This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
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The Bad Side
Sheriff Pinto eyed the desk of paperwork with a scowl, stroking the neckerchief that just wasn't sitting right that day. Her sheriff's badge dug into her chest and the pony sighed again, adjusting its placement against her brown and cream coat - a typical paint with long, white stockings on each leg that drew the eye.
But she didn't want the eye to be drawn to her in her line of work: not unless she was apprehending a criminal, of course. Sometimes, it was hard to be taken seriously as a sheriff, even though she most certainly was not the first mare-sheriff that Appleloosa had had. She wore her neckerchief every day of her work, even though it wasn't strictly work clothing, only removing it once she was back in the comfortable confines of the home she shared with Axel: her husband.
She smiled, sliding her gaze out the window, the sun high in the sky as the day moved by noon. He'd be busy now, on his day off, but he'd be right there waiting for her when she got home, as he always was. The long hours weren't enough to chase him away from her and, truly, she hoped that nothing ever would take him from her heart.
The telegraph machine whirred, clicking and vibrating as it dragged her back to the stark reality of the present, and she cast a sceptical eye over it as the paper reeled out slowly. She almost didn't want to take it (it wasn't as if anything good ever seemed to come through) but she did it all the same and hooked the paper of the telegram in the crook between her hoof and fetlock to read.
Royal Guard of Canterlot.
She frowned. It had the seal. Did they need to state it like that? Wasn't it obvious already? Her back throbbed in a physical reminder of her annoyance and she groaned, twisting lightly one away and then the other to relieve a little of the residual tension there. Darn it, did she need another coffee!
A highly dangerous individual is heading your way: a griffon by the name of Lambard Silentwing. He evaded our grasp in Canterlot and was spotted boarding the train to Appleloosa with no further stops this day, although we are aware that he may disembark earlier than expected.
Griffons, of course, could fly. Another nuance of stating the obvious. But she shouldn't have been so wound up just because the day was dragging on and, well, there was still more to read. Serenity frowned. Annoyingly so. Lambard Silentwing? Just who the hay was that?
This griffon is as large as an average stallion and of a lean build. We are told that his ribs are showing beneath his grey feathers, which are spotted with black streaks. His fur is brown. A scar is his defining feature, cast below his right eye, and should assist in identifying him. We have received intelligence that he has an injured wing, although cannot confirm which wing.
Do not attempt to approach this individual as he will be tried in Canterlot Court for his crimes against ponies and griffons alike. We stress that he is highly dangerous. It is for your own safety that we ask you not to approach this griffon.
We are on our way.
Serenity raised her eyebrows and cast the paper a look even more sceptical than she had the actual machine that had conveyed it to her. Highly dangerous? Did they not think that she didn't deal with highly dangerous criminals in her daily line of work? She knew what she was doing.
Scowling, she rolled her eyes at the machine and pushed the paper to the side, stalking out the door with a sharper edge to her stride, hooves clip-clopping smartly over the bare, wooden floorboards. Who would carpet a sheriff's office anyway? There really was no point. Serenity preferred to be out on the road anyway, doing her job about town, even though the amount of paperwork that seemed to be landing on her desk these days seemed to be doing its very best to chain her to her office.
But she had more important work to do than shuffle papers and Sheriff Pinto bounded outside with lightness in her hooves. If there was any griffon in her Appleloosa, she sure as Tartarus wasn't going to sit around on her behind and wait for him to cause harm or disturbance to her ponies! Or Axel!
Snorting softly, she brushed her forelock out of her eyes, lips softening into a smile. She couldn't imagine any griffon or pony causing Axel any kind of disturbance. He'd be zoned into his own little world while working on his truck, as always, on his day off. Why, she reckoned that a full-on shootout could go on outside his workshop - or even inside it - and he still wouldn't flick a single ear to see what was going on.
He was funny like that.
No! Focus! Serenity shook her head with a grumble and nodded politely to the passing Grandmare Dolly, an old mare with a black and white patched coat that was now greyer than anything else.
"A pleasure to see you out and about again, Grandmare Dolly," Serenity said, tipping her muzzle respectfully. "How's that ol' hip of yours holdin' up after surgery? You had to go up into Canterlot to have them unicorns operate?"
The Grandmare of the town, who was both everyone's Grandmare and no one's at all, at least by blood, smiled and came to a creaky stop, leaning heavily on her walker that helped her keep her forelegs supported and up off the hard, Appleloosa streets. Unfortunately, there was little of a dignified form that could support a dodgy hip but it still helped her get about and take breaks when she could - not that she would let anyone help her, of course. That wouldn't be like Grandmare at all to admit any sense of weakness.
"Yes, young 'un," Grandmare said in her usual, shaky warble, peering at the Sheriff. "It's coming along right nice now, it is. But did I tell you the tale..."
Serenity should have been listening: everypony listened to Grandmare's stories, regardless of how long they went on, but Serenity's eyes had already snapped elsewhere. And that was weird for her, considering that she rather did like Grandmare Dolly's stories. But she'd seen something that made her heart stop, freezing in place as her ears flicked one way and then the other to catch every little sound in the near vicinity.
The griffon. How could he be right there? Blinking several times, Serenity stared at him, his retreating back shuffling through the ground. But, when he turned, she could be sure with that dangling wing and the scar, the tip of the feathers dragging nearly all the way down to the dirt as he traipsed wearily on his way.
The mare tensed, rocking back on her haunches. Grandmare Dolly, completely oblivious, rambled on and on, her gaze hazing over in memory of one thing or another. But Serenity could not listen when she had her quarry right there before her.
She had to get him!
"Hold on' up, Grandmare - I'm gonna have to get back to y'all on that one!"
Leaving a confused elder in her wake, Serenity leapt off the raised steps of the sheriff's department and hurled herself into his wake, clouds of dust following the course of her hooves.
"Halt!"
The griffon barely looked around, flicking his leonine tail as if annoyed at the interruption.
"What's a bird gotta do to get a drink around here?" He grumbled, apparently affecting a tipsy sway. "Something wrong with you ponies? Not seen a griffon before?"
Serenity skidded to a sliding stop beside him, cuffs at the ready.
