It was a cold morning in western Griffonstone. The icy wind blew from the north, and flurries of snow wisped across the land. The sun peeked over the mountain at a young griffon, chopping wood. He paused just long enough to wipe the sweat off his white feathers before swinging his axe once again.

Soon, he'd gathered enough, and he pulled the cord of wood onto his back and made his way down the rocky hill. His paws nearly lost their footing on the smooth rocks; but once he made it out of the trees, he could spread his wings and fly back to his home.

He soon arrived, pushing open the door and dragging in the wood behind him.

Galfrid was sitting at the table glaring at a newspaper. He raised an eyebrow as his son entered. “Took you a while, Galvin,” he observed.

“The axe is getting dull,” Galvin explained.

His father considered this excuse, and then when he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time it had been sharpened, he snorted; his annoyance quickly changing targets. “Yeah? Well, with what Gable charges to sharpen blades, it'll be a hot day in winter before I take it to him.” He held out his claw. “I'll sharpen it. You just finish loading the wood.”

Galvin passed the axe over, and he took it and stomped outside. As he walked out the door, Galvin looked out towards the south, towards where the sea lay. He quickly looked back; but he'd let his gaze linger too long.

His mother, Geraldine, sighed. “You're not going out there again tonight, are you, Galvin?”

Galvin exhaled and continued loading the wood. “Maybe I am,” he said, looking down and returning to his work.

“Galvin, it's not right,” she said. She came over and placed a claw under his beak, lifting his face up so she could look him in the eyes. “You're a griffon, Galvin,” she said. “You're meant to be in the air, not on the water.”

“I can't help it,” Galvin said, raising his head away and breaking eye contact. “It's just… me. I love to fly, but I love the waves.”

“You’ll love getting the oil washed off your feathers and sinking like a stone,” Geraldine snorted.

Galvin rested his forehead against one of the logs and exhaled slowly through gritted beak. “I’m sailing, not swimming,” he repeated as he had so many times before.

“Yes; but it’s almost the same!”

Galvin bit back the retort that sprang to mind. She’d never understand. At least, she hadn’t made any effort to understand thus far, anyway.

“Really, son. You're a grown griffon. It's time you put aside these childish things and become a real griffon!” Convinced she’d made her point, Geraldine nodded and returned to her task of counting bits.

Galvin loaded the wood onto the pile faster. He had to get out of here.



Galvin pulled the raft along the beach, along with the long stick he used as a paddle. As far as watercrafts go, this one wasn’t particularly stunning; he had made it of old driftwood and logs too thin to make good heat, and had lashed it together with old rope. Still, it floated, and that’s all that mattered.

He arrived at the beach and pushed it into the ocean. The water was icy cold, and the spray on his fur from the small waves against the beach made him shiver; but it was more out of anticipation than cold. Once the raft floated uninhibited in the water, he picked up his push pole and flapped his wings, letting himself land gently on the raft. Memories of earlier rafts that had sunk under his weight sprang to mind, and he cracked the first real smile he’d had all day.

He stood on the raft, balanced precariously, and pushed against the sandy bottom, propelling the raft a bit more forward. The motion of the waves made some griffons sick; something about not being in control of their movements.

Galvin lived for it.

He stroked the water once more and looked out at the horizon. For some reason, his last interaction with his mother had really rankled him. Maybe it was her inability to hear him. Maybe it was because for all her professions of love for him, she'd never made more than a token effort to try and understand how he felt. Maybe it was an overreaction. He wasn't quite sure. All he knew was that he wanted to just stay on the ocean forever.

He squinted at the horizon. Some griffons just had that sense of adventure, to leave their town in search not of fame or bits, but of adventure. He definitely had it.

One day he’d do it. He’d reach it, and then go beyond it. He would go beyond the horizon.

Maybe he could even leave tonight.

He looked down at the water pooling on the raft's surface. No. He'd need something bigger than his raft. Bigger, and better.

A tiny smile crept across his face as he flapped his wings and lifted off. His raft would be lost somewhere in the ocean, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

For he, Galvin, was going to build a boat.

---

Galfrid squinted. “A boat?”

Galvin nodded, beak clenched tight. He hadn't meant to let that slip out. Yet. Ever.

Galfrid considered for a moment, and then rendered his verdict as he returned to his newspaper. “That's ridiculous.”

“I don't care. I want to go.”

“What's wrong with flying?” Geraldine asked.

“Where I'm going, I won't be able to fly that long,” Galvin explained.

“Where are you going?” Geraldine pressed.

Galvin exhaled. “I don’t know yet; but I’ll know when I get there.”

“And you don't know when you're getting there?”

Galvin shook his head. “No,” he confessed quietly. This had sounded much better in his head. Having to explain it to griffons who didn’t (wouldn’t) understand made it that much harder.

Geraldine exhaled. “Son, staking your hopes and dreams on a distant shore that might not even exist is foolish! We griffons are part eagle, not part seagull!”

“Griffons can do anything,” Galvin protested weakly.

“No one's even going to pay you,” Galfrid pointed out. “How are you going to get the bits to pay for anything?”

“Maybe I want something that bits can't buy,” Galvin blurted before he could stop himself.

Galfrid raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He looked back down at his newspaper and grunted at the dismal headline. “Fine. You know what? You try it,” he challenged. “You build a boat.” He pulled the newspaper back up over his face. “But when you fail and come back, make sure you keep the woodbox full.”

Galvin bit his tongue. He knew two things had just happened. One, he had technically been given permission.

And secondly, he had just been given a challenge.



Galvin scuffed a claw against the dirty floor. He looked around at the collapsed walls and exhaled slowly. This had once been the library of Griffonstone. Now, it was barely a home for mice.

He exhaled and started poking around. There had to be something here. Something! Anything!

He picked up a book and snorted as he recognized mouse droppings falling from inside the book; his previous assessment had been incorrect.

He continued digging, looking under collapsed desks and under fractured walls; he even grabbed loose sheets of paper and looked at them. His efforts seemed hopeless.

But finally, under a toppled bookshelf, he found one. It was a hatchling’s book, printed on thick cardboard so as to be sturdier, about a pony pirate who had been tricked by a griffon merchant. It was a silly story with simple drawings, but it was a start.

He tucked the book under his wings and headed towards home.



Galvin took a step back and nodded. He was finished. With his bedsheet as a sail and the book as a guide, he had successfully built his first boat. Sure, it had taken him a couple of days to get the wood together, and then a couple more days to get the wood to stay together, but he’d managed. Confidently, he pushed it into the water, and flapped aboard.

Already he could feel some improvements over his raft. It was larger, and seemed to feel a little bit smoother on the water.

He cast his eyes out towards the horizon, and he couldn't suppress a laugh. He had done it!

Wait. What was that wet feeling around his ankles?



Galfrid looked up from counting his bits at the sound of someone coming through the door, and he barked a laugh. “Ah, the prodigal son returns!”

Galvin, still dripping wet from his unexpected excursion into the sea, irritably blew a wet feather out of his face and continued back to his room. His boat sinking was just a minor setback. He would try again.

---

After much reflection, Galvin realized his problem. The logs that he had used for his raft had been light enough to float on their own, together or separately. He hadn’t tested for that while building his boat; he’d just tried to copy the design in the book. Thus, for his next attempt, he would only be able to use logs that floated on their own.

It took quite a bit of testing, of placing logs and boards into the water and seeing which ones floated and which ones did not. Griffons would stop and watch. Younger hatchlings still not even through their first molt would stop and watch, and usually they would also point and laugh before going back to their soccer game.

But Galvin did not let that dissuade him. He was going to sail off into the horizon.

He cracked his neck and then his claws, and then pushed the boat off the sand into the water. It bobbed a few times, but floated. Galvin laughed, and then flew to land on the deck.

And as soon as his claws hit the deck, the boat fell apart.



“You're making a fool of yourself.”

Galvin exhaled. “Gaspar, if I give you some bits, will you leave me alone?”

“I doubt it,” Gaspar said with a smirk. “You're quite the source of entertainment. This is, what, the sixth boat you've built?”

“Fifth,” Galvin grumbled.

“And every one has sunk.”

“The third one stayed together longest. I just need to figure out what I did right.”

“Longest as in…?”

Galvin chose not to answer that one.

Gaspar chuckled and walked around, getting a good look at what Galvin was working on. “Maybe you’re thinking too big,” he said. “Maybe you could stay here and work with your father or something. Firewood is a hot commodity now.”

Galvin briefly wondered if he could tie Gaspar to the front of his boat like the siren carved onto the boat in the book.

Gaspar nodded, and then peered over Galvin’s shoulder. “Huh,” he said. “You know, I think I see what your problem is.”

Galvin looked back, feeling a slight spark of hope in his chest. “Yeah? What?”

Gaspar bumped him with his hip, sending Galvin tipping over and landing face first into the sand. “You’re a griffon!” Laughing uproariously at his own joke, Gaspar stepped over Galvin, knocked his sketches off the rock with a quick sweep of his wing, and walked back towards the town.

Galvin spat sand out of his beak and scowled. He sat up, brushed the sand off his feathers, and placed the paper back up on the rock. He picked up the ink bottle before all of it had run out, and discarded the feather he had been using as it was now broken in Gaspar’s departure.

It wasn’t so much his failures that rankled him so much as the other griffons’ responses. If only he could succeed, just for once. Then they’d see. Instead, Gaspar and friends had to show up and give ridiculous solutions to-

Galvin sat back and tapped his beak. Maybe he was thinking too large. His raft had floated just fine; it was when he was going for a large boat that he failed.

He turned the paper over and pulled a new feather to serve as a quill. He bit it at an angle, spat out the tip, and dipped it in the ink. New inspiration flowed through him.

That horizon would be his yet.



Gaspar, as expected had returned. This time, though, he didn’t have many words. Galvin hoped that was because he had been so impressed, but that wasn’t likely.

Finally, he rendered his judgement. “So you’ve built a raft, with wings.”

Galvin paused. “Yeah, more or less,” he said, looking over his craft. “This middle part here is the main body of the ship, and the two little rafts on the sides connected by spars-” he’d learned that term from the book, “-help keep the heavier raft in the middle afloat.”

“Oh yeah, I just remembered. I don’t care.” Gaspar spat derisively into the water. “Go on your stupid voyage and never come back.”

Galvin smirked. “You think the design will work.”

“Just go out there, drown, and get out of all of our feathers,” Gaspar said, turning around and stomping away.

Galvin had no intention of doing the second one, but the first and third sounded really good. Still, there was only one way of knowing.

He pushed off the sandy beach once more, hoping that this would be the last time.

Sure enough, his boat rocked, but it didn’t sink. Carefully, cautiously, he flew up and landed once more on the raft.

It held.

He let out a cheer of delight. Picking up the long pole he had taken for this purpose, he pushed off the ocean floor, and he sailed off into the great unknown.

---

Galvin awoke slowly. His head pounded, his whole body ached, and his tongue felt as thick and as dry as one of those old biscuits that one griffoness used to sell. What had happened?

Memories came trickling back. The lack of drinkable water, his inability to fish for food, finally culminating in him hallucinating his father laughing at him and his mother scolding him before passing out, taking mild comfort in the facts that his boat had lasted and that he had (more or less) accomplished his dream.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

Galvin opened one eye at the unfamiliar voice. He looked over and saw a blur of light purple that slowly resolved into a pony.

A pony? Where had he landed? At least ponies weren’t predators, though; he would have made an easy meal in his weakened state. Still, he wiggled all his claws and toes, making sure he felt them all before he relaxed.

“You're either-” She shook her head. “No, there is no ‘either’ in there. You're a colossal idiot.”

Galvin sat up quickly, and his head swam. He rested his head in his claws and fought through it. “Hey, now,” he started, one eye squinted.

“Don't give me that 'hey, now', Buster,” she retorted, prodding his chest with a hoof that seemed much sharper than it looked. “It was just lucky I saw your raft adrift in the sea. It's only afloat now because of your sheer dumb luck, and that's literally all you had going for you. You had no compass on board, you're by yourself in the middle of the ocean, you had no rudder, you had no rope, and unless your food and water barrels grew fins and swam away, you started out without any supplies. And if my calculations are correct, and I'll bet bits to bridles they are, you spent a whopping three weeks out there to travel a whole two hundred miles.”

Galvin choked. “Come again?”

“Two hundred miles from West Griffonstone to Rolling Hills. Which is where you are now.” She cracked a wry smile. “Welcome to the grain capital of the east!”

Galvin sat back, stunned. His 'magnificent journey' had been the equivalent length of a good flight! Without any idea where he was going, he must have just drifted in circles until he wound up here. He placed his face in his claws and groaned.

“What the hay were you thinking?” the mare demanded. “Were you thinking?”

“I wanted…”

“You wanted what? To die a lonely death? ‘Cause let me tell you, Buster, that’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Galvin.”

The pony blinked. “Come again?”

“Galvin. That's my name. Not Buster; Galvin.”

The pony seemed mildly taken aback. “Sea Spray,” she returned, her voice only hesitating slightly. “What did you want, Galvin?” she repeated.

“I wanted… I wanted to find the horizon. Go beyond it. While sailing. I- it’s stupid, I know; but…”

To his surprise, Sea Spray looked down and scuffed a hoof. “No, not at all. That… that makes sense. To me,” she added. She turned to leave. “I’ll get you some more water,” she offered.

His eyes widened as he watched her walk away. Her right hind leg was mangled and scarred, and it was twisted at such an odd angle that her hoof hung a few inches above the ground. To compensate for its loss, her left hind leg stood more or less in the middle of her body, and had to hop along as she walked.

She was lame.

Galvin didn’t know too much about pony culture, but he did know that a pony being lame was almost as good as a death sentence. He watched in fascinated horror as she left the room.

As soon as she left, he took the opportunity to look around his room. It was, like a stereotypical pony’s room, decorated in garish pinks and yellows and light blues, and pictures and decorations hung all over the walls.

His heart skipped a beat as he recognized some of them. One could only be a fishing net. One was clearly a pulley for pulling up sails. The white wall was actually a sail, much bigger and thicker than his bedsheet had been. And that big metal thing on the wall matched the marking on the side of the ship. He’d thought it was painted on as decoration.

Sea Spray returned, carrying a small wooden cup. Galvin accepted it, but not before pointing at the metal thing. “What’s that?”

“An anchor,” she answered flatly. “You use it to keep ships anchored in one place.”

“Ships?”

“Like a boat, but bigger.” Sea Spray shook her head. “You really were clueless, weren’t you?”

“Hey, I managed to build my boat,” Galvin protested weakly.

“I’d call it ‘driftwood’, not a boat,” Sea Spray deadpanned. “Drink your water.”

Galvin obeyed, and was pleasantly surprised to feel more sensation return to his tongue. He licked his beak a few times and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t have many bits, but-”

“Eh,” Sea Spray shrugged. “I’d do it for anypony.”

Galvin, thinking she meant the water, nodded and set the cup down. Then he asked the burning question. “Were you a sailor?”

“My name is Sea Spray,” Sea Spray deadpanned. “I wasn’t exactly destined for a life on land.”

Galvin paused. “How do ponies do that? Name their hatchlings?”

Sea Spray shrugged. “I dunno. Magic or something?” She sighed and sank to her haunches, looking wistfully down at the floor. “I was,” she admitted quietly. “And I was dang good at it, too. I could breathe my namesake, they’d say. I could do it all. I could navigate, tie knots, read maps, anything they needed, I was their mare.” She tossed her head at her lame leg. “Then I was out in the shallows of an island one day and a shark tried to have a Sea Spray sandwich.” She cracked a wry smile. “I guess I tasted bad, because he let go right away; but it wasn’t the same afterwards. My crew dropped me off at a port near here, and I’ve been here ever since.”

Galvin exhaled. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was all he could think of to say.

“Yeah, well, me too,” Sea Spray said. She pushed herself up. “Anyway, got a nice little plot of land here. Grows good grain.” She cracked a smile. “You can eat bread, right? Never really met a griffon before.”

Galvin nodded, thinking of the cost. “I can,” he said. “Not too hungry now, though.”

His stomach growled, making a liar of him.

Sea Spray laughed. “You’re a terrible liar. Bread it is; but then I’ve got to go move the hoses.”

“Move the hoses?”

“Yeah.” She started back towards the door. “Seawater’s only good for the fish. Kills ponies and wheat dead. Gotta get water from the stream.”

Galvin watched her leave, her hind leg hopping as she did. He groaned. How was he going to pay for all of this?

---

Galvin hauled the heavy hose one row over and pulled it forward into position. He waited with baited breath, but he had done it quickly enough to maintain the siphon properties; the water began to flow out and he grinned.

He looked up at Sea Spray, who looked impressed. “Not bad,” she said. She tossed her head aside towards the rest of the field. “Now just another forty-eight to go.”

Galvin grimaced. This was going to be something.



Galvin drank gratefully from the offered cup. “Thanks,” he breathed.

Sea Spray chuckled and refilled it. “You’re welcome,” she said. “I should be thanking you; you did that in half the time it takes me.”

Galvin grinned and flexed his claws. It was good to be a griffon.

Sea Spray cut him down with her next sentence. “Of course, it’ll be time to move them all again tonight; but still.”

Galvin groaned, and massaged his face with the palm of his claw. “Did you ever think this would be your life?” he had to ask.

Sea Spray barked a laugh. “No. Never. I figured I’d be at sea until I died, and then given a proper burial at sea.” She glared at her mangled leg. “This is an extended death sentence.”

Galvin felt the need to change the subject, and something occurred to him. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How did you know where I was from?”

“I recognized the wood in your raft. That’s good, strong stuff, usually used for masts, and grows in--you guessed it--West Griffonstone.” Sea Spray chuckled. “Of course, you mangled it so bad it’s only good for driftwood, now; but still.”

Galvin cracked a wry smile. “Yeah, well, I’ve never been trained on boat or ship building.”

“Neither have I; but I know that’s not how you do it. I’m more impressed that you managed to keep it together.”

Galvin chuckled. “I’m a slow learner,” he said. “That was my fifth boat I built.”

Sea Spray laughed as she poured herself a glass. “You are crazy,” she said. “Hurry up and finish your water, we’ve got some weeding to do.”



After dinner (more bread), Galvin wandered outside. He did this for two reasons. One, Sea Spray was still chagrinned at him pulling up nearly half a row of her plants before realizing that they were not actually the weeds he was supposed to be pulling; and two, he wanted another look at her boat.

Sea Spray had a boat. It was little, but it was definitely a professionally-made boat. It had a flat bottom, kindof like his raft, but instead of logs lashed together, it seemed to be made of boards that were held together by some sort of glue. He climbed in and crouched down, taking a good look.

“What on Celestia’s green earth are you doing?” Sea Spray demanded. “You’re not thinking of trying to sail the ocean in that skiff, are you?”

“Skiff?”

“That’s a skiff. Great for smaller bodies of water, but one good wave will sink it.”

Galvin sat up, undeterred. “Then I’ll just build it bigger.”

“It’ll sink,” Sea Spray shot him down.

“But I’ll never know unless I try,” Galvin said.

“You’ll know because I’m telling you,” Sea Spray emphasized. “Flat bottomed boats don’t work in a larger scale. They’re impossible to steer and handle, assuming their weight doesn’t make them too heavy for the water displaced.”

“Water in what places?”

Sea Spray facehoofed. “Ships only float because the volume of water they displace is- You know what? No. It’s pointless.”

“You can’t have given up that sailing dream,” Galvin protested.

“Yeah, well, I’m dreaming more realistically now.” She turned around. “You want to try to build a ship, go ahead.”

Galvin watched her leave, then turned back towards inland. Surely there were some good places for wood here.

He was not going to give up.



Chores were finished quickly with two around, and as soon as Sea Spray had said that they were done for the day, Galvin had taken the axe and headed out to the forest in search of wood.

Before long, he had brought back a few logs. Using the axe, he began stripping the bark off. It was slow going.

He looked up at the tap on his shoulder. Sea Spray stood behind him, holding a hatchet in her mouth.

“Thanks,” Galvin said, reaching for it.

Sea Spray tossed her head, keeping it just out of reach. “Wha’ are you ‘oin’?” she asked.

“I’m stripping the bark and I’m going to use it as the base of my boat,” Galvin said.

Sea Spray spat the hatchet out. “Not like that, you won't. That's going to get waterlogged. You need some good tar to get that nice and waterproof.”

Galvin picked up the hatchet. “First things first. First the boards, then the tar.” He looked up. “Where do I get tar?”

Sea Spray blinked. “You’re serious about this.”

“Yes, I am.”

Sea Spray shook her head, trying to comprehend. “Where are you going to go?”

“I don't know.”

“You're sailing blind, then.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t even have a compass.”

“No.”

“And that doesn't bother you?”

Galvin shook his head. “I need to go. I can't explain it.”

Sea Spray nodded. “Then I'm coming with you.”

“But-”

“I bet you don't even know which way east is,” Sea Spray challenged.

“Sure I do,” Galvin said. “The sun sets in the east.”

Sea Spray facehoofed. “The sun sets in the west, you dolt.”

“I knew that,” Galvin defended himself. “I was testing you.”

Sea Spray exhaled. “You'll die out there alone, and I don’t want your blood on my hooves. I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”

“I don't have bits to pay you.”

“I don't- I don't have a life here!” Sea Spray exploded. “Farming isn’t me! I would pay you bits to let me come with you! You and your… stupidity! You’ve brought back a spark I didn’t know I had anymore! I want to live again! Truly live!” She turned to Galvin. “I’m. Coming. With. You.”

Galvin exhaled. “Fine,” he said. “Can you help me take the bark off?”

Sea Spray smiled, a true happy smile. “Not with a hatchet. I know a pony in town who owns a lumber mill. Grab your logs and come with me.”

Galvin didn’t even feel the weight of the logs as he followed Sea Spray into town. He was actually going at her pace now, loaded down under the weight, but he didn’t even care.

Finally, his dream was going to come true.