----
>The Equestria is at War.
>"MOVE OUT!"
>And for you, that means another day on the road.
>Your mother was always worried that this would happen.
>Saying that you should move away from the Borderlands.
>Go east, away from the Griffin Empire.
>Evacuate while there's still enough time.
>But you didn't want to leave all your friends behind.
>You didn't want to leave your home.
>And now you're marching in the caravan, along with everyone else.
>Pulling a cart loaded with all of your worldly possession.
>Or what's left of them anyway.
>You're tired.
>Physically.
>Mentally.
>Emotionally.
>Sometimes you feel like giving up.
>But you won't.
>You can't.
>Before she died, you promised your mother that you would stay with the caravan.
>You promised her that you'd do everything to survive.
>You promised that even if something happened to her, you would still go on.
>You promised you would make it.
>And so you hold on.
>Walking.
>Pulling.
>Marching.
>The daily life in with he caravan is very monotonous.
>Wake up when the sun comes up.
>Pull your cart.
>Settle down when the sun comes down.
>And the next day do the same thing again and again.
>Repeat it.
>Over and over and over again.
>How long has it been?
>Two Weeks?
>Three?
>More?
>You're not sure.
>The days blend and melt together in your memory.
>Uneventful.
>Boring.
>They're al the same.
>The belts from your harness chafe your coat.
>You want to stop and readjust them.
>But if you stop everyone behind you would have to stop as well.
>And you can't do that to them.
>You have to keep walking like everyone else.
>And so you do.
>It all just drags on...
>And on...
>And on...
----
>...
>You're tired.
>You're thirsty.
>The road is rocky.
>You're hungry.
>Your hooves hurt.
>You've been at this the whole day.
>At least the sun is setting down now.
>It's blinding.
>You close your eyes and keep walking in a straight line.
>Because you promised you would.
>Just a few more minutes and the caravan will stop.
>Few more steps and the day is over.
>One Step.
>Two Steps.
>You can feel every single rock that the wheels of your cart bump into.
>Three...
>Four.
>Five.
>Pain.
>You stepped on an edge of a hole in the road.
>You force yourself to open your eyes and resume looking where you're going.
>Six.
>Seven.
>Your hoof hurts.
>Eight.
>Nine.
>You put the hoof down lightly and keep most of your weight on the other three, just to be sure.
>It hurts, but if you stay off it, it should be fine.
>Ten.
>Eleven.
>You almost sprained your fetlock.
>Twelve.
>"HALT!"
>The sun has set.
>Finally, you can stop walking.
>You made it through another day.
>You made it.
----
>...
>It's Twilight.
>While the males are raising the camp, you and the other mares are on the pasture, grazing on dry grass.
>The times are rough.
>It didn't rain in forever.
>With all the able pegasi away fighting the war, there are not enough of them left to control the weather.
>Floods, droughts, hailstorms...
>Natural disasters, eliminated centuries, ago are all coming back now.
>You spit out a stray rock you bit along with a clump off grass.
>There's not much of it left.
>The drought is bad.
>But rain would be worse.
>Much worse.
>The grass would become plentiful and taste better.
>But the roads would get muddy.
>And you'd still have to pull your cart.
>There's no way that the caravan can stop.
>Everyone would have to work twice as hard to keep the caravan moving at half the pace.
>And it would be dangerous.
>The wheels could slip while going up or down a hill.
>And if a cart goes tumbling down a hill, it drags the pony pulling it down with it.
>Even without the slippery mud, ponies have died like this.
>They weren't even buried.
>Nobody had the time to dig holes, or weight their cart down with a lifeless corpse.
>The caravan had to keep moving.
>And so did you.
----
>...
>The daylight is completely gone, replaced by the light of bonfires, stars and gibbous moon.
>You and the other mares are trying to catch some rest.
>All of you are one one big pile.
>It's not cold, it just makes you feel safer like this.
>Even through you know that safety doesn't really exist.
>Not for you.
>Not anymore.
>You pull yourself closer to the older mare in front of you.
>You're not sure who she is, only knowing her from sight.
>But somehow she reminds you of your mother.
>You'd ask her to hug you back, but she's already asleep.
>She's weaker than you.
>Most of the other mares are.
>Back when you still had real food, your mother forced you to eat her rations.
>You hated her for it.
>The rations were disgusting compared to the home cooked hot meals you were used to.
>But they were the best thing you had.
>And your mother made you eat every single crumb of every single meal you had.
>You couldn't do anything.
...
>One day she just didn't wake up.
>She literary starved herself to death so that you could have enough.
>So that you could stay strong.
>So that you could make it through.
>She made you swear it every night.
>That you would always live another day until the war was over and everything would be right again.
>Then marry a nice stallion, raise children and grow old with him.
>It's what your mother and father wanted for you.
>You are an earth pony, like your mother is.
>Like your mother was.
>Your father was a pegasus.
>When the war started, he left for the front and didn't return.
>You should have listened to your mother and run away before the war even began.
----
>A gryphon walks in.
>The mares in the pile stir.
>They've come for you.
>Everyone is silent.
>He grabs one mare by her mane and drags her away.
>Then he takes another one.
>And then he takes you.
>...
>You're next to a bonfire.
>Alone.
>Surrounded by gryphons.
>They're singing, laughing and celebrating their victory.
>They're shouting at you.
>Most of them are drunk.
>The noise comes from all sides.
>And you just sit there, crying.
>Something lands on your head.
>It hurts.
>You curl up on the ground, covering yourself as best as you can.
>Another thing hits your side.
>You don't know what they're thrown at you, but it hurts more than the previous thing.
>You try not to make them angry.
>...
>Someone grips your mane and pulls your face away from the ground.
>"Hey, bitch!"
>You quickly shut your eyes to avoid eye contact.
>"Look at me!"
>you do.
>He spills something on your face.
>You scream.
>Your eyes are burning.
>It smells like schnapps.
>"Are you thirsty, whorse?"
>You nod.
>Your eyes are burning.
>Gryphons don't like it when ponies talk to them.
>It reminds them that you're not animals.
>You watch him as he thuds on the ground and smiles at you.
>Oh god you're going to vomit.
>Your eyes are burning.
>He offers you the drink he's holding.
>You reach for it, but he pulls it back.
>"Pffft-hehehehaha-HAHAHAHARHARHARHAR!"
>He pours the drink over himself.
>"You want a drink? Then DRINK!"
>It dribbles from the feathers on his chest, down to the coat on his stomach.
>And down between his legs.
----
>Gryphons cocks are not made for ponies.
>They're pointed, and covered in fleshy spikes.
>They have knot but not a ring.
>They're disgusting.
>And you're inching your way to one.
>You touch it with your hoof and pull back it's sheath.
>Then you put your mouth over it.
>There is no reason to tease him or do things slow.
>He just wants to use you.
>You start sucking.
>The rich taste alcohol covers the taste of his dirty flesh.
>Your head moves up and down accompanied by your hooves.
>Whenever you pull back to breathe he pours more liquid on himself.
>Cackling like it's the funnies ting he's ever done.
>It makes you physically sick.
>But you just have to keep going.
>When his drink runs you he throws it away.
>His claws wrap your hear and he fuck your face.
>You've lost all control.
>Control of pace.
>Control of depth.
>Control of breathing.
>The power is all in his claws now.
>And he's anything but considerate.
>It doesn't take long.
>His knot swells and he shoots his spunk right in your throat.
>When he pulls out you instinctively take a breath.
>Your mistake.
>He wasn't done cumming and you breathed in some of his cum.
>You're choking.
>you try to cough it out, but he forces himself back in your mouth.
>You try to swallow, but every second more of his sticky poison comes out.
>You're drowning.
----
>Someone grabs you by your shoulders and yanks you back.
>You end up yon your back, roughly thrown on the ground.
>Thankful for the chance to try and breath again.
>Some other gryphon puts his claws on your waist and presses you down.
>He positions himself over you and plunges in.
>You're not even wet.
>But he's too drunk to care.
>Gryphons are much larger and heavier than ponies.
>Luckily for you, their penises are smaller compared ot their body.
>If they weren't he'd tear you apart.
>He screams like a lunatic, pistoning in and out.
>Pounding you into the ground with reckless abandon.
>Feral.
>Mindless.
>Unconcerned.
>You can't stop him.
>All you can do is keep your legs open as wide as you can and just let it happen.
>Just let it happen.
>Fighting back only makes things worse.
>"Lick."
>Another gryphon walks over you.
>His voice is cold and emotionless, like he's not even talking to someone.
>Of course.
>He's not talking to someone.
>He's talking to something.
>He's talking to you.
>You watch his asshole fill your view as he sits on your face.
>The overwhelming stench of old sweat makes you want to retch.
>But instead you just stick out your tongue and start licking.
>There's nothing else you could do.
----
>...
>The days were bad.
>The nights were worse.
>When the gryphon raping your pussy finishes, another one takes his place.
>He's bigger than the previous one but moves a lot slower.
>You can feel him tearing you apart.
>Every time he backs out, the spikes on his cock sink into your walls.
>The pain is unbearable.
>Agonizing.
>And then you feel his talons dig into your stomach.
>He doesn't like what you're doing.
>You're doing nothing.
>You're just laying there, letting him do all the work.
>You have to do better.
>you start to moan, and move your hips against his own.
>You don't feel any pleasure.
>The moans are masking you pain.
>The pain of helping him rend your insides.
>The pain of being taken by those who destroyed your life.
>The pain of not being able to stop the pain.
>The moans are masking your pain and make him feel better about himself.
>They make him feel potent.
>Like he knows how to pleasure a mare.
>Like he's the best at this.
>You let him think he is.
>You make him think he is.
>He thinks he is.
>After all.
>He made a mare moan.
>Didn't he?
>...
>Eight or nine more gryphons take their turns using you, before they leave you be.
>You're covered with dirt, sweat and trash.
>Maybe they at least left some food behind?
>you look around.
>They did!
>You roll on the side, curl into a ball and start licking yourself clean.
>You're bleeding.
>Again.
>...
>The gryphons are still all around you.
>But they know you're spent and they know that they won't get any more fun from you tonight.
>They're completely ignoring you.
>Maybe you could...
>No...
>You can't.
>It's not like you have somewhere to run.
>It's not like you could run.
>You can't even stand now.
>Or even lay down.
>You pass out watching the flames of bonfires.
>They're burning your world away.
----
>...
>You are woken up by someone dragging you across the ground.
>It's still night, and the fires are still burning.
>You look at whoever's pulling you.
>A gryphon.
>He's as small as a pony.
>Even during celebrations, there's always someone left to stand guard.
>But why doesn't he wear any armor?
>The celebration is still going strong.
>He's probably be too young to be allowed joining in.
>The gryphons have a rule.
>Only those who return from battle with blood on their claws may enjoy the spoils of it.
>It makes their soldiers fight like ferocious beasts.
>A youngling like this has probably never been in a real fight.
>So he's left with cleaning up and fetching mares.
>Gryphons don't like it when the mare's too used up.
>They want them to feel what's being done to them.
>They wouldn't be satisfied fucking a rag doll like yourself.
>Not when they have so many more to choose from.
>...
>Over a dozen villages, including yours.
>Stallions slain, mares raped and taken as slaves.
>Forced to pull loaded loot wagons all the way back to Lion's Nest.
>The children.
>You don't know what happened to the children.
>They were part of another caravan.
>And if the attack came two days earlier you would have been among them.
>Two days before the attack.
>That's when you got your cutie mark.
>It's a feather duster.
>Your destiny was to become a maid.
>You'd move to Canterlot and work at some rich noble's mansion.
>Every day you'd dress up in a cute but professional uniform.
>Sleep on a luxurious bed in a room bigger than your family's whole house.
>Are there maids in Gryphon Empire?
>Maybe you'll become a maid when you get there?
>Maybe someone will notice your talent and give you a new home.
----
>The dragging stops and you leave your dream.
>Oh, no!
>This is not the slave cage.
>This is his tent.
>Tears start rolling down from your eyes.
>It's not over yet.
>"Stand up."
>You obey as fast as you can.
>Which means slow.
>You're tired.
>You couldn't have been passed out for more than an hour.
>You spent the whole day pulling a cart loaded full with loot.
>And you're going to do the same tomorrow.
>Your only hope that he'll be done quickly, so you can finally go to sleep.
>Drift back to the blissful unconsciousness.
>Sleep as long as you can.
>It's the last pleasure you have left.
>...
>The young gryphon circles around you.
>Observing.
>Watching.
>Considering.
>Has he never been with a mare before?
>Doesn't he know where to stick it?
>Why doesn't he take you?
>Come on!
>Hurry up and be done with it!
>Maybe he's just picking which hole he wants to use?
>Finally, he stops and speaks.
>"Spread your legs."
>He doesn't sound sure about it at all.
>It must be something he's heard the other gryphons say.
>If it's his first time you'll be done with him in a minute.
>You've been used by hundreds.
>You know what they like.
>How to stall those that don't abuse you so hard.
>And make the ones that like to torture you blow their loads as fast as you can.
>You're going to give this fledgeling the ride of his life.
----
>...
>His claws clutch your flanks
>you bend you front hooves down, and get into the breeding position.
>He pulls himself close and puts his weight on you.
>You yelp in pain.
>He didn't even enter you yet.
>It's your fetlock.
>"Fuck!"
>He immediately jumps off you.
>He's not concerned for your well being.
>He's concerned that somebody might have heard you.
>If he was found 'stealing loot' he'd be in big trouble.
>"Shut up!"
>He runs to the entrance and looks out.
>After a while later he returns to you.
>"Not another sound."
>You nod and roll over.
>You won't have to carry his weight if he takes you from the front.
>Just like the others did.
>Once more, you spread your hind legs as far as you can.
>You keep your front leg on your chest.
>Hopefully it will stop him from trying to kiss you.
>You watch him lay down on you.
>His pathetic gryphonhood is pushing against your lower abdomen.
>He's as small as a colt.
>It almost makes you laugh.
>You'll be surprised if you're able to even feel him.
>He's just laying on you, looking you in the eyes.
>Does he need you to give him instructions?
>He grabs your left hoof, pushes aside to the side and pins it down.
>He wants you completely helpless.
>If he afraid of you?
>He grabs your right hoof and you wince in pain.
>His brows furrow.
>"What's with your hoof?"
"I-It's nothing."
>"No... it's... definitely something."
>He twists your hoof experimentally, sending another jolt of pain through your leg.
"Don't do that!"
"Please!"
"Just fuck me already!"
>He twists it harder and your face contorts in excruciating pain as you feel something give out.
"Please! Don't! I can still walk! I can still be useful!"
...
>I'm sorry mother.
>I didn't make it.
----