The bull charged, making the arena tremble under his hooves, fountains of sand blazing in every direction.

Prince Gideon, covered by his wing and crimson cloak, looked him in the eyes and stood his ground. I could almost feel the imminent crash, the sound of bones breaking and skin ripping. Unconsciously I leaned in towards the show, licking my lips.

At the last second — and not an instant before he’d be skewered and gored by the raging bull — he jumped, a quick and graceful pounce sliding barely a hair’s width above the horn that would impale him.

He ran a few steps to break the momentum of his jump, and turned to face the bull again, flourishing his cape.

The crowd applauded the pass and the artful dodge, filling the air for a moment with the clicking of claws and whooping of griffons, packed in the seats, clouds and perches around the sand arena.

The bull turned in a long slow arc and stood again, taking aim. A veritable mountain of muscle, he seemed to bend the floor underneath him even when he stood still. His sides expanded as he breathed like two giant bellows. The two long jagged lines left where the Prince marked him on the previous rounds, extended and contracted with every breath, dripping with red.

This was one of the whirlwind of events, entertainments and socials that I found myself captured by after my talk to the King. I was, apparently, the new thing at the court, the pony everypony — and everygriffon — should know, and I was glad to oblige, even though the thought of the winds still bothered me. How could it not? It was not just an idle breeze there, to the West, where the border of Equestria and Griffonstone lie over the Celestial sea, it was battle clouds and tornadoes in the making. They were massing on the border of my country, and the thing that herded them was of the same power that the King possessed.

But then again, I could've been wrong. It could have nothing to do with the power of the griffon King, and could just be the wilful northern winds running rampant over the ocean, and that attack in the night and the storm, but a fevered dream and play of winds — my Princess surely thought so. The King and the Princes were nothing but cordial hosts, and so, as she had commanded, I did try my best to push the thoughts away and try to find distraction in the cavalcade of seemingly endless entertainment that Griffonstone’s royal family provided.

Today's entertainment du jour was a corrida, and I was invited by the eldest Prince himself, no doubt eager to show off to the one pony who would actually attend the event.

The bull kept moving around the arena, regaining his breath. A slow widdershins circle, seeking an opening, waiting for something, even as the Prince moved with him, keeping his distance, and keeping the bull in his sight. His stance was solid, and he kept his step light, but there was some tension in his wings as he held his cape. He did not quite know what to expect.

I, however, could see what the bull was angling for – he was moving so that his back would be towards the bright mid-morning sun hanging over the horizon and the wall of the colosseum, to give him an advantage and drawing the Prince out back towards him. The arena was silent, all of the spectators holding their breaths, waiting out the deadly game of cat and mouse, of nerve and composure until that one last moment, that one last step when the Prince moved forward. Out of the shadow of the arena, into the light that hit him right into his eyes.

The bull burst forward, crossing the short distance in the blink of an eye. The Prince jumped, desperate, stumbling and momentarily blinded in a last-second dodge. Only narrowly escaping the horns, he was flung aside, checked by the bull’s giant shoulder.

"Little birds." The bull turned back lazily, starting again his counterclockwise movement as the Prince scrambled to his paws. "Never learn to watch where you step."

Did I imagine it, or did the Prince’s eyes harden for a second at the insult, as he gripped the side of his cloak - and then relaxed again? Was there something cruel about the way his claws dug into the cape?

He did not answer the taunt. He shook his wings higher, and stepped forward, flourishing his cape and inviting the bull to another pass.

The bull darted forward. He was fast — impossibly so, seemingly unfettered by his size and mass. His hooves propelled him straight into the lean, galloping leaps, and there was nothing that could withstand that charge head-on.

The Prince waited, relaxed until at the last moment his form coiled like a spring, tensing and releasing within a second as he twisted aside, almost not moving at all. His paws shuffled in a smooth circular motion, light, like a dancer’s step, his cape swished out with the pirouette, the heavy hem hitting the bull across the eyes and his claw snaked out, lightning-quick and savage, ripping deep into the bull's side.

The bull bellowed, his voice resonating with pain and surprise, and unable to fight his own momentum he stumbled and landed hard. He did not stop, two tonnes of mass dragging along the sand, more resembling a crashing freight train than any living being until he slammed full-force against the side of the arena. The crowd went wild.

I joined in with the applause, stomping my hooves against the hard stones of the booth as the Prince gave his bows, under a veritable shower of flowers thrown into the arena, while the doctors and healers rushed to aid the bull.

“It is rare to see an Equestrian who appreciates the art,” the old King said, “You little ponies have no stomach for a true tercel’s sport.”

“The Princess says that one must strive to understand others before condemning.” A practised half-truth slipped easily off my lips, but the old griffon did not take it.

“You’ve seen it,” he said, “that terrible beauty.”

“I’ve heard some things about that,” Prince Gwyr commented, looking away from his brother. “They tell stories about you, Lady Shimmer, for those of us inclined to listen. Is it true that you’ve been to another world?”

“You must tell us!” Galad chirped, excited. ”A real adventure, from the horse’s mouth…”

“I—”

Gideon landed heavily on the booth, instantly filling all available space with his sheer size. He still smelled of the fight - of cold shifting sand, sweat, and an almost phantom air of iron around him.

I pulled a rose out of the air with a spell, presenting the flower to the Prince.

"I sometimes think that never blows so red
The rose as where a Griffon warrior has bled," the youngest prince recited, a strange mix of sarcasm and envy colouring his voice.

Gideon’s smile, as he tucked the rose into his crest, was downright predatory. “Why, thank you, lady,” he half-bowed to me. “I take it you liked the bout.” He unclasped his cape, releasing his wings in a long, powerful stretch. “Perhaps you’d like to try your luck on the sand?”

“I don’t think the rules accommodate unicorns on the field, brother.” Prince Gwyr cooled his enthusiasm. “Perhaps when we hold the Games next year we could come up with something.”
There was another meaning I felt implied in his words, something that continued their earlier quarrel.

Gideon waved his objection away as he dropped into his seat. “Well, the best part’s over,” he said to me. “I don’t just mean me, of course, but that’s all for the professional bouts. From there on, it’s all yearlings and novilleros with no sand between their claws — more funny than fun, if you ask me. Though perhaps Gally would like to try again, eh?” He poked his brother with a wing. “Maybe you’ll actually survive a pass this time.”

Prince Galad scowled back at the tease, fluffing his wings.

“Well, Lady Shimmer was about to tell us about her adventures. Real ones, not just fighting Father’s paid-up minotaurs and buffaloes.”

“Perhaps not now, your Highnesses?” I suggested. Even I had enough sense to get into the crossfire of a family spat. “It is a bit too loud here.”

"You must attend the dinner then!" The Prince declared. "At our table. We would love to hear your stories!"

“I…”

“Please?” Galad added, making puppy-dog eyes at me. “We'll make any accomodation: The menu, the drinks, anything!”

"Aww, is your little pony afraid of Griffon fare?" Gideon did not miss his opportunity to barb his brother.

"I am afraid of nothing!" I stood up to face him. "And I will be happy to join you at dinner. No need for any special arrangements either."

"You have spirit, little pony." Gideon shivered his feather and his wing clapped me on the back. "I like it."

"Gideon fancies himself a bit of a fighter too," Galad snickered. "But it's all silly arena-fights:" He puffed his chest and fluffed out his wings, trying to look like his brother, but ending up more like a really grumpy sparrow.

"They rush and yell, clash horns to claw.
And now behold what each befalls:
The Bull is clawed into submission
The Griffon smeared across the walls!"

"Those that know nothing of battle often yearn it." The King said. "Such is the folly of the young."

The Prince snorted. "And some have never known — or perhaps simply forgotten." He looked at his brother while he spoke, but I felt that the insult was not just meant for Galad. “How the power itself cries out to be used.”

"Gideon..."

"Enough, boy," the King sighed tiredly. "We have a guest here."

"It's never the time, is it?" Gideon's wings rose slightly above his sides. "Not the right time, not the right place, not the right eagles. But it will be. Soon." He flapped his wings, scattering my mane and the sand off the floor, and he was off, speeding towards the castle.

"I apologize for my brother," Gwyr sighed. "But the invitation still stands. We'd be honored if you could attend and tell us your stories."

"Fine." I nodded. But I wasn't listening - I watched the patter of hoarfrost left on the floor where the Prince stood before he left, sudden, chill winds freezing me to the core. "I'll be there."

"Can we be excused, Dad?" The princeling asked timidly, all the joy sucked out of him suddenly. "Please?" he pulled gingerly at my side.

"Yes, please," I added, looking away from the slowly evaporating frost pattern on the floor. "I have to… there is this pony delegation... thing I have to attend."

The King waved his wing, and so we were excused.

"I'm... I'm very happy you agreed to join us for the dinner." The princeling tagged along, floating besides me. There was a tense silence between us, as we walked the joy he had seemed to deflate. Somewhere in the corridors he landed by my side, and I could see the movement of his lower beak, thinking of something he wanted to say, but never could quite find the words.“I’m sorry that the whole thing ended as it did,” he muttered miserably. “Gid, he always... “ He shrugged. “Even with the little ponies around.”

I nodded vaguely. The dinner with the Princes, the true Griffonstonian cuisine, it all sounded very nice, but my thoughts were preoccupied by the last scene of the corrida that left a sour taste in my mouth

I needed a break from all those griffons, time to think again how this whole thing fit...and I needed a good reason to ditch the princeling without coming off as rude.

The Count! I spotted him loitering about, speaking softly to some Dog. He raised his head slightly, when I waved and tried to steer towards him.

"Why did you give Gideon the rose?" Galad finally asked, just as we were about to reach the Count.

“It seemed a thing to do.” I shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he scratched the floor with his claw, “It’s not that I… i-it’s just that—”

“Miss Shimmer, Your youngest Highness,” the Count bowed politely, releasing the Dog that took its chance to scurry away “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Milord!” I greeted the Count. "I’m here about that thing," I looked at him intently. "The delegation thing? You said I had to be there."

"Ah.” He raised his eyebrow, looking at me, and then the princeling, and not-quite-smiled. “Quite. That, as you eloquently put it, delegation thing — as a matter of fact, there is. I'm afraid I'll have to steal Miss Shimmer from you, my lord."

"Aww," the princeling pouted. "Does she have to?"

"Quite so. Politics I'm afraid, and we all have our obligations.” He stepped between me and Galad. “Don't we, Miss Shimmer?" There was odd stress in his voice, but I nodded anyways."How was the corrida by the way?” he asked, “I take it the Prince was successful again."

"Oh, yes!” I smiled, shifting slightly away when he moved too close. "A superb touch, on that third bout. They play so rough here - I'm pretty sure I could see the bull's ribs from the booth!"

“I see.” The lordling paled, though he kept his expression neutral. "Perhaps I should attend one day - His Highness is quite a specimen — best griffon of his generation, they say. Now say goodbye to your new friend, and let’s go."

"Galad..."

"Hmpf!" little prince turned away. "Well, if you think that Gideon is so grand, well, maybe you should see what he does upstairs.”

He turned away sharply, laughably adult and serious in his posture.

What did I do? I stood there for a second, watching him fly away.

“Miss Shimmer,” the Count called out, “I’m afraid we should go now. We wouldn’t want to be late.”

“Wait.“ I trotted towards the Count. “There’s actually a delegation meeting? I was just making an excuse—”

"I figured quite as much, Miss Shimmer,” The Count smiled another of his not-quite smiles, “but you’ve actually arrived at quite a fortunate time — there is indeed a meeting, and I would’ve gone to fetch you even if you didn’t turn up. Besides, it would not do to lie to our hosts, would it now?"

"Do I have to?" I groaned, "I've dinner with the royal family, and I need to prepare..." I did not get rid of the little prince just to be immediately entangled by some pointless little pony meeting. I needed time to myself, to think about that power revealed again today, and what it meant. About the winds that—

“You’ll have ample time after. Besides, we'd be discussing the weather and hopefully what to do about it — that's why I called the delegation in the first place. “

"What, really?!” I trotted after the lordling. “You do mean the Northern Winds at the border, right?"

"Something like that. I wouldn’t get your hopes up, though.”

“But If that’s why the whole delegation is here, then we can finally do something! I’ve been trying to—”

“Why did you give the Prince your rose?" The Count switched topics suddenly. "Young Galad was most disappointed."

"I don’t know.” I flicked my tail, and shrugged.”It's just a flower. He was good in the arena, and a lot of griffons were doing it."

"I'm afraid not quite, Miss Shimmer. When a chick gives a rose to a tercel that is a sign of her favour. The Prince might not make much of it — he gets so many flowers he alone could feed half Equestria, but it must have come as quite a blow to his little brother.

"You should come to my room before the dinner with Princes, Miss Shimmer. I have excellent wines. We can talk a bit more about the Griffonstone situation and etiquette there."

I snorted. Was the lordling hitting on me? There were a few things I liked about him — a quick sideways glance confirmed it — but the soft Canterlot noble was hardly my type.

"Keep it in mind." He did not seem deterred by my refusal. "Just wine and talk, no strings attached." He held the door into the chamber for me like a true gentlecolt.

"Despite the well-known merits of our obligation regarding the second layer of substrate in the tri-western strata quadrant, the zone of responsibility lies squarely on the Griffonstonian side, and therefore, per part three, paragraph seven of the Act of the Winds and Precipitations Accords..."

I grit my teeth.

I felt annoyed. Was this really why I was wasting time in Griffonstone? Usually, I would find the matters of weather interesting, especially the one on the Western border, but they were going over it for a fifth time, repeating themselves in a droning, unbearable circle

The brief entertainment of the corrida has already passed, and witnessing the Prince’s argument with his father has stirred all the black doubts that plagued me. That power, tracing ice on the floor of the royal booth, that cold wind that carried him...

I reached for the snuffbox, hoping a hit of Count's stuff would take the edge off.

The way it hunted me across the sea like an eagle chasing a dove, how it smote into the city — my city — almost swiping it out of the skies...

I clicked the snuffbox open.

The legion of winds and thunderclouds over the ocean.

Breathe. I inhaled the powder, and tried to listen again to the discussion.

"The floor goes to Dame Strawberry,"

A mare rose from one of the front seats, shaking her thick green mane off her face in an unexpectedly mundane, workmanlike gesture.

"We've got this, Fancy. We just need to set up a proper party, and I'm sure it'll be resolved.

"It's ok, my little ponies. I know it looks big, with all the weather problems we’ve been having but sometimes all it takes is just one little thing. We’re throwing a party for our griffon friends next week, and we just have to do our best, and don't spare the streamers."

I choked, suddenly, and my coughing echoed through the halls like repeated party cannon shots, scattering Count's snuff into the air.

“Sunset.” Lady Strawberry looked at me. “Do you have something to say?”

“No,” I said grimly. “I don’t.”

"Honey," Strawberry Leaf sighed, "Are you sure you want to be here? It's going to be dreadfully boring. And besides..." you're not really a noble was politely left unsaid. Unsaid loud enough that even I could hear it. “You are not very exp—”

"I have a right to be here!" I demanded. "It is my right as Baroness."

"Sure, sure," Strawberry didn't argue the point, "But you're a bit too young for a delicate situation such as this," she said instead, no doubt veiling contempt behind her motherly tone. "We've already had to apologize on your behalf for your little... incident with Lord Graven."

They apologized! The weak, narrow-minded, arrogant little... ponies. There was no way I would keep my reputation among Griffons with the whole Equestrian delegation running all over themselves to make me look weak

“Now if you don’t want to say any—”

“You know what?” I stood up, feeling my anger rise, bilious and burning. “I do have something to say.”

I cleared my throat, looking at all the nobleponies in the room. “You think it’s a mistake, the winds at our borders, the Northern Winds coming in strong from the west. But it’s not. It’s them. The Griffons are building tornadoes at our borders! Thunderclouds full of lighinings, legions of them — and they struck our city! And you want to throw them a party?!" I did not expect much from Canterlot nobility, but this was beyond even them. “We should not be thinking of streamers and accords, we should be preparing for war!”

"War" I heard the buzz around, ponies laughing as if it were a joke.

"War!" the pegasus to the Dame's right grumbled. "Bah. Nonsense. Griffons are our friends."

The Count took his wine from a scurrying dog, and shrugged. "I think lady Shimmer is exaggerating. At worst a few more months of winter, a vigorous workout for the Wonderbolts, that's all that's coming out of it. Lady’s barely seventeen — you’ll have to forgive her overactive imagination."

The nobles chuckled along with him.

"Shut up!" I shouted, my voice bolstered by magic, and the chuckles stopped, when the ponies stepped back. "I know they are! I..." I stumbled. I couldn't tell them what I saw. The sort of deals and whispers I dabbled in my night travels, the sort of magic I used — the hash and the nightshade and the forbidden khaliff-root; Celestia couldn't know about that. ”...I just know it!”

They looked at each other in obvious discomfort, seeking protection against me in the herd. Dame Strawberry stepped forward, covering the brainless nobility. "And how do you think you know it, young lady?"

"I.. I am my Princess' student, I—"

"A student." In her mouth, the word felt heavy, like a nail in the coffin of my argument. "Of unicorn magic."

"I know my weather! And I know what I am talking about. You have to be blind or stupid to ignore it."

"Can you present any evidence?" she asked softly, "Or give any proof?"

"Well, no," I stumbled again. "But..."

“These sorts of accusations cannot be thrown around carelessly, Sunset.” she said sternly. “You cannot just come up with things like that. This is an adult matter, honey, so why don't you instead go entertain the Princes?" Strawberry Leaf suggested. "Just try not to break anything again."

I really wanted to break her dumb face. Or a stiff drink. Preferably both.

"I—" I tried to find a reason, an argument, to find words, but there was nothing I knew to say or do to get through to them, the whole noblepony herd united against me. I even threw a desperate glance at the Count, hoping he'd have something to help me out, but he just looked away. "Fine!"

Strawberry's face left annoyingly unbroken, I had to leave, angry and humiliated. Whatever it is that was going on in Griffonstone, the nobleponies would be of no help solving it.

How dare they!

The door locked behind me, and for a moment I just sat there, staring at it dumbly.

Staring at it angrily.

How dare they!

I felt my anger call to my magic, rising fire from within.

How dare she!

That Strawberry going behind my back, apologizing... It was so Equestrian, so little pony of her!

I wanted to bash that door down. To summon winds and fire that would shake this dumb castle to the foundations, to barge in there and—.

I ran.

Away, without direction and purpose, pushing myself into a mad gallop, through the seemingly endless rambling mass of Gormenghast. Past the rooms, and up the stairs, corridors and enfilades blurring together — before I would do something I would regret.

Finally, I was exhausted, and my sides foaming with sweat, I pushed myself up the last few steps at the tower, and panted, trying to find my bearings. At least I was too tired to do something stupid.

Control, little princess

Her whisper in my mind, it calmed me down.

I pushed the window — or maybe it was a door that opened into nothing but thin air and the sheer wall of the castle — and let myself feel the cold autumn breeze.

Control and awareness.

I took a breath, and stretched, chasing away the feverish, drowning anger.

The failure happened. I needed to accept it and move on. And for that, I needed more information. Proof. Something, anything other than just me seeing a silhouette in the night and the storm, half-veiled by his power.

All those things I shouted at nobleponies in the meeting... yeah, I was angry. But I also remembered why I was here. Remembered the power, vast and cold, the claws that smote into Baltimare's walls and shook the whole city.

Cold autumn breeze on my muzzle calmed me down. Cold autumn breeze, full of sharp, cold power, — and the Prince’s shadow as he flew over me, landing somewhere above.

Those ponies, they wanted proofs and they wanted evidence — well, I would get some. For myself, if nothing else. So perhaps it was time I found out what did the Prince do “upstairs”.

You know the fight -- you love the ring of blades
Since years young you've yearn'd for martial glory
The bloody joy of battle gory
The passing wind from land of shades

Galad, Prince of Griffonstone.
Assorted works.
Notebook currently in private collection.