He looked up from the letter, it regaled a tale of some foolishness regarding his grandson’s latest escapades in the south, where the borders of their Hartwoods and Equestria met with the Black Isles’ enclave. That sounded like a debacle that he really could not care for, generally Hartwoods’ neighbours left them alone, the ponies generally did not interact with forests they didn’t have control over and the Griffons generally considered the forest to be a border of sorts and lumbered from their own woodlands. Most of the time anyway. There were occasions where they would trespass or poach and that led to all sorts of shenanigans, not that his own people weren’t guilty of border incidents themselves, which hopefully he could prevent this from becoming one if he acted quick enough. Had only the lad been any other stag…