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have to do it.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I stood there for two hours, guarding the latrine. Left a few impressions.”

“So you used it as well as—” Hunter’s muzzle snapped shut, Dawn’s horn glowing.

“How about you?” Dawn asked, turning to look at Sabra. “Did life in your monastery ever lend itself to embarrassing moments?”

“I …” He thought back. “It did,” he admitted after a moment. “I accidentally incapacitated my Fimbo instructor.”

“Incapacitated?” Steel asked, leaning forward. “How?”

“Foolishly,” he said as all eyes in the room turned toward him. “It was in my early days there. Training and mastery of the body is as important as training and mastery of the mind, and so all are required to participate in both. During those first weeks of physical training, as a novice student, my teachers noted my skill with the staff. We do … did complicated routines. Practice exercises. Some are quite complicated. Others more simple. I picked mine up with ease, and my teachers were impressed. So they asked a Fourth Hoof of the art of the Fimbo to observe me.”

“Naturally,” he said, the words flowing a little easier from his mouth as he settled into a comfortable rhythm. “I was excited.” All eyes in the room were on him now, even Hunter’s as he juggled lifting a fried bread of some kind from the pan and looking at him. “So my teacher goes and brings the Fourth Hoof over to see my progress, and he asks me to demonstrate by going through a few of the harder forms for beginners.”

“So I did, and performed them flawlessly. Which was where the problem began.” He leaned forward, grinning as his own memory of the moment flashed through his mind. “My success emboldened my young mind, and so I thought to move past what I had already accomplished.”

“Uh-oh …” Hunter’s dismay echoed across the galley. “I’ve been there. That almost never goes well.”

“Shush, Hunter,” Dawn said, still looking at Sabra. “So, Sabra. What happened?”

“In my … elation? Yes, elation, I attempted to spin my Fimbo around my hoof,” he said, holding out one hoof and sliding the other across the top in an approximation of the movement they’d seen him perform dozens of times. “Except … I was not as skilled as I might have hoped. My motion was too grand, the momentum of the staff to great. It flipped off of my hoof in a downward arc, skipped off of the ground—first the front end, and then the rear, which snapped the front end further up … And into the Fourth Hoof Fimbo instructor.”

“Oh,” Dawn said, leaning back. “That’s not so bad.”

“He was so surprised that he didn’t move,” Sabra continued. “It bounced between his front legs … and rose to strike him squarely between his back.”

“Oh …” Hunter said, eyes wide and spatula in his mouth momentarily forgotten. “Are you saying you struck him …?”

“Squarely,” Sabra repeated, drawing out the word. “Both were hit.”

“Oh sun above,” Hunter said, rear legs folding in slightly as the pegasus cringed. Dawn meanwhile, had started to laugh, while Steel appeared battling between holding back the same and reacting with a cringe of his own. “Sun and moon! What did he do?”

“Well,” he replied. “For a moment, nothing. Then he let out a very long, high-pitched squeak that just … kept going. His lung capacity was truly impressive.” Dawn was laughing harder now, her normal, formal composure completely shattered, while the captain was trying even harder to not laugh and failing.

“After that, he sort of pulled inward on himself and curled up in … Well, I suppose he was better at his flexibility exercises than many gave him credit for. I don’t know if he ever matched that particular pose again, either. And he just laid there, on his side, making no noise save that constant, high-pitched squeak.”

“And me?” He shook his head, folding his ears back and putting an expression of horror on his face. “I started bawling. I thought for sure I was going to be thrown out of the monastery.” He dropped the look of fear and shrugged, giving them all a grin. “I stood right there, panicking and not knowing what to do.” He leaned back, watching as all three other occupants of the room continued to laugh. He could even hear Sky’s laughter from the cockpit, light and warming. She’d heard the story before, however. He’d told it to her to lift her spirits one night when she’d been unable to sleep.

It was good to know she still found it funny.

“So,” Hunter said once he’d regained his composure. Dawn was still chuckling, wiping at her eyes with one hoof, and Steel was just shaking his head and laughing. “What did end up happening?”

“The local shaman made him a potion that kept him from suffering any permanent harm,” Sabra said. “And after a day’s rest he was teaching once more. And he did assist in my teaching, though he was known to flinch every time I would spin my staff around my hooves. And sometimes, during the more showy moves, he would step back and sort of cross his forelegs a little, sort of like this?” He pressed his front legs together, crossing them slightly and holding them up.

Dawn lost what composure she’d regained, giggles bursting free of her muzzle even as she clapped her hooves over it.

“How’d he take you becoming a master of the Fimbo?” Steel asked, still grinning.

“He was understanding,” Sabra answered, leaning forward and putting his forehooves on the table as he looked at the rest of the team. “However, unless my ears deceived me—and with my talent being what it is, I find that unlikely—I’m fairly certain I heard him say something beneath his breath about being glad I moved out of his teaching so quickly.”

“Did you ever see him again?” Hunter asked as he scooped another fried piece of bread, or perhaps a roll, from the frying pan.

“Naturally,” he replied, nodding. “He was a member of the monastery. We all knew one another and saw one another daily.”

“That said,” he added as the laughter finally died down to chuckling and warm smiles. “I never did cross my staff with his after I left his … tute … tute—? What is the word for one who is a student?”

“Tutelage,” Dawn said, still smiling, her ears flicking atop her head.

“Asante.” He gave her a small bow of the head. “After I left his tutelage I never crossed staffs with him again. Many others would practice with me, but never he.”

“In his defense,” Steel said, shifting. “I probably wouldn’t either. A hit like that …” He shook his lead and let out a heavy breath. “Those stay with you.”

“Personal experience, captain?” Hunter asked. Sabra watched as he slid another ball of dough down into the pan, a sharp crackling sound filling the room like the breaking of thousands of twigs as it hit the hot oil.

“On more than one occasion,” Steel said with a nod, shifting once more. “Let’s just say there was a griffon talon I served with that learned the full range of Equiish foul language that day, and though they were a pretty good crew, to this day I can’t meet them without feeling just a little uncomfortable.”

“I understand,” Sabra said, giving the captain a nod. “One of my childhood friends and I were playing one day and he dared me to climb atop a wall. One thing led to another and … Well, it was not his fault, but you couldn’t tell my nethers that.”

“Stallions,” Dawn said, rolling her eyes. “Thank the Creator that this is one pain I will never need to experience.”

“Definitely thank them,” Hunter said, flipping another chunk of fried bread out onto a waiting plate. “It’s the lesson every young colt learns.”

“Sometimes again and again,” Steel added.

“How about you, sergeant?” Sabra said, shifting his attention to Dawn. “Have you already shared a story?”

“I—” Dawn began, but the captain cut her off.

“No,” he said, his grin widening. “She’s been tag-teaming with Hunter, but she hasn’t offered a story of her own yet.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Dawn leaned back, her eyes growing distant. “A story about one of my own rookie mistakes, then? Hmm … Yes, I think I have one of those.” She moved forward once more, resting her forehooves on the table. “Well, as many of you can attest, I’ve always had a bit of a headstrong, or perhaps one could say stern, nature.”

“You didn’t earn your nickname for nothing,” Hunter added.

“No,” Dawn said with a quick shake of her head. “I did not. And it was even worse when I was young. I knew exactly what I wanted to be, what my cutie mark was for, and how I would go about it.” She smiled. “Not that I always was as confident as I let on.”

“Uh-oh.” Steel let out a chuckle. “Headstrong and nervous?”

“Indeed,” Dawn replied. “So, despite all of my knowledge and capabilities, there were still times when I was beset with all manner of doubts. And one such time was when I was given the freedom to do my first examination.”

“I was fresh from my education, mind,” she continued, her blue eyes sliding over each of them. “Manehatten General was my first real experience being a doctor rather than a student. I had performed flawlessly under the tutelage of a superior, and after several weeks, he elected to let me work directly with patients on my own, without his oversight.”

“Naturally, I wanted to impress him, as well as perform to the best of my ability. I was nervous, yes, but knew I could do it. I arrived that morning, and before long my first patient was led into the room, along with their spouse.”

“I was on it in an instant. I asked all the right questions. I sat them down and conducted a full examination, as indicated on their chart. I did everything perfectly, diagnosed their problem flawlessly, and led them back out.”

Steel was chuckling now, and Sabra glanced at him. So where was the mistake? The captain, it appeared, had seen it, but he hadn’t yet.

“I met my superior outside the door and gave him a full rundown, right in front of the patient. I was quite pleased with myself. And it was at this moment that he informed me of my error. He nodded, told me that he was impressed with my work, that my examination had been quite thorough, but that I had missed one small detail, which I can see the captain has already deduced.” Her eyes fixed on Steel, as if waiting for him to speak.

“You examined the wrong—” he began, but she cut him off, her words tumbling out in a rush.

“I examined the wrong pony, yes,” she said, shaking her head back and forth as Hunter began to laugh. “The single most important question I could have asked, and I skipped right over it.”

“Was their name not given to you?” Sabra asked, speaking through his own smile. To have gone so far without noticing …

“It was on the chart I was given,” Dawn said, a chuckle of her own skipping out of her muzzle. “But they were there with their spouse, and I never asked which of them was which. One of them was keeping their weight off of one hoof and, well … I assumed.” She let out another chuckle. “And I was so forthright and declarative with my examination that neither of them dared speak up. I wasn’t unfriendly, just …”

“Cold?” Steel suggested.

“Focused,” Dawn replied, frowning for a moment before her look of humor returned. “In any case, it taught me a lot about my own pride. And thankfully, the couple understood once Doctor Stable had explained my situation. They found the whole thing hilarious. And to be fair, I had identified that the stallion I’d examined had injured his frog, so in the end, everything was all right. At the time I thought I would die of embarrassment, however.”

“What was the condition of the other patient?” Sabra asked. “Did you complete the exam?”

“Actually, I did,” she answered. “As it turned out, the stallion’s wife was feeling out of sorts and was pregnant. So they went away with good news … and a soft boot for the husband’s injured frog.”

“So a good end for all involved,” Hunter said, flipping two more of the buns out of the pan. He had yet to drop a single one, Sabra noted, despite the unwelcome weather all around The Hummingbird.

“Indeed,” Dawn replied. “And a lesson learned, despite my absolute panic at the time.” She shrugged. “I still earned my nickname, but that day taught me to at least learn the name of the pony you’re treating. They’re a sapient being, not a tally mark.”

“Who’s a tally mark?” The group turned as Nova stepped through the hatchway aft, his normally fire-red mane lying damp and dark against his head and split around his horn. His eyes darted to the center of the table and then stopped. “And who brought Clan Wars?”

“I did,” Steel said. “By accident. I was playing it with my nephew and had it in my saddlebags when the call came. Didn’t bother to take it out before we left.”

“And I was explaining the importance of reminding one’s self that each patient is a living, breathing being, not just an injury or illness to be treated,” Dawn said as Nova skirted around the table, took a quick glance at what Hunter was cooking, and then sat down opposite Sabra.

“So, you’ve played Clan Wars?” Steel asked.

“Yeah,” Nova said. “Not in a long time, but at one point yeah.”

“All right. So you’re familiar with the concept.” His eyes switched to Dawn. “And you’ve not played before.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“And how about you, Sabra? Ever played Clan Wars?”

He shook his head. “Not by that name, if at all. How does one play?”

“It’s a little tricky to get the hang of,” Steel said, reaching out and tilting the box so that he could see the cover. Several differently-armored and plumaged griffons stared one another down, some with blades drawn, others holding tools and spears. A zebra stood nearby, wrapped in a cloak, while on the opposite side of the board, a whole assortment of much darker hooded figures sat wreathed in shadows. “It’s a popular game from the Griffon Empire. Four players, four different factions with different goals.”

“The loyalists,” he said, setting a hoof atop the griffons with tools and spears. “Their goal is to build up the empire. Secure things. Protect their holdings. While the revolting clans—” His hoof switched to the more aggressive-looking griffons. “Their goal is spread and seize territory from the loyalists through combat.”

“The death cults—” His hoof switched again, this time to the shrouded, darkened figures at the corners. “Play everyone against one another from the shadows, using sabotage and stealth until they can challenge the other two, while the wanderer …” His hoof moved to the lone zebra. “Or as they’re officially known, acolyte of Zawati, maneuvers between all three sides, working with and against all of them in pursuit of their own objective, usually one that, according to the card they draw at the beginning of the game, will resolve all three factions to the most peaceful resolution.” He glanced at Nova. “I’m guessing you liked to play as either the acolyte or the death cult?”

“Me?” Nova shook his head. “No, I enjoyed playing as the rebels. I’ve played all four, but the rebels were where I had the most fun. I was a thief. Why play a game as one? That was my job.”

“Fair enough,” Steel said, shrugging. “My apologies for assuming. Anyway, since we were going to spend the evening relaxed, I figured I’d drag it out and see if anyone wanted to play.”

“I would be interested,” Sabra said, bringing his eyes back to the box. “There is a similar game played in the Plainslands, though different. But I believe I have heard of this one under another name. Is there a recommended position for a beginner?”

“Not really,” Steel said. “But if I bow out and we get a fourth to cover, and assuming Dawn plays, I can coach each of you individually.”

“I’ll play!” Sky called from the cockpit. “Hunter’s taking over for me in here tonight anyway.”

“Once I’m done with these,” Hunter said, pointing a wing at the pile of fried bread he was assembling. The smell wafting off them was rich and sharp, like peppers and cheese. Then again, it almost looked as if there was some in the bread. “And if someone else cleans up afterward.”

“I’ll do that,” Steel said. “I can manage cleaning up and coaching the four of you on the game at the same time. But … let’s wait to get set up until after we’ve eaten. You almost done there, Hunter?”

“Nearly,” Hunter replied. The Hummingbird rattled again, a distant crack of thunder lighting the windows for a brief moment. “Just a few more minutes.”

Hmm … a short while longer … Sabra looked at Nova. “Well, Nova,” he said, his voice drawing the rest of the room’s eyes to him. “Each of us has shared an embarrassing moment from when we first began training or working in our professions. Would you share one of yours?”

For a moment Nova was quiet, as if weighing his options, but then he grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “I can. But only,” he added, his gaze going to the rest of the team. “If you guys retell all of yours. I missed ‘em.”

“I can do that,” Steel said, casting his eyes to the rest of the team. Dawn nodded.

“I’m good for telling that tale again,” Hunter said.

“I am as well,” Sabra added, letting his weight sink back, muscles relaxing as Nova’s grin widened. The unicorn began to speak, the words flowing out in a rush like a storyteller on a hot summer’s day.

Except it wasn’t hot, and instead quite cool. But as he listened, he found he didn’t mind.

He felt warm enough on the inside.

For the curious, Clan Wars is totally an MLP version of Root. Though I kind of like the idea of an MLP twist. Hmmm ...

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