Ahh, welcome back! I see you brought more people this time, which is a little bit surprising. Honestly I didn’t expect even half of you to come back. You’re making an old man feel welcomed. So you have my heart felt thanks for actually showing up and listening to me speak.

So before we continue on with what happened after I woke up, let's do a little bit of Q&A, hmm? I could tell from last time that there was a lot of questions so we might as well get those over with.

Let’s start with you!

Why did I bet so much on this rumour?

Well that’s kind of an easy question to start with. First off, almost everything I own is packed onto Fawkes, with the exception of all the gear I carry on my body, and a few places that I keep caches. Honestly, that was how I lived for all those years. Continuously moving, so I really wasn’t betting too much. Though if the question is also asking why I put so much credibility on that one statement? Simply put, that guy had a street sign from New York as proof. Same street to, Central Park West. How could I not believe him when he showed me it? I highly doubted he somehow snatched it before The Reckoning, especially since New York had been buried during the second day. I still remember the only station that broadcasted anything after the bombs fell. They were getting reports from all over, and New York was a big one since it was completely flooded and dried in a single day. They got through the first few hours of coverage on the third day before the TV signal went blank.

Sad to remember, really. Alright, you’re next!

What's that? Has following my conscious moral compass ever caused me problems?

Uugh. As I said yesterday, my luck is unbelievably ridiculous for some reason, so when I make moral decisions, they tend to never come back and bite me. Though that doesn’t include instances of people immediately taking advantage of my judgement. It’s never been an issue though … I’m usually in a much better position than them.

Yes, I am referring to shooting positions when I say that. I never put myself close enough for them to react and not get a bullet as a parting gift if need be.

Alright … you there! Speak up! Did I find traces of people in New York?

A little grim there, ain’t you? Also I thought I did a fair job describing New York last time? Oh well, I guess it’s easy enough to miss a section. Well to answer your question, yes I did and though I would have preferred to leave it at that, you want to know. I can see it in your face that you wouldn't be satisfied with me giving a simple yes or no. Well, the long story made shorter is that I found many things that indicated that people had been there, though not anytime around when I was there.

There were easily more than a dozen skeletons, hell I think it would probably be easier to say that there was an unaccountable amount that littered the street on the way to the museum. It was a little bit morbid because they were nearly bleached to a shiny white from whatever had happened. Possibly nuclear fire, possibly something more natural. You see after all this time, a skeleton cannot look like that, it’s nearly impossible. The natural act of decaying should have turned the bones at least a little brown. Yet there they were, pure white as though someone kept dipping them in bleach or something. Either way I was more than a little disturbed by that. Though it wasn’t the worst of it.

I found three skeletons on the ledges leading to the street. Apparently someone had somehow survived and tried to flee … or something. Thinking about it only helps to add to the mystery of what happened there. A mystery that I don’t really want to think about … it’s just something I hate to ponder.

Right, next question. Less morbid, please.

Did I find anything else in the museum rooms I searched? I thought I went over this already … .

Well this is a shorter answer. Honestly, no. I found documents that were either charred or still in good condition. A few were interesting to read but the rest were of the typical bureaucratic kind. Some small office trinkets were the other frequent thing but honestly nothing of interest minus the statue. Yes, I’m referring to that statue.

You in the hat, what’s your question?

MREs? Yeah, what about them? No, I’ve never eaten one and there is no way I am going to try. When you can hunt and scavenge the land, why eat something that was packaged years ago? Seriously, that stuff is bound to give you the runs. I would easily take a wild boar or even a reptile over a packaged meal from decades ago.

Right, last question.

What did I look like? Umm … oh, you mean, what was I wearing? I’m sorry child, I sometimes forget that not everyone has a complete understanding of survival gear and proper dressing.

Well, lets see. See these beige and brown coloured pants I am wearing? Well these are the same pants as the ones I wore back then. They are part of what could be called ACU or Army Combat Uniform. Essentially they are Desert Camo khakis that, as you can see, have multiple pockets that are useful for carrying the many necessities of a wasteland survivor. The boots I’m wearing right now are actually the same as back then as well. I found them among an army supply store, and let me tell you … these are the most comfortable boots ever. In the history of man.

Lets see … for a shirt I kept it cool and thin more or less, just a simple white tank top. Though that wasn’t what I normally wore around. I always had some form of jacket over top. The one I used then was of the same camo as the pants, though unlike a normal military jacket, there was no insignia. I used another jacket for material to add some breast pockets. I usually carried some smaller stuff in there.

The rest of what I had on my body was a series of pouches and bags that would probably weigh me down now, but back then it was easy to carry all day. A large rucksack on the back, a belt of pouches for my ammo, a rounder backpack which sat just above my hips. I usually carried a blanket or something like that in there … I also had two chest pouches that were held by a suspender type system that didn’t attach to my pants, no matter what you think. To finish off my body gear, I wore a pair of hiking-type gloves over my hands, protects them from whatever, really.

Oh, and I had my pistol holster on my right thigh. Easier draw from that area.

Now, back then I usually covered myself rather completely for my head. You can’t even begin to understand how annoying it is to get things stuck in your beard when travelling by bike. Seriously … it’s fucking annoying. So I basically used a series of thin scarves that held the camo pattern as well and wrapped them all along my neck and head, though I didn’t use them to fully wrap my head. Just up to the point that my hat took over. Yeah, I had a full desert camo hat too! Form fitted, New Era, seven and three quarters hat with the Tampa Bay Rays logo on it.

They were a baseball team back when the world was fine. No, I’m not explaining baseball tonight.

Anyway, to top my head gear all off, I had and still have, a pair of Radarlock Oakleys. I had customized them a few months before the end … everything about them are perfect, and no, you don’t get to see them. Let’s just say they are black with some blue highlights and green lenses. Etched and everything. The perfect glasses.

Finally, topping it all off, I utilized a hijacked Dragonskin tactical vest. Honestly, at this point in my life I had spent so many hours on the road and visited so many places. I was loaded with everything I could have ever needed. I searched long and hard for that piece of equipment but it was worth it. Saved me more than once from a bullet round … if you ever find one then keep it close. Seriously, it is the greatest thing in terms of protection.

Right, now we can get moving onto the story again. If you have questions that you think need answering, well too bad. You’ll have to wait until next time to get them through.

So, leaving off at blackness and pain. Well, let’s say that I saw and felt that, respectively, for a while or at least what felt like short little bit. Honestly it is tough to tell the passage of time when you’re unconscious. It could have been hours, a day, or even longer. Thankfully, despite the passage of time, to my conscious mind it felt like minutes at the longest. That’s the only plus side.

It wasn’t like any of the times I had been put under to have surgery when I was younger. Those times had passed in what felt like seconds. No, this felt more like I had been dreaming for a few minutes before being shook awake.

So-

… Alright you have a point, I could have checked my iPod and in hindsight I should have but I didn’t so ...

Anyway, when I opened my eyes again, I definitely did not see what I thought I would. I definitely wasn’t in the room I remembered being in. I’ll be frank, the only thing similar was the statue sitting on the ground. The rest … well … .

I had been underground in a building prior. At that moment though, I was sitting in the middle of what resembled Arizona. Yep, not even the sand deserts of New York, just endless dry dirt inter-spaced with tiny traces of flora and mountain-like natural structures. To say I was surprised would be right on the money.

Some of you remember Arizona right? A fair amount, well to help those of you too young to remember it, if you look to the east of your settlement, you’ll see low lying hills in the distance right? Well just beyond those hills is the closest thing to Arizona. Reddish dirt, desert type fauna, and home to only those who can stand the heat.

It took me a few minutes to gather myself and survey what I was seeing, before my attention was grabbed by the statue once more. A loud hum started as the thing started to glow blue once more and the hum continued until it was as though my head was right next to my bike when the engine was idling. The hum continued for a few seconds before a loud pop went off, much like a gunshot and the blue glow fled upwards from the statue before disappearing into thin air.

“Fucking magic,” were the first words out of my mouth. Now, I wanted to obliterate the statue and be done with it, but if it had somehow transported me, then I wanted to know if it could get me back.

Also I like to think that was the beginning of my experiences with how broken magic was.

So, the short answer to that question if it could take me back: it couldn’t or it didn’t. Whatever the blue glow was, it left the statue unable to perform and thus in turn left me to rot in the desert. Well, it wasn’t like I hadn’t been in worse situations before …. You know, just an entirely different place, no bike to carry me onwards and only a few days worth of food. Honestly it wasn’t the worst situation I’d ever been in.

Ever been to Alaska? No? Good. Don’t go to Alaska. Hell, don’t ask about Alaska. We don’t speak of anything that happened in Alaska. Seriously, even the few people in Alaska don’t talk about Alaska.

First rule of Alaska? Don’t talk about Alaska.

Moving on, I decided that sitting on my ass waiting for something to happen would be the worst of my choices so instead I placed the statue in my bag, covered my eyes with one hand, and began spinning in a circle. Yep, blind luck was my guide, though it wasn’t the first time. Either way, the moment I took my hands away from my eyes and the world stopped spinning, I began marching forward. I was ready for possibly my last adventure if I couldn’t figure out where I was. I mean, I could have been stuck on an island for all I knew, though admittedly I didn’t even believe that statement.

If that was truly magic, which it was but back then I didn’t know, I was probably in some sort of different dimension or parallel universe or something like that. While a cool thought, it didn’t help me get home.

For the first ten minutes I constantly told myself there was no point in checking the compass, because it had to be fried or at least put off its regular magnetism. It would only be logical considering I had fucking teleported to the middle of nowhere. If the teleportation hadn’t fried it completely then there was no chance that the poles were the same in this weird dimension. Eventually though, I gave in and reached into my pack to fish out the compass to find …

Gasp! It worked.

Seriously, out of everything you are curious about, you wonder if I actually gasped or just said ‘gasp’? I don’t have enough hands to cover all of the facepalming I need to do now.

So, it seemed that I was headed west, at least based on the compass. If I was somehow still in North America, than I would find myself in California and the coast eventually. If not … well then my adventure was truly afoot! Though I wouldn’t be telling this story if I had indeed landed in Arizona. Yes, amazingly Arizona still had areas that looked like it used to, even The Reckoning figured Arizona was a hell hole enough.

So, instead of explaining the boring trek through the rather open desert, I’ll instead move to my thoughts, because despite my rather brash manner of speech, I often consider myself an intellectual. So now it’s Pondering Time. A mental spin off of Clobbering Time.

First I started thinking about the statue itself, contemplating the possibility that it wasn’t of earth origins, which at the time was a crazy notion. Ancient civilizations have made plenty of ivory statues with that level of craftsmanship, so it was possible that it was made by one of them. Though the question of which culture could have created such a thing was what was up for debate. As far as I knew, the oldest reference to Unicorns was from ancient India and then the Greek culture, but that was only Unicorns. Pegasi though were originated from the Greeks … so that would narrow the time of creation to sometime during or after the Greek Empire. Though I bet there are references to Pegacorns somewhere in history, so really it is broadened once again.

That meant the only true clue I had was the material the statue was made of. Ivory could be traced back for ages though … in fact, I think the Romans and possibly the Greeks used it. It would make sense for some of the art and sculptures I had seen in the past. Perhaps it was indeed Greek. If I ever found my way back to that museum (which I did), I would, without a doubt, make sure to read the notes associated with the statue. That was of course if there any notes to read.

See? Intellectual and a deductive thinker. Unfortunately, by the time I had finished that train of thought I had made no significant progress in my trek. Now, what did I think of next … oh right! Now I remember.

It was at that time that I remembered I had my iPod, but since I wasn’t zipping down the open land on my bike, it would be smarter to keep the earbuds out of my ears. It made me a little sad that I couldn’t listen, but that was the way it was. Life before death and all that. Either way, that got me thinking about music once again, reminiscing about music from before The Reckoning and what it is now.

You see, back before The Reckoning, there was all sorts of music! Metal, pop, techno, rap, metal, blues, R&B, rock, metal, punk rock … and I guess country if you consider it music. Either way, there was a massive selection back then, and I preferred the genre that probably had one of, if not the widest selection. Metal. There was hardly a day that went by back then that I didn’t listen to my music at some point or another, and it was almost always metal, with some rock mixed in. Whether it was fast paced thrash metal, slower and more technical progressive metal, or even the darker throes of death metal. Whatever metal it was, I could be found listening to at least one band from the sub genre. So what was my query to ponder while walking? Why the differences of the music between then and now obviously!

Honestly, the music back then held something more guttural at times, as well as had a soul that could actually be considering positive and uplifting. Even the darkest of songs held a little light that could be seen in the darkness. Today's music? Well there isn’t enough good memories being made to actually allow artists, the small few that are around, to create songs that bring joy into people’s lives. Now, they don’t necessarily create depressing songs but they do feel as if they are lacking any upbeat feel to them. Maybe, I’m just holding high standards, reliving the glory days of music. That, and there is nearly no metal being made. Every once and awhile some band will create something close but it’s no Kreator; or Blind Guardian; or Amon Amarth.

Though of the few musicians I had seen, there was only two actual bands that made rock or metal. Most of the musicians were either just singers or they were instrumental acts. The world had changed us greatly, reverting us back in time a little. There was no more dubstep or electro dance music. Just old fashion vocals and instruments. Sure there is still access to computers and the like somewhat, but I haven’t heard a single person make that type of music anymore.

Now, by the time I had finished pondering the music up to that point, I had probably been walking for a couple of hours. Yeah, I took that topic rather slowly … and I gave you a cliffnotes version of my thoughts.

So when I saw a rather odd-looking shape ahead, I immediately dismissed it as the heat of the desert getting to me. Then I remembered that not only was my clothing surprisingly breathable, but I had also acclimatised myself years ago. It had been many, many years since my last heat-induced hallucination. So what I was looking at was either completely imaginary brought on by some sort of optical illusion or I was looking at a real, living … or dead, griffon.

Well shit.

Yep, that was my first thought upon see a griffon. Great thought, huh? Though could you blame me? Something like that was impossible by the standards of our world, so it also brought a whole mountain of possibilities crashing down on me.

What’s a griffon? Oh … right … a lot of you don’t know much about mythology. Well I guess I need to explain it then.

You see, a griffon is, by our standards, a mythological creature that has a body made of two different animals. The front half is made up of a eagle or some sort of predator bird. The back half is usually made up of a lion, or if you want to be general, a large wild cat. The weird thing about the griffon I was looking at was that it didn’t look anywhere near what I thought it would look like. The thing had a feeling of … anthropomorphism to it. That means it felt human-ish.

This griffon definitely had an eagle look to its front half, and judging by the tuft on the end of its tail that meant it most likely was half-lion as well. So I was looking at the prototypical griffon, though one that still had a weird feeling of human-like qualities to it.

Back to my train of thought … I was talking about a mountain of possibilities, right? Good; anyway, there would be time later to review that mountain or lack thereof. Instead of standing around wondering or gawking, I withdrew my weapon and crept closer. You see, the griffon was laying on its side, head against the ground, among a small pile of broken and dead tree branches. It was easy to spot it among the mess, considering said tree branches were a pale white while the griffon was only white on its head, while having the rest if its body made up of golden fur and brown feathers as well.

As I drew closer I noticed a couple of things, one being the amount of scratches and gashes along its side, and the second being one of its forelegs, yes forelegs is the right term, was bent at an odd angle. Lastly, as I was within only a meter, I saw how shallow the rise and fall of its chest was, not to mention a surprising amount of swelling near its wing joint. Whatever it had been through, this griffon was in bad shape and needed some medical attention. Without hesitation I reached into the backpack I was carrying and withdrew the medical pouch I had brought along with me. Everything I would need was stored in there … minus a splint, but that was covered.

Now you may be thinking, ‘if it’s just an animal then why did you want to help it?’ Well that feeling I told you about? The one that said this thing had human qualities? Well that was what drove my instinctual move to utilize general field medicine. That, and perhaps by doing such a thing then I would gain some karma for my next life. Well not really, but it couldn’t hurt to help it and feel good, right? Perhaps even make friends and train it to be a pet or something.

First off, and in the back of my mind I knew that it was a risky gamble, I pulled out a small syringe that contained a dose of morphine. Now, the reason why it was risky was because I didn’t know how it would affect the griffon considering its different biology, and I didn’t know the amount to give it. So I took a shot in the dark like all good malpracticing doctors and gave it a small portion of the syringe and hoped it would be enough to help and not kill it.

After that I proceeded to fix the most pressing issue, the broken foreleg. That was a little bit harrowing considering the snap it made when I put it back into place. I still shudder thinking about that sound, though the same could be said with any broken bone that I’ve had to snap back into place … mine or someone else’s. Either way, the moment I had straightened the foreleg and made sure it was the proper way, I found a suitable piece of wood that I could take my knife to and whittle it down to the proper shape.

Years of practice had made me rather quick at making a basic shape for splints. Sometimes all I did when I was bored was whittle wood.

A quick wrap later, and I was ready to start treating its cuts and gashes. That was simple though, a little hydrogen peroxide on them, followed by a gauze piece and a single wrap of what I have always called athletic wrap. A perforated wrap that had a less sticky adhesive than a band-aid but would still stick in the end and not hurt when pulled off.

Now that part was tricky since I had to move it around more than once to wrap the wrap around its entire body, which thankfully wasn’t that large … which also helped me in regards to saving a least a little wrap. Hell, based on what I was seeing, if it stood up on its back legs, it would be about shoulder height, maybe neck height at best. Either way, it wasn’t a small thing but not too large.

Now you’re probably wondering how it didn’t wake up during the entire procedure. Well I’m still wondering to this day, honestly. I would have thought that fixing its foreleg would have been enough to force it awake. Yeah, well apparently I was wrong.

Anyway, as I was finishing with its gashes, I took a closer look at the swelling around that wing joint, and knew almost instantly what was wrong. It was dislocated and pretty badly. So I prayed to all the deities that it wouldn’t wake up, then proceeded to pop it back into its socket. Luckily all I got was a groan from the unconscious cat-bird. I simply smiled at how easy it had been in the end, but then my smile turned to a frown. What was I going to do now? I couldn’t stay around for when it awoke, it would probably attack me! At least that was one possibility. Sure I mentioned trying to tame it as a pet, but in all reality, to even consider such a stupid thing is … well … stupid.

...

You are correct in asking that question. Why did I care this much about it? Well at first it was based entirely on the possibility that it was one of an extremely rare species and thus if it survived then possibly more would be around in the future. That was my original reason at least, until I began to pack up and walk away.

“Mom … .” A hoarse whisper escaped the beak of the griffon. A hoarse female whisper. I froze immediately, not believing my ears at first, but it wasn’t completely done with its unconscious moaning. “I’m sorry … don’t leave … Mom.”

“Of course this makes perfect sense, abso-fucking-lutely perfect sense! ‘Cause why the hell not?” I mumbled to myself before turning around and walking back over to her. Yes, I referred to her as it until this point in the story. Why? Dramatic storytelling.

So there I was, standing over an unconscious sapient female griffon and debating my choices once again. Though it wasn’t much a debate in the end. My morals made a show of force this time and told me to take this griffon to a safer place and wait till she at least woke up. Of course that meant carrying her at least a good couple of kilometers or so if my eyes were any good. I just hoped she wouldn’t wake up while I was carrying her bridal style ...

After a minute of making sure I held her in a comfortable way, I began my trek through the desert once more, though this time with a companion … no matter how unconscious she was. Was it fun? Hell no, and I was quietly swearing the entire way. In fact, during that trek I ended up creating a few new swears that probably sounded horrible, but nonetheless it helped relieve stress created by the entire situation. Another thing the trip gave me, was the time to think of the perfect insult word to use next time I needed to.

No, you don’t get to know it till the moment I actually used it and yes I did use it along with a hilarious rant.

So skipping over the few minutes of my walking and swearing, eventually I found an ever elusive oasis. What perfect timing too … seriously, this was too perfect. I hesitated for a moment outside the oasis and watched carefully. Surely there had to be some sort of trap or issue, yet after minutes of waiting and paying careful attention, there seemed to be nothing.

I mean, it was too perfect. Lots of flora … shrubs, and grass mixed along with trees, that conformed to no specific type, that seemed to surround the pond of nearly perfectly blue water. This place had to be at least size of a football field, though the pond wasn’t that big. Either way it was the perfect spot to rest and recoup.

Still … I wasn’t ready to trust it, but what other choice did I have? Cautiously, I made my way towards the pool of water and the trees surrounding it. Whatever was wrong with this place, it didn’t matter. She needed to rest until she awoke, and this would be the place she awoke to. Perhaps I could find something to hunt and prep for me … and her I guess; maybe a boar! Actually … yes that sounded like a good idea, which it was obviously. First I had to set up some sort of camp though, which wasn’t too tough. I still have that blanket in my lower pack, so I could use that and the rope to build a makeshift tent. There was even a group of what appeared to be palm trees that were close enough to do such a thing. Thankfully I had holes sewn into the blanket already for such an occasion.

A little rope here, the entire blanket there, and some hard pulling resulted in a small tent that would shield her from anything falling from the sky … as long as it was only rain. After studying my handiwork for a few moments, I dropped the rest of my gear under the tent, next to the griffon, and proceeded to draw my rifle. It was time to hunt!

Listen … I’m just going to skip a big portion of this if not all until she awoke. Why? Well do you really want to hear how I just waited and slowly tracked a boar around the general vicinity? Of course you don’t because that would be boring as hell. I mean sure, you might learn a few things but honestly it wasn’t much more than looking for out of place foliage and prints in the ground.

…

Listen, this is the reason why I’m not going to tell you about the stuff after the tracking period, It was fucking boring. Do you even understand how routine and tedious it is to build a fire and a makeshift spit roast out of wood? Well I’ll tell you right now, it’s extremely routine and fucking tedious.

All of my time was spent setting up the goddamned thing and then slowly rotating a dead boar over a fire. Do I really need to spend time telling you of every minute that I utilized in doing so?

Good, we’re moving on.

Anyways ...

Slowly the black void of unconscious began to dissipate and clear, letting strands of the waking world into Gilda’s view. Yet what she saw was not what she remembered seeing last before she had blacked out. She remembered the sight of the approaching ground and the impossibly strong winds of the tornado whipping around her. She had also remembered the ground being inches away from her when she lost consciousness. So why was she seeing a flask in front of her with what appeared to be a blanket made into a tent?

For that matter, why was her arm in a sling? The moment she tried to move it, a massive amount of pain shot through her, causing her to whimper slightly before biting back the rest of the cry. She couldn’t show any weakness of course, especially after all that had happened, she was a griffon! … though that wasn’t here nor there.

Her attention returned to the flask in front of her, eyes studying it carefully, trying to tell what was actually in it before she even dared to touch it. For all she knew, the liquid in it could kill her! Though a more rational part of her mind told her that if whoever had put the flask there had indeed poisoned it, then why would they have also put her arm in a sling … and wrapped her body in gauze?

Though she was laying on her right side, she still tried to reach out with her good foreleg to grab the flask and at least bring it close enough for her to open and smell. What she found odd about the flask was that it didn’t look anything like the ones that she often saw fellow griffons drink from. No, this one looked much less metallic and was a multi-hued colour scheme that almost seemed to blend in with the dirt she was laying. Well … somewhat, the dirt was closer to a red colour while the flask was more brown.

This new revelation caused her to recoil her outstretched arm, attempting to re-examine her previous conclusions. She was so thirsty, yet at the same time she couldn’t risk it … could she? With some hesitation, she reached out again, but that was instantly stopped the moment a voice spoke up.

“It’s just water, nothing more. Drink slow and space out the sips, don’t want to drown yourself right now,” the voice said from outside the makeshift tent. Immediately she froze, heart beating in her chest at the reality that she was being watched. Her first thought was to fight, that was the griffon’s way, but then she remembered her arm, so she contemplated flight. At first it was the best option, until she actually twitched her left wing. The immediate pain that she felt in the socket caused her to whimper once more. That was her last option.

Now she was at the mercy of whatever had spoken, whether or not it was trying to help her. With what had happened all throughout her life, she wasn’t going to trust the stranger in anyway possible. She could barely trust those closer to her, why should she trust someone she didn’t know, let alone couldn’t even see! She wanted to run, she truly did, but then a thought occurred. What if she was being held captive? Could she even attempt to leave? The thought sickened her for a second until she squashed the idea for the time being. At the very least, she needed to see what her possible ‘captor’ looked like.

So with a scowl and a little bit of effort, Gilda sat up into a laidback lean, her right arm the only one supporting her. Yet that almost gave out when she saw what she guessed was the source of the voice.

Crouched beside a fire pit that had been made out of sticks was a two legged, surprisingly skinny minotaur. Was it a minotaur? It didn’t have any horns and there was no tail, not to mention that the face was flat and all of the proportions were completely wrong … so what was it?

“The boar will be cooked in a few minutes, though you should drink up first,” it said, its face still facing the fire and the boar that had been spit-roasted above said fire. The sight puzzled Gilda at first, especially since there was no known carnivores that looked anything like this weird creature. Her education was top notch and she definitely didn’t remember such a thing being mentioned in all of her time there.

Even though she was still hesitant to trust anything the creature said, she was extremely thirsty and needed to drink something. Her throat felt as though she had swallowed sand. So she slowly reached down to grasp the flask, having to balance herself into a full sitting position, unscrewing the cap before lifting it and then grabbing it in her good hand. There was no smell coming from the flask other than the nearly non-existent smell that water gives off. So carefully, Gilda raised the flask to her beak before pouring a little bit. Nothing tasted off which Gilda took as the okay to drink more.

“See, I told you, nothing but water,” the thing said before turning its attention back to the boar. Gilda’s eyes followed the thing even as she proceeded to pour more water into her beak. The thing stood up and circled the boar briefly before crouching down and withdrawing a knife from a sheath on the side of its leg.

“What the hay?!” Gilda screeched before trying to flee, only to have her entire body flare up in pain, causing her to collapse. The being just looked over at her for a moment before shaking its head and turning back to the boar and sliding the knife down the animal.

Gilda scrambled as fast as she could, which wasn’t fast at all, in fact it was agonizingly slow, to her three usable legs before spinning around to see if the being was looming over her, ready to strike. Instead, she found said being sitting cross legged in front of her, strips of boar meat laid out on a cloth in front of him.

“Calm down and eat something. If I was going to hurt you, I would have done it hours ago,” It said calmly. “Or I could have left you where I found you. You would be just as dead that way too.” Gilda’s only response was a growl from her stomach, which did more to persuade her than the thing’s words. The words it spoke were cold in a way, but at the same time there was sincerity behind them.

So silently she sat in front of the clothed being, wondering what the buck was going on.

Let me be honest here, the griffon was slightly adorable. Yeah, yeah, I know … razor sharp talons and beak. Probably eats meat and hunts prey and the like. Still, the way she was hesitant at almost everything was absolutely adorable. She kept trying to put up a mean or intimidating face, but when she thought I wasn’t looking her nervousness would show once more. I swear she was more cat than bird … .

What? I used to have cats, so I can’t help but think that anything close to them is adorable in certain ways.

Whatever; either way we sat quietly for the longest period of time, her eating the boar meat I cut, while I either watched her or moved to get another piece. I decided not to eat, since I had eaten my own meal that was made up entirely of my emergency beef jerky. It wasn’t really emergency stuff anymore since the boar meat would last a while. Though it was still a backup just in case.

Did I forget to mention that I always carry around enough salt to smoke meat? I didn’t? Well I shouldn’t need to mention it, it should be a part of your everyday survival kit when wandering the wastes.

So, I’ll be completely honest with you folks, we sat that way for a little bit, her slowly nomming on the boar and taking sips of water, while I sat there and did everything I could to make the entire situation awkward. That was of course till she went to take a sip of water and found that there was none left.

Now, at first I thought I would need to take the canteen away from her to go fill it up with some of the water I had been stealing from the ‘lake.’ Another lesson, always keep a small pouch filled with iodine tablets or whatever could be used to sanitize ‘fresh’ water. I always kept a large supply of them, and no, you can’t have any of them. They are kept close to me as well so don’t even think of stealing them … I’ve killed thieves before, and even if you’re from the settlement I’m not afraid of possible backlash.

Still, I was surprised when she got up and slowly meandered her way to the lake before bending down and taking a rather dainty sip. Apparently she was testing the water because then she started lapping at it much like a cat would while at the same time filling her beak with small amounts. This catbird shtick was rather interesting to watch. Though apparently she realised I was watching and sheepishly made her way back to the food. The griffon had a weird sense of shame to say the least. She tried to hide the way she acted even if it probably was natural … in retrospect it makes sense, considering her personality.

Despite every bone in the humorous side of my body saying that I should continue making the whole ordeal awkward, I decided that it was then that I should break the silence and try to initiate for contact with the first extraterrestrial that I had ever met.

Let it be known, I did not use a cliche to start the conversation. Nor did I let my humorous side take control and start off with ‘Bitches be trippin, ‘ight?’ Don’t think for a second that I have enough shame to not use such a line. If the moment is right I can say anything without feeling any remorse.

No, I was much more smooth with it.

“How’s the arm feeling?” I asked, while gesturing towards the broken ‘arm.’

At first she hesitated and kind of shied away from me for a second before swallowing hard and replying with, “It’s not an arm, you dweeb. Leg. It’s a leg.”

Of course that made me raise my eyebrow in realisation that I had probably met the perfect alien for first contact. One that was not afraid to be a little bit frank about everything. If I didn’t know better, I was looking at me. You know … just more female … and feathery … with fur. You get the point.

“Woah now, watch the name calling, you might bruise someone’s feelings with that,” I snarked back at her, which caused her to recoil. “Listen, I’ll be straight up with you. I was going to leave you for dead until you spoke, ‘cause when I found you, I thought you were nothing more than some animal. Instead, I bandaged you up, fixed multiple injuries of yours and moved you to this camp. You can snark all you want and you’ll get it back, but from what I can see, you are good enough to be on your own. If I feel you don’t need me anymore, I’m going to be heading out at first light.”

She took this information in and by the look in her eyes, she was debating between pride and realising she wouldn’t last too long out here. Eventually she let loose a deep breath, “I … can I go with you?”

Pride lost that battle. In the game of life, survival will always override pride, and it seemed that the griffon knew when she couldn’t survive on her own.

“I don’t see why not, you’re native to this land while I am fresh off the truck,” I said, to which she just looked at me with a puzzled expression, “Human idiom. Don’t worry about it. So, since we’ll be travelling, we should get introduced. I’ll start.”

I gave a small cough into my fist to clear my throat. “Hi, I’m Ryan, and I’m an alcoholic. … Shit, wrong speech. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a good time to use that. Right, getting back on track. I’m Ryan, and I’m a human, which is probably something completely new for you, given your dumbfounded expression when you woke up. I’m … well I think I’m forty three but it’s tough to tell nowadays. I like long walks on the beach, looking at the sunset, and romantic … I swear I don’t get this stupid this quickly. Oh, and if you haven’t guess by this introduction, I tend to make badly timed and unfunny jokes.”

Gilda stared at me for a few seconds, the look on her face changing from confused to amused after a little bit. Apparently my bad jokes were rather amusing. She gave a small snort before giving her spiel, “I’m Gilda. I’m a griffon and I’m from Griffonstone … oh and I’m twenty-one.”

I frowned at the briefness of her answer, though she couldn’t see the frown because of my facial coverings. I mean I understand considering that I barely gave her an answer, but I was so used to talking to others that would freely talk about themselves. So I was a little peeved that she barely gave me anything to work with. “Come on, there’s got to be more to you. You give a little more info, then I will. Or we could play twenty questions.”

Then her scowl came in full force, apparently she was quick to anger. “I’m not going to play a stupid game like that.”

“Can we add ‘bitchy’ to your resume?” I replied. She was making it too easy to make comments like that.

“Sod off!”

“Ooh, British swears now? Come on, Gilda, unless you’re willing to go full force, you can’t win a swear off with me,” I replied with a smirk, to which she stumbled briefly (metaphorically) before she sat there a little stunned. Honestly I wasn’t sure on why she stumbled or was stunned. nothing I said was shocking or anything. Still I felt that I should at least be the amenable one. “Listen, if we are going to be friends, we need to do more than give the basics and then talk trash at each other. How about you ask the first question?”

After a few moments of thought, she relented and nodded her head. “Fine … where are you from?”

“Another world probably,” I replied with a shrug. Of course my answer wasn’t really enough as she started to bristle at my lack of answering despite her deciding to play the game. “That’s all I know, Gilda, honestly. I don’t know where I am and if I’m on the same planet anymore, but I doubt it because griffons don’t exist where I’m from. Even if I was to be specific as to the country and such you probably would have never heard of them.”

“Try me,” she said, rolling of her eyes.

“Canada? North America?” I asked, which caused her to ponder the names for a second before she told me what I figured.

“Never heard of them. Oh and your world sounds lame,” she replied. I merely chuckled in return. To anyone who wasn’t human, those names probably would sound weird … even if said non-human spoke perfect English.

“My turn,” I said before taking a sip of my own canteen. Yes, I have two of them. “How’d you end up injured?”

“Rogue tornado.”

I sat there for a minute, trying to process what that would look like, considering that tornados in themselves were ‘rogue’ so what would one that is called a ‘Rogue tornado’ look like? Most importantly, how the hell did she survive?

“How?”

She just looked puzzled at my response. So I elaborated, “How in the name of all that is fucking crazy, did you survive a tornado? For that matter how is one rogue?”

“What, are you saying I can’t handle a tornado!?” she screeched back, obviously taking offence with what I said. Perhaps it was my delivery of the question.

“If by handle you mean almost getting killed, then yes! Tornadoes are not to be messed with, especially if you fly. I can only imagine the g-forces you’d encounter,” I replied sharply, though mumbling that last part.

“Buck you!” she yelled. I was going to respond but instead broke down laughing after realising her answer. Of course my response wasn’t something she expected and instead gave me a puzzled look.

After a few more moments of nearly rolling on the ground due to my laughter, I looked back at her expression before saying, “You call that swearing? Christ, it’s like a goddamned kids show here. Tell me, can you actually swear, or is that all you got?”

Gilda glared at me for a few seconds before replying, “I’m no dweeb, but even I was raised better than you!”

I took that as confirmation that she couldn’t actually swear properly, though only because it was apparently a horrible thing. Though only after that did I realise how far back we had gone in our question game and probably our ‘relationship.’ Sometimes the heat of the moment can overwhelm even me and cause it to be taken in a completely opposite direction. That was the reality of what had happened. Instead of just accepting the tornado answer until my question, I had apparently insulted her in a way that I didn’t understand. So I figured I would make amends.

“Look, let’s forget this and return back to the question. You tell me how you can handle a tornado, and we’ll move on, deal? I’ll also say I’m sorry for laughing at that,” I offered, hoping she would accept so that we could move on. She nodded her head in consent, so I quickly apologized before awaiting her response to my question from earlier.

She kept scowling at me for a few moments before she relented with a sigh, folding her forelegs in front of her chest. “In school we were taught everything about weather manipulation, and back home I did work on the weather team, no big deal. It’s not something we have to deal with often, but even the greenest recruits know how to deal with a tornado.”

Trying to understand what she said was like trying to stab myself with a football. So I broke it down. Weather manipulation … they can fly which shouldn’t be possible considering wing to body ratio, so whatever was helping them fly probably helped them manipulate weather. Weather team … they control weather in teams … I guess I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Though at the same time I smirked at the thought that perhaps I was indeed in Kansas.

“Shiiiiiit, I really am in a different world,” I mumbled before looking back at Gilda because apparently she said something. “What?”

“I said, what are you?”

“Ah, I thought we covered this already, whatever, your loss of a question. I’m a human, simply put. Also male if you didn’t pick up on that already …”

She merely rolled her eyes at that, “At least let me see what you look like, dweeb.”

“Ah, ah, ah. You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

Apparently facepalms are universal, because she smacked her face shortly after that statement. Of course I had to amend what I said, so we could move on quicker than last time.

“I like to keep my face covered in front of people who aren’t yet friends … perhaps one day you’ll see what I look like,” I replied with my excessively rehearsed answer. You would be surprised at how often I’ve had people ask to see my face. I used to use a different answer years ago, but for the past decade that has been my answer.

She merely rolled her eyes, “Whatever. So what, it’s your turn now?”

“Nah,” I said. “We’ve done this longer than needed. The sun will be up in a few hours I think, so we might as well prepare to move out. Oh, and don’t go to sleep.”

“Why?” she asked rather sharply. It was a fair question, though she could have not been so snippy with the way she asked it.

“Because of your concussion. It isn’t smart to go to bed so soon after having one. Might cause you to slip into a coma and all that jazz. Sure the chance is low, but it’s there nonetheless,” I said nonchalantly before getting up and moving back to the boar which was still spit roasted over the nearly diminished fire. I needed to finish carving the meat off the thing so we’d have food for our trip. Though I would leave a little left on it for any scavengers that roamed the area.

If Gilda had anything more to say, I didn’t hear it, but either way I kept my eye on her to make sure she was going to be alright. She might not be the best of travelling companions from our initial conversation but she was still one, which meant I had to look after her whether or not I liked it. I’m loyal to those I need to protect.

Though I did like it in the end … you’ll hear all about it.

Right, that’s where I’m leaving off for today. Next time you’ll get to hear me talk more, ain’t that exciting? I know, I know … though you’ll still come back anyway.

Auf wiedersehen!

That’s goodbye in German, now skedaddle ye mangy bastards!

Author's Notes:

Please read this author's note.

Welcome to Over the Hills and Far Away. Sure this is the second chapter but I didn't make a proper author's note so here you go! This is a large project that I have been working on for some time and no matter what it will be finished.

Before we get into clarifications and stuff, I would like to thank all of my editors for everything they have done. Check out their pages and what not, bunch of awesome people!

Now, I want to start off by telling you all that at the beginning of each chapter, Ryan will answer questions, usually ones from the author. They are played out as though he is hearing them from his audience. So if you want to receive answer on questions regarding the chapter and such, then feel free to ask! From each chapter I will pick one or two questions from the audience that will be asked in the chapter, so have fun with that!

Secondly, I would like to clarify that in this world, season five is underway, BUT there is no Griffonstone episode. That has not happened and Griffonstone is not as portrayed in the show. They are a part of Equestria but they are more prosperous than what was shown. Despite that, the Gilda you are seeing is more akin to if Griffonstone happened, there are reason as to why she isn't as harsh as she was. But that's spoiling stuff!

Lastly, here is the song that the title of the chapter is ripped from. Disturbed Version and Genesis Version. Enjoy the music and thanks for reading!