Gildaed Cage 2 - Dances With Timber Wolves

>It's hard to breathe.

>You clamor to pull yourself off the cold floor, but your muscles give out on you.

>When you hit the ground, a searing pain shoots from your left wing, forcing you to stifle a scream.

>As you writhe in anguish, you are able to force open an eye to see your surroundings.

>You're in a large room.

>Bed sheets are sprawled out near you, probably pulled down when you tried to get up.

>Just like the vase now shattered on the floor was.

>There are curtains drawn over windows, but there's no light showing on them, so it's probably nighttime.

>The rest of the room is filled with stuff like statues and…

>Ugh.

>Books.

>Another pang tears through your body, and you instinctively clench your eye shut in pain.

>You begin to panic.

>Wherever you are, it's not someplace you would willingly choose to be.

>Who brought you here?

>What do they want?

>The sound of someone walking resounds through the floor.

>It quickly gets louder, and you soon hear the door to your prison open up.

>You again open your eyes to see some…thing.

>It's tall, probably taller than you are.

>It runs over to you and tries to grab you.

>"Are you ok?"

>You claw at its outstretched hand, trying to keep it away from you.

*Gasp*

"Who- where-"

>Before you can prop yourself up, the thing near you places a hand on your back.

>"Relax, you're safe."

>Safe?

>Yeah right.

>Not as long as those stupid lizards-

>You scramble to look around.

>How did it take you this long to realize the dork trio wasn't there anymore?

>The thing shows concern as you glance back at it.

>"Like I said, you're safe now. Injured…"

>It carefully touches your left wing, sending a dull wave of pain through you.

>You swat away its hand and glare at it.

>It smiles softly at you.

>"…but safe."

>Taking a moment to clear your head, you think about what you can do next.

"Where am I?"

>"My house. I brought you here after, well…"

>Your wing twitches as you remember the fight between you and those dweebs.

>It hurts.

>You look at the source of the pain, and are surprised to see it wrapped in bandages and splinted.

>"Sorry to say this, but you won't be going anywhere like that. You're welcome to stay here though."

>The invitation comes as a surprise to you.

>Why would anyone want a stupid mail griffon to stay at their house.

>You grimace at your own thoughts.

>'Mail Griffon'

>You really are a loser.

>"It's been a long time since I've had guests and- hold on."

>Your host grabs one of the books off of a nearby shelf and reads the cover.

>"Dances with Timber Wolves. Yeah that'll work."

>Work for what?

>He shoves the book into your mouth before picking you up.

>Pain beyond description shoots through every part of your body, and you bite down on the book while screaming.

>You are swiftly carried to the bed and carefully placed down on the soft surface.

>As soon as the pain subsides, you spit out the book an yell at the moron standing over you.

"What the FUCK!? Couldn't you have warned me first?"

>"I could have, but you would have only fought me."

>He's right, you wouldn't have agreed to have some…

"What are you?"

>You can see his eye twitch at your blunt question.

>*Sigh*

>"I'm a human. You don't know what that is, because I'm the only one you've ever seen. Now, let's forget about that…"

>He grabs the blankets off the floor and throws them over you.

>"And let's focus on restoring you back to full health. QUENTIN!"

>The loud yell startles you, but fortunately the covers prevented the human from seeing that.

>By the time you finally wrestle your sheets into a comfortable position, a unicorn has trotted into the room pushing a cart covered in snacks.

>He rolls the cart up to you and begins to pour what you assume is tea into a small cup.

>"Please, help yourself to whatever you like, miss."

>Your stomach grumbles as you look over the food.

>There's cakes, crackers, sandwiches and-

>A familiar scent emanates from the tray in front of you, one you haven't smelled since you got stuck here working your dead end job…

>Meat.

>You drool as you lift a small covering to see a delicious roasted lamb leg.

>There's no way you could ever forget that smell.

>You quickly look back at the human and notice some of his teeth are pointed.

>Of all places, you actually found another carnivore here, in Equestria?

>"It's going to get cold if you don't eat soon."

>Without any hesitation, you grab the lamb and bring it to your beak.

>Chunks of flesh tear satisfyingly off the bone and you savor the taste of prey as it passes over your tongue.

>The first swallow was loud enough for the others to hear.

>You hastily take another bite as the others start to leave.

>Before he closes the door, your fellow predator speaks to you one more time.

>"I almost forgot. My name is Anon. And yours is?"

>Your mouth is too full to respond, the food you are eating is some of the most delicious you've ever had.

>"Ah, nevermind. We can talk later."

"Wai-!"

>He stops closing the door and looks at you.

*Gulp*

>Another helping of lamb enters your stomach, causing you to let out a contented sigh.

"Gilda."

>The eating resumes as Anon closes the door.

>This food is really good.

>You shut your eyes tightly to keep the stupid room from blurring more.

>This food is really good…

 

>You are now Anon.

>Well, your guest is as interesting as you had hoped.

>She's brash, loud, everything you'd expect from a griffon.

>Really, it will just be nice to have someone to eat meat with.

>…

>There has to be a way to phrase that better, but who cares!

>Ever since you've gotten here, you've had to hide your omnivorous nature.

>There's a bit of a social stigma against eating other creatures' flesh, which has forced you to attend dinner parties consisting solely of salads.

>You shudder, remembering the last royal ball.

>Oh sure, there's other delicacies, like petunias, or poinsettias.

>But you aren't a goddamn horse.

>You're a human.

>And you occasionally need to get some goddamn meat in you.

>…

>Again, really need a better way to say that.

>You enter the kitchen to see Quentin putting away some dishes.

"What do you think of our new guest, Quentin?"

>The last of the dishes levitate to their places and the butler closes the cabinet doors behind them.

>"It's not really my place, but I think she'll get along fine here, Sir. Might I ask how long she'll be staying?"

>You try to adjust your glasses as you ponder the question.

>Sadly, they are still broken, and therefore not on your face.

>Force of habit.

"I'd like her to stay until her wing heals up, but it's really up to her. How quickly do you think she'll recover?"

>Quentin frowns.

>"I'm not sure. Wing injuries are quite serious for flying species such as Griffons. Even with my tea speeding her along, it could be several weeks at least."

>Could be worse.

>Honestly, you're kind of happy to have her staying here.

>Aside from Quentin, you don't socialize much.

>At least, not with others like yourself.

>Most of your time is spent dealing with the p0nies having sex at your book readings.

*Sigh*

>It's getting late.

>Gilda is probably going to collapse after she finishes eating.

>Pretty easy to get tired after such a stressful day.

>You look at your partially healed arm and yawn.

>Very easy.

"Quentin."

>"Sir?"

"I'm going to bed, feel free to take the rest of the night off."

>The stallion bows.

>"Then I shall leave at once."

>A large grin creeps across his face.

>"I have a date with the most beautiful mare."

>You chuckle as Quentin turns to leave.

"In that case, take tomorrow morning off as well. I'm sure you'll need to clean up before coming back to work."

>"It wouldn't be a date otherwise, Sir. Thank you."

>The large door to your house closes behind your butler, leaving you standing in the kitchen alone.

>A regular casanova that one.

>Rather fitting, considering.

>In any case, your bed calls to you across the house.

>It says it wants you inside it.

>You couldn't be more willing.

 

[The Following Morning]

>Soft sheets drape over your body, their silken grip preventing you from getting out of bed.

>You start to roll over, but a sharp pain halts your motion.

>Oh yeah, your wing is broken.

>Between the food and the soft bed, it almost seemed like all your troubles went away.

>Then again, you were never that lucky.

>As you close your eyes to go back to sleep, a faint smell fills your nares.

>Someone's cooking something.

>Drool leaks from your mouth and wets the pillow beneath your head.

>With a pained groan, you manage to throw off your covers.

>The ensuing rush of cool air makes you shudder.

>You slowly climb out of bed and attempt to walk.

>Each step causes your wing to throb painfully, so you can only move a short distance before needing to stop and rest.

>It takes an eternity, but you eventually manage to reach the door and pry it open.

>As you do so, the smell of breakfast becomes more apparent.

>Eggs and…

>Sausage maybe?

>Definitely more meat though.

>The next room is a hallway.

>There's a bunch of paintings and other junk on the walls, but what really catches your eye is the staircase.

"Freakin'…"

>You mumble under your breath, cursing whatever you did to deserve this punishment.

>Of course, there HAD to be stairs.

>As quickly as the thousands of metaphorical needles piercing your wings will allow, you descend the stairs.

>Hopefully you'll reach the bottom with only one wing broken.

>After yet another eternity, your talons touch the floor and you let out a sigh of relief.

>You sniff the air to find the source of the wonderful smells causing you to lick your chops.

>Step by step, you get closer until you find yourself in a large kitchen.

*Ssssssssss*

>A frying pan on a stove sizzles as beaten eggs are poured into it.

>Anon places some cheese on one side before folding the egg onto itself.

>He waits for a moment before carefully flipping the egg over to cook the other side, eventually sliding the finished omelet onto a plate next to some sausage.

>Boom, called it.

>Your host turns around and finally notices you flooding the corner of his kitchen with your saliva.

>"Well good morning. I didn't expect you to be up so early."

>He pours himself a cup of coffee while looking over his shoulder at you.

>"Did you sleep well?"

>Silently, you nod, still unable to take your eyes off of the food on the counter.

>Anon laughs at your expression, then points to a small table near you.

>"Have a seat, I'll bring you some breakfast."

>You take a deep breath before walking at normal speed to one of the chairs seated around the table.

>Throes of pain course through you, each trying to make you cringe.

>But you'd rather die than look weak in front of someone else.

>Anon watches you, no doubt attempting to see how frail your injury has made you.

>When you make it to the chair, you hop up and sit down.

>Letting out your held breath, an intense agony shoots from your wing.

>You can't stop yourself from reaching to your side and touching the injury.

>Great, now Anon will think you're a freaking cripple or something.

>Fortunately, when you glance in his direction, Anon seems to have already turned around and started preparing your breakfast.

>Maybe he didn't see it.

>After a few minutes, which you spent trying to figure out whether or not Anon saw your momentary weakness, a plate is placed in front of you.

>Scrambled eggs with sausage and toast.

>"Dig in."

>Without a moment's hesitation, you jab your face into the eggs and pull a large gob into your mouth.

>You throw your head back and chomp on the never-born chicken before swallowing.

>Delicious.

>This routine of picking up chunks of food and loudly wolfing them down repeats until theres nothing left on your plate.

>Pushing the plate away, you look at the other person sitting at the table.

>Amazingly, Anon finished his food before you, and is now sipping on a cup of coffee and reading the paper.

>Canterlot Times.

>Is that where you are?

>Guess you were pretty close to Canterlot when you were…

"Hey."

>Anon looks up from his paper.

"What… happened last night? You were the one who tried to stop the dragons, right?"

>You look at your broken wing.

"Nice job, by the way."

>He puts the paper down and takes another drink.

>"Yeah, that was me."

>Regret shows in his eyes.

>"I'm sorry I couldn't stop them from breaking your wing."

"How did you get rid of them? I mean, I could have taken them if they hadn't sucker punched me, but-"

>Anon presses his fingers up the bridge of his nose, like he's trying to push up an invisible pair of glasses.

>You notice the fresh cuts on his arm.

>Claw marks.

>DRAGON claw marks.

"Did you fight them?"

>…

>"Yes."

>He picks up the paper.

"Did you win?"

>"Yes."

>…

"How?"

>Once again, he places the paper down onto the table.

>"I have to go."

>What?

>He stands and starts to leave the kitchen.

>You clamber to stop him, but your injury flares up causing you to wince.

"Wait!"

>For a moment, he pauses in the doorway and looks back at you.

>"Sorry, royalty isn't exactly accustomed to waiting."

>Royalty?

"So we're in Canterlot."

>Anon smiles, again trying to adjust some pair of glasses you can't see.

>"I wouldn't go out in your condition, but feel free to look around the house. If you're going to be staying here, I'm sure it would be nice to know the layout."

>You smirk at him.

"What makes you think I'd stay with you?"

>Despite Anon's attempt to hide his own smirk, you can clearly see the smug look on his face as he starts to walk away.

>"Because you aren't the type to turn down free food. I can't imagine you'd turn down a free stay in a cushy place like this."

>He leaves the house as his exit line ends, leaving you sitting at the table.

>Idiot.

>Just because he has good food and soft beds, he thinks you'll stay here?

>Obviously you will.

>Who would be stupid enough to not take advantage of this situation?

>You climb off the chair and exit the kitchen.

>The floorboards creak under you as you walk slowly down the hall.

>Well, your host was so kind as to let you walk around freely.

>May as well try to dig up some dirt on him.