Morgane had been silent for a couple minutes, silently turning her staff in her hands and running her sharp nails over the shaft. Rockhoof didn’t dare speak up, he just swapped between staring at Merlin or the fae, the hairs on the back of his mane bristing in anticipation.

At least his friend didn’t seem too worried.

“That’s a lot to digest...” Morgane finally uttered before she snapped her fingers, a wine carafe appearing on the table. She just twisted her fingers again, and a glob of red wine floated up and into her open mouth. “And here I thought I was up to date on my knowledge.”

“It does seem the world changed more than either of us thought it would.” Merlin admitted. “Yet there are things you know more about than me.”

“Alright then...” She trailed off to swallow another glob of wine. “We’ll bargain.”

Merlin’s eyes twinkled like falling stars at the acceptance, and Rock was pretty sure the crackling embers Morgane had for eyes took on a paler hue as she leaned back in her chair.

“I need you to clear the wards around Trecesson castle. I claim it as part of my territory.”

“Do you even have the Lord’s authorization?” She quirked an eyebrow, idly brushing back a wild strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear.

Knife-like ears that jutted out of her skull at an angle, their thin rosy tips drooping down in a simulacrum of antennae. She really was the human equivalent of a breezie.

“He does.” Rockhoof piped in. “I, Lord Rockhoof of the Mighty Helm, Pillar of Strength, Keeper of Equestrian Tales and husband to Mage Meadowbrook, hereby claim the castle of Trecesson as my domain. It is thus within my rights as its lord to permit Merlin the Enchanter, also known to me as Starswirl the Bearded, to serve as my court mage.”

Morgane stared for a few seconds, fingers drumming against the table in quick stacatto.

“I’m impressed. You’re not the complete musclehead I assumed you were.”

“I know my court procedures.” He sniffed. “Don’t like them, but I memorized them.”

“Very well then… I shall lift the wards so you may put up your own. What for if I may ask? I’d think my set is pretty decent already.”

“I like to do my own work, and my wanting my own spot is tied to my second request.” Merlin told her. “I need my own plane of existence. For research, which could be helped with-”

“My own notes, yes.” She cut him off. “Figures you’d want them.”

Once more, she snapped her fingers and a couple sealed scrolls along with a dusty tome lifted themselves off the nearby shelves. They glowed with a silvery light for a second, before a copy of each appeared out of thin air. She floated them over to Merlin, gingerly accepting them as he wrapped them in a more conventional unicorn telekinetic field.

Even though he still was in human form, but the ghost wizard always had that nonchalant disregard for established rules.

“These aren’t free. I want you to tell me everything you learn about the Golden Tree and these… Elements. What you described is near divine-tier in power, no single magician has the right to hoard that kind of knowledge.”

“I will, don’t fret about it.” He reassured her. “And I believe the interactions between Equus-type and Earth-type magic will extend further than just the tree and the Elements.”

“Of course they will.” She scoffed. “But you first must focus on what you brought here. These Demons… they’re not the kind we’re used to here on Earth. They’ll have to be dealt with.”

“That might take time.”

“Everything does.” Morgane scowled. “Now, be aware, I’ll have to warn other mages of what you told me.”

“There are others? Beside the Lady of the Lake I mean...” Rockhoof asked.

“As of now, she’s the only one I’m actively aware of and in touch with. I’ve sent out all my familiars to the former dwellings of mages I knew of before we went into ‘hibernation’, so to speak. They have yet to return.” She took a sip of her wine. “Not that I expect them to. Not only do they need to get to the location, they also need to find their realms, and last I checked the likes of Maugris and other druids were very good at hiding.”

“So Maugris is still alive...” Merlin muttered.

“Of course he is.” Morgane chuckled. “Damn coward kept being a slimy maggot in Frankish courts for centuries up until he managed to garner the ire of Charlemagne himself. Gave all his artifacts away to his cousin and then he ran off in the woods. Pretty sure he enchanted himself a thicket in the Black Forest.”

“So he’s actually among those who stayed in Europe?” He snorted. “Color me surprised. Thought he’d run for the hills soon as he felt the magic dwindling.”

“No choice of his own, I can assure you. It’s rather funny actually.” Morgane smiled, taking another sip of her wine and even snapping her fingers to conjure her guests two glasses as well. “Baba took a liking to him.”

“Baba? What kind of a name is that? A granny?” Rockhoof quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Shush friend, Baba Yaga is not to be spoken of lightly.” Merlin chastised him, switching back to English without a thought. “She’s of a far more ancient make than any other mage, old enough to probably precede even alicorns had she been born in Equestria, and dangerous. To the point where many in the lands she roams beyond the eastern plains have come to know her as a harbinger of fate.” He said gravely. “Baba Yaga isn’t just a crone… she is the crone and as the epitome of her… caste, few can claim they ever got in her good graces. She’s that temperamental.”

The wizard then turned his attention back towards Morgane, the fay who had now taken to looking over her old wrinkled hand in fake interest.

“Which is exactly why I find it hard to believe she’d like...” His beard bristled in disbelief. “Maugris. Preposterous I say!”

“Join the line, you’re not the only one thinking that.” She snarked. “Been centuries I had to mull over that and I still can’t believe it. The only thing I can respect about that con-artist is that Oriande raised him.” She shrugged. “Either way, Baba wouldn’t let her protege run off like that, and the damn fool had garnered quite a following of small-fry over the yea-”

“Morgane.” Merlin warned.

“Alright alright, he had a coven of witches and a whole grove of druids following him around. He must have realized escaping both Baba’s attention and his followers’ just wasn’t possible at one point; so he hunkered down just as most of the others headed south and sailed up the Nile to go where magic was still strong. That’s about what happened, give or take a few details.” She finished, downing the rest of her carafe in one go before waving her hand to dispel her own inebriated state.

Merlin just looked at her for a few seconds with a calculating stare before standing up with a sigh. He had an inkling of an idea he’d have to ask the Lady of the Lake for more of those ‘details’ she so chose to omit. And that would be yet another pain in the flank.

He blinked.

Fantastic. Now he was using pony-speak in human form. That couldn’t possibly lead to anything except for embarrassment among his apparently-not-dead peers.

“Well, thanks for all Morgane. Hope from now on we can leave the past behind.” He finally said.

“It will never be fully forgotten, but consider yourself in the green for now.” The fay scowled.

She lifted her staff slightly, and the door opened for the two guests to leave.

“Thank you for your hospitality milady.” Rockhoof inclined his head before the Earth Pony left.

Merlin stayed behind for a second, throwing her a knowing glance.

“I might need your help sometime in the future.”

“Otherworld?”

“I need to see what became of all the Divines, so they’re the start. Plus… our monsters might not mesh very well with those brought by the demons. Or worse even, they might get along.”

“I’ll help then.” He nodded, taking it as his cue to leave.

Just before he closed the door though, Morgane decided to fire off one last comment.

“You know, you being half-horse kinda does explain a lot of things, stud.” She smirked.

Merlin gaped for a second, accidentally reverting to equine-form at the comment. Morgane just waved her staff again, and the unicorn ghost found himself staring at the door’s hinges, back on the porch with Rock.

“Something wrong pal?” Rockhoof asked, waving his hoof in front of the mage’s eyes to get his attention.

Starswirl blinked.

“I… nevermind. Just was a bit confused there. Females are weird.”

The trawler team in Derry didn’t waste their time sleeping in. As soon as dawn rose, Greet felt the prodding of Ivan’s talons on her shoulder waking her up. The scarlet macaw rolled over in her bed, peering through the porthole at the pink morning sky above the green countryside of the bay they were anchored in.

“How was watch?”

“Boring, and filled with coffee.” Ivan yawned. “Need me for the upstream passage? ‘cause right now I kinda could use a power nap.”

“Nah, you’re good.” Geert clicked her beak before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “Sleep all you want, I’ll come wake you up when you’re needed.”

“Dyakuyu, boss.” The osprey griffon nodded.

Behind her, Greet heard the griffon shrug off her coveralls and slide in her bed, the little privacy curtain’s rings rattling as she pulled it shut. She didn’t pay it too much mind, just blearily blinking for a second or two as she let her mind ‘boot up’, talons scratching her ass and beak clicking a few times.

Right then, she was just clad in a tank top and her undies, with the corners of her lady pads showing out of the bottom. Her crest and tail feathers were a mess, something that sent the parrot instincts inside her reeling. Not anything she wasn’t already familiar with, if anything by now she was pretty well aware of how fussy her instincts made her when it came to her appearance. Plus the attraction to garish colors of course. It wasn’t magpie levels of going for anything shiny (they left that to the dragons), but Ornithians would eat up anything kitsch and garish as far as fashion went.

She only had to look at her coveralls hung on a peg by the door to prove that. Granted, they still were the same orange high-vis coveralls they all wore on Amandine, but the article of clothing had gone through a lot of changes in the last few months.

Gone was the baggy outlook, now that she’d spent a lot of her evenings going over it and redoing the seams. The fire-resistant fabric now hugged her frame as tightly as it could without going into uncomfortable territory, perfectly highlighting her curves. She had also tightened the sleeves so she’d be able to turn her arms into wings whenever necessary, the only other alternative being to rip off the sleeves altogether.

A hole with an elastic around it had been made to let her tail feathers through, which she could adjust whenever necessary to either tuck them inside (for safety reasons) or to deploy an extra flap of fabric to protect her tail feathers from sparks and splashes.

When not in use, that same flap folded up in a bright blue sash around her waist.

Beyond just that, anytime she did any sewing used thick multicolored threads that stood out sharply against the orange fabric. She had also sewed a ‘harness’ of sorts above the coveralls, both for looks and utility. Granted, it wasn’t strictly necessary because she could also have managed by putting on an actual harness instead of having one integrated onto her clothes, but her instincts were hopelessly giddy when she’d taken to sewing several green and red webbing straps onto her coveralls, complete with MOLLE hardpoints for any pouch she felt like taking.

Which at the time meant a pistol holster on one hip and a mag pouch on the other for her Five-Seven. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t use the chest hardpoints, since she was supposed to fit her flak jacket above that. A slight design oversight.

Still, all in all… had she been human she’d have likely tossed out the coveralls just for looking like a rainbow had puked on her. As a parrot though? She loved it, and the other Ornithians in the fleet pretty much shared her opinion of the design, having even asked her how she did it.

Greet quickly went through her morning rituals after that. Quick pad swap in the undercarriage, a couple minutes to brush her feathers and get rid of the extra feather dust, tie up her crest with an elastic band while leaving a few bangs to frame her face… It didn’t take her long before she finally put on her coveralls and retrieved her pistol from her locker. By the time she slipped out of the cabin, she could already hear the snores coming from Ivan’s bunk behind her.

The trawler’s inner layout was as straightforward as they got. Outside her cabin was a narrow passageway, with cabins on both sides. On one end of the passageway was the watertight door that led outside to the deck, with a ladder occupying the other end. Belowdeck would just lead to Mikhail and Diethelm’s cabin (weirdly enough the only two males on the crew), with maybe an emergency hatch that could lead to the cargo hold. Abovedeck would, quite obviously, lead her to the wheelhouse.

But not just yet. With a yawn, she hobbled over to the galley, momentarily regretting having shed her walking cane despite her hip having healed already. Maybe she could replace it with a sword-cane? Or just a cool sword, a sabre?

The galley, set directly across from the mess hall in the passageway, was as cramped as it could get on a fishing vessel. That was most likely due to being used both as a pantry and as a kitchen. Her feet talons clicked when they met the floor grating inside, the smell of bologna from yesterday’s dinner filling her nostrils, along with a hint of… charred toast?

The kitchen part of the galley was built in a U-shape, with most of the appliances ranging from the electric stove to the dishwasher placed inside casings with a suspension that kept them level even when the ship rolled. Pots, pans and utensils hung above, swaying slowly in tandem to the trawler’s motions.

Moving past that, Greet went for the pantry, absentmindedly grabbing herself a pack of trail mix and dried fruits from a cupboard before making her way out, across the passageway, and into the mess hall, where she could smell the breakfast coffee brewing.

The mess wasn’t a very complicated compartment either, consisting essentially of a long table with two benches, all of them solidly anchored to the floor. A single porthole provided an exterior view, set just above the counter where they had put the coffee machine and a small TV.

Greet idly noted the food already on the table as she sat down with her breakfast, talons reaching for the jug of coffee someone had so kindly left for her.

“Not fully awake are you?” Artemis commented.

She startled, only now noticing the huge minotaur cow she’d just sat down next to. Greet may be tall as a female parrot, but the hulking mass of muscles beside her was at least a full head taller, and with far more bulk to her frame.

“I really need that coffee I guess...” She mumbled.

“Ain’t that true.” Artemis chuckled, taking a bite of her own breakfast – a huge veggie sandwich-. “Take your time, I ain’t weighing the anchor ‘til you’re fully awake.”

“Aight...” Greet muttered, blearily taking a long sip of her coffee – hard as it was not to spill anything with a beak-. “Thanks I guess? You got the...”

“Passage plan, yes.” The minotaur pulled out a couple folded drawings from her breast pocket. “Just get your breakfast, then we’ll review it. Nice singing yesterday by the way.”

“I aim to please.” Greet shrugged, taking a pause from her coffee to basically dump some trail mix down her throat.

Nuts and dried fruits sure pleased her taste buds at least, even when half-scalded by hot coffee.

It was only about an hour later that the two of them left the mess hall, having had enough time to both let the Dutch parrot wake up fully, and to prep what they were going to do as soon as they resumed their passage to Londonderry. And that was exactly what they did.

Mikhail and Marta went on deck weigh anchor, the little trawler’s hull rumbling when Artemis turned on the engines, switching them from battery power to generator power. On the radio, Greet warned the fleet in Belfast they were resuming their expedition, her message soon followed by an acknowledgment from Alejandro.

And on that note, they pushed the engine telegraph to full ahead and on went the trawler. Deeper inside the lough, and straight into the River Foyle’s mouth.

Had they been using a seagoing, full-size vessel like Amandine or Rhine Forest, then she suspected the passage would have felt narrow and constricting. With the trawler though? Her little size was ideal to maneuver the bends and mudflats that popped along the way with plenty of space to spare.

Londonderry wasn’t anywhere as big or as heavily industrialized as Belfast, and it was far less hilly too. Instead, the terrain gently sloped down around them, green meadows ending right on the gravelly banks of the river where the former inhabitants had erected dozens of little piers.

Given that they sailed in during the low tide, most of these piers were completely out of the water, their mussel-covered posts rising out of the mud banks the tide had unveiled. There, many little boats lay overturned in the muck, their hulls now covered in rotting algae that mixed with the smell of the tide, a nauseating, salty stench Geert commonly associated with fishing terminals. Flocks of seagulls were there, using the now useless boats as perches while they searched the muck for food. At one point, Greet even spotted a flock landing on a stranded buoy lying buried halfway deep in the mud.

They sailed past the harbor terminals closest to the estuary. That wasn’t the place they needed, as Roberto had provided them with a map of the town indicating where the police stations they were supposed to loot were situated. And that meant they were heading as far upstream as they could.

The harbor terminal faded away behind them, soon replaced by green countryside and isolated suburbs for the better part of an hour. It wasn’t until they sailed under a tall bridge that they reached ‘the Derry’ proper. The town was a lot more low-rise than Belfast, with smaller buildings that seemingly centered around a small isolated hill on the west bank.

It made sense, in a way. If Derry had been founded as early as most European towns, then along a river with an easily defensible position in the form of a hill was as ideal as it got when it came to a founding spot. Paris being one famous example with several such hills along the Seine.

Greet’s eyes caught a little detail as she surveyed the horizon.

There was a smoke column, rising up above the city center.

“You seeing this?” She nudged Artemis.

“And I don’t like it.” The minotaur scowled. “That looks like it’s a bit too close to our mooring point.”

“I’ll get my gun and flak vest.” Greet said after a minute of watching the smoke.

A couple minutes later, she was back in the wheelhouse, armed, right on time to see Artemis pull in alongside a quay. They couldn’t go any further upstream, their route blocked by the Peace Bridge in front of them, supposedly a symbol of unity between the politically opposed communities that lived on either banks of the river.

It was there that they spotted where the smoke was actually coming from.

The guild hall.

Originally, it was supposed to be a gathering hall for the city council, built in the late 19^th century using a blend of red sandstone for the corners and around windows, with brown-gray masonry making up the bulk of the building. Paired with a neo-gothic architecture, what photos they had of the building prior to the Event showed a fairly unique building that stood out from the rest with its sharp arches, stained glass windows, and a small clock tower that was like a miniature version of Big Ben.

But now?

It was like war had swept through the area. The smoke came from the smoldering remains of a fire that left the hall an empty husk of a building, with black charred marks around its empty windows. Most of the roof had collapsed, with its clock tower the worse off as the sailors in the trawler could see its collapsed remains on the plaza next to the building.
“The fuck happened here?” Ivan wondered aloud, the griffon having just been woken up by Geert.
“Don’t know… but we’re gonna try to find out.” Greet replied.
“That’s gonna delay the police station.” Artemis pointed out.
“Not for long hopefully.” She replied, checking the time. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two, and it’s still early. As long as we leave by sunset it should be fine, we’ll be safer at sea.”
“Your call.” Artemis shrugged. “Just take Mikhail along, I’ll keep an eye out from here.”
“Will do.”

Andy was giddy. Finally mommy and daddy were going to take her hunting! The little griffon cub kneaded her mattress in joy at the thought, tail lashing behind her.

Hunting! Finally!

Mommy just didn’t let her hunt what she wanted. She said the birds in the harbor were bad for her. So maybe she’d show her what birds were good? The cub wondered. Yeah, that made sense, she thought, nodding sagely at her own reasoning. Mommy knew the good birds from the bad ones.

And then she’d show them her moves! She’d trained in her cabin, with Sami’s help. The little dolphin plush with the yellow cybernetic harness was a great training buddy, and she was pretty sure she had the pouncing skill of the bestest best predators now! Ever!

Just to prove her point to herself, she turned around and leaped at the plush toy. The cotton-filled dolphin stood no chance against a hen of her skill, she fluttered her little wings and somersaulted (which to an outside observer would have looked like rolling around and flailing wildly) above him in an expert motion, hooking her talons under his fins before bringing down her beak for the final blow.

She halted just before she hit his belly. Sami was her friend, and you didn’t hurt friends. He wouldn’t pardon her if she did that, and he was a gift from daddy one. Andy stopped for a brief second to wonder… she did miss him, very much so, but every time she started crying when she remembered him, daddy two was there to comfort her. He told her stories. It was a bit hard to understand because he liked to use big words, but he was pretty cool, and she liked the name he called her.

Kotka.

In a rather odd leap of logic, Andy wasn’t actually that bothered by Micha and Vadim adopting her. They looked just like her and they took care of her, just like mommy and daddy one before. And they promised that they always would, too.

“Hey Sami, you think daddy would be mad I like daddy two?” She asked, in a nearly unintelligible mess of Polish, kid-speak and some random words in other tongues she’d heard around the ship.

She called it her secret-speak.

The plush dolphin’s vacant eyes stared blankly into her twinkling pupils.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She hugged the plush, rolling onto her back in her bed. “I can love them both, so when I find them again I’ll have two daddies and mommies!” She chirped at the ceiling. “Now that’s pretty awesome. Double the birthday gifts.”

Usually Vadim and Micha would make sure there was always someone keeping an eye on her during the day, be it themselves or even Rahul when they weren’t available. The dog cook was pretty fun too, she liked looking over his shoulder when he prepared the meals, though she had a hard time understanding what he was saying. She just couldn’t understand English, and the Indian’s accent didn’t help.

But she liked the cooking. He let her have a taste sometimes.

Today was an exception to the usual. They had brought her back to her cabin after breakfast and told her to stay put until they got the truck ready. Fifteen minutes already and she just couldn’t wait!

What were they going to hunt? Her instincts filled her mind with ideas already.

A deer? A hog? Big game… bigger than she was… but soo appetizing.

A hare would be rather tasty as well, she mused, drumming her talons against her beak, but they were a bit small.

She’d ask Sami what he’d prefer, but he was a dolphin so of course he’d say fish.

There was a rasp on her door, and Micha poked her head through. Her new mommy wasn’t wearing her orange coveralls that day, wearing instead a lighter version of the woodland armor they usually wore (actually a version that let flyers use their wings), and a pair of thin khaki shorts. She liked it, mommy always wore so much clothes she could barely see her fur and feathers.
“We’re ready sweetie, let’s get you dressed alright?” She said in Polish.

Andy glared a hole in her bed, her tiny wings fluffing up slightly.
“I don’ like clothes.” She grumbled.

Why did she need them anyway? She was a griffon! She had a warm, natural coatto protect and cover her. Clothes were for boring humans, and she wasn’t one anymore.
“Yes you do young lady.” Micha insisted sternly. “They’re important for protection, and everyone needs some for decency.”

The older griffon pulled open a drawer under her bed and took hold of a fresh set of clothes they’d made the little griffon.

Measuring her for a set of coveralls had been hard enough, and Andy had a nasty habit of undressing as soon as she was back in her cabin. That ‘undressing’ part even included literally ripping off the clothes using her talons until her caretakers put a stop to that.

That they even had made her her own gloves and safety boots was nothing short of a miracle, Micha thought as she held up the former.
“Remember Andy, the clothes protect you from being dirty. It’s important to be clean. Particularly when you use your talons to cook.” The Pole insisted as she started dressing up the reluctant kid.

A simple black t-shirt and short combo. That had been hard enough to adjust just so they’d leave velcro holes to fit the young griffon’s wings and tail. At least Andy was wise enough to stay put.
“Alright girl, that’s it.” Micha finally said when she made sure the little griffon had tied her shoelaces. “Now let’s go to Vadim, ‘kay? He’s waiting. Hop on.” She pointed a thumb talon at her back.

That at least, Andy was happy to comply with. She loved riding around on the two bigger griffons’ backs. The place between their wings was just so comfy and fluffy.

They took one of the Defender 90’s. Vadim drove them off the ramp and out of the harbor at a sedate pace, just so the little griffon in the back could have the time to take a look at her surroundings. In the passenger seat, Micha held a map open in her lap, pointing Vadim in the right direction. He drove them North of town, beyond Cave Hill, towards the reservoirs that would normally provide freshwater to habitations in Belfast’s periphery.
“That the place?” Vadim asked. He eased up on the gas pedal, seeing the truck approach an intersection where the main asphalt road crossed paths with a forest track.

Not really a proper road by itself either really, it was just two parallel ruts in the dirt that were already starting to become overgrown. At a nod of his mate, the Ukrainian yanked on the wheel and their Landy took a turn, deeper in the pine grove that apparently surrounded the reservoir.

They passed a rundown pump station in a small clearing, surrounded by a rusty chain link fence, its grass-covered roof now starting to sprout little saplings. Vadim only addressed it a passing glance before steering the truck further in the forest, keeping it at a slow pace lest he hit something with the undercarriage. Out of the open window, the engine’s noise was just a low purr with the occasional whine of the turbo whenever he gave a little more gas to push them past a bump in the road.

Puddles of water that had accumulated in the ruts splashed against the body, spraying mud stains on the wheel arches. All around them, the pines’ trunks rose up, a maze of ramrod straight, naturally-formed lampposts whose sap permeated the air with its sharp scent. Needles covered the ground, an orange bedding only broken up wherever there was enough of a gap in the canopy to let light through, allowing the odd green-colored blotch of ferns and moss in select places, such as the sides of the road.

In the back, Andy was twisting and turning at every sound, beak nearly squashed against the windows in an attempt to spot wildlife.

Eventually, they reached the spot Micha had planned for. The reservoir itself. On one bank, loggers had cut down an area of the forest prior to the Event, leaving behind a mix of thin rotting stumps, heath and shrubbery. Judging by the piled logs they’d passed along the path, they had left them there to dry and hadn’t had the time to collect them.

On the bank of the reservoir proper, a lone flagpole stood next to the near-sunken remains of a plastic pontoon, its tattered windsock flapping feebly in the breeze.
“And there we are… our spot.” Micha uttered, folding up her map and pointing a talon at a hunting tower.
“What we hunt?” Andy impatiently asked, half-climbing over the back of mommy’s seat.
“It’s a surprise kotka.”
They all exited the Defender, with the two adults both grabbing their weapons on the way out. Vadim was just using the usual heavily-modified FNC – only there for defense if they actually came across some monsters-, while Micha had taken her bolt-action rifle.

Expertly, she pulled the rifle out of its sheath and inspected the action, her talons smoothly caressing the wooden stock before she slid in a .308 mag with a satisfied smirk on her beak. It then went over her back in a sling carry, safely tucked between her wings.

What followed… basically crushed Andy’s fantasies of hunting. Micha checked the wind to make sure they wouldn’t be telegraphing their scent, and then they just piled up inside the tower, with Micha’s hunting rifle propped up on its bipod.

And they waited.

It was just… so boring! She’d always imagined they’d be flying over the forest and swooping down like true masters of the sky. Not just… waiting until an animal walked over. For the first few minutes she had eagerly looked out of the tower, expecting a deer or something to pop in any minute.

Except they didn’t.

Mommy and daddy were huddled together comfortably, patiently observing their surroundings with their wings draped over each other’s back. Soon enough, she reluctantly joined them, with Micha giving her an affectionate nip with her beak.

On the bright side, the adults’ fluff was quite the cozy spot she was all too eager to profit off of as she let herself sink deeper between them whilst Micha began telling her about the ins and outs of proper hunting, pulling out a small picture of a deer and a hog.

She told the cub about how you had to keep a sharp eye out for the trails game usually followed, one of which she’d noticed crossed the open area they were looking at. Game usually kept to the same trails to avoid obstacles, so it was only a matter of time until one popped up.

Next up, scent was a big thing. You always had to make sure the wind was blowing the right way, otherwise you’d be revealing your presence to animals before they could even see you, and in their case they’d make a wide detour around their tower.

Then, Micha started telling her about how you were supposed to go for the kill. She drew a couple circles on the picture, telling her about where to aim for (the heart and lungs ideally, by aiming just behind the fore legs), and where not to aim for (as in: avoid head and gut shot at all costs). It was all very important and she stressed that game should be killed in a clean and humane way. She firmly explained that while spine shots were good at immobilizing game, they were just cruel and should be avoided whenever possible.

As for gut shots, they just spoiled the meat and forced you to wait until the wounded animal bedded down before you tracked it, a matter of hours. Not the kind of stuff you aimed for if you could help it.
“But why matter?” Andy wondered aloud, genuinely confused. “Is just animal.”

Maybe with the exception of the Everfree deer they’d been told about, but she’d never mistake them for animals. If it talks back, then it’s not food. Easy.
“You have to respect the animal Andy.” Micha explained. “They’re creatures of God like you and me, and their death makes it possible for us to survive off their flesh. They’re fantastic, beautiful creatures. A deer can effortlessly wade through any forestry where any other sentient creature would break a leg and be heard miles away from all the branches they’re breaking. What’s there not to respect in that?”

She paused for a second, quickly surveying the woods with sharp raptor eyes before turning back towards the cub.
“And when you fully appreciate the animal, when you respect it, then you won’t want it to suffer. And that is what draws the line between true hunters and mere poachers. Never forget the finality of taking a life. There is no backtracking, no excuses, so don’t take it lightly. Ever. Okay kotka?”
Andy nodded meekly.
“Fajnie, you think on that until they show up.”

And she got plenty of time to do just that. Truth to be told, by hunting standards it was actually quite quick. Within an hour or two, they spotted a rustling in the shrubbery and Micha quietly got behind her rifle. Out of the brush, two gazelles strutted in the open field, much to Vadim’s surprise.

They were zoo escapees Micha had spotted while on recce with Aleksei. She figured they wouldn’t go far, and she’d been right. The two African animals likely wouldn’t survive the Irish winter without their caretakers, so she had no qualms about harvesting them for meat.

Still, she wondered where the bigger animals of the zoo had gone. The giraffes she knew were hanging around a park near the City Hall but they’d lost track of all the zebras and elephants.

She mentally shrugged. Maybe they’d just starved to death in their enclosures. A shame really.

The crosshairs on her scope lined up with the first one, barely swaying around the target. She had already ranged everything around the stand, so that was a… a 200-meter shot. Feasible. Her talons flicked over her scope, raising the sight to the appropriate range before she finally flicked off the safety. She threw a quick look at the windsock behind her to gauge the wind.

The gazelles stopped, grazing on a tiny bush next to a stump. She could see them in all their glory now, from their white bellies, down to the golden-brown fur, stubby tail and spirally horns. They were beautiful. Slender, elegant creatures with thin limbs.

Behind her, Andy was as still as a pointer dog that had just found a quarry.

Her first shot flew true. The crack of a gunshot shattered the silence, the stock kicked back against her shoulder, and her sharp eyes spotted a thin spray of blood when the bullet exited on the opposite side of the gazelle. Heart shot. The gazelle jumped up in the air and took off like a bullet. She wouldn’t stray far.

In a motion she’d practiced dozens of times by now, her talons cycled the bolt, a spent casing clattering on the floor of the hunting stand. She was lucky, the gazelles had been bred in captivity. The second one stood transfixed for a couple seconds – long enough for her to reload- before remembering she was supposed to run.

Micha had to give it to the animal, she was very agile. Not quite enough though, as with a sharp crack, Micha’s second shot caught her right in the spine. Her hind legs instantly fell limp and she careened into a fern bush.

She winced. That was exactly what she’d just told Andy not to do. Her wings unfurled, better finish her off quickly so she wouldn’t suffer too much. She was out of the stand and flying towards her quarry within seconds, Vadim following after her with a maneuver that, had she been less worried about her kill, she’d have found quite amusing.

The gray falcon/cougar griffon was essentially ‘towing’ Andy through the air, the cub hanging on to his tail with her talons, wings wide open. She didn’t know when the two figured they could do that, but that was definitely worthy of a photo.

Back to the hunt. She scanned the ground, quickly spotting where her heart-shot gazelle had collapsed, dead. The other was still struggling in vain in her fern, desperately pawing at the ground with her fore hooves, the scent of blood and game heavy in the air. Truth to be told, Micha didn’t know what came over to her right then. Usually she was pretty good at keeping her instincts at bay, but seeing her quarry right then…

She stooped, her bald eagle wings angling down in a shallow dive as a red haze overcame her senses. Before she knew it, she landed in a sprint next to the downed gazelle, the animal throwing her a terrified look. Griffon-Micha didn’t care, she just ran over and plunged her beak in her throat, ignorant of Vadim and Andy landing just behind her.

By the time she was fully aware again, half of the carcass had been devoured already, and she was suckling the marrow from one of the gazelle’s hind legs, utterly drenched in blood.

She blinked.

Next to her, Vadim blinked, equally as befuddled as she was.

Andy gave a mental shrug before snapping a bit of flesh off the carcass with her beak. The meat was so fresh it was still twitching, and it tasted heavenly. Better than anything she’d ever dreamed of.
“Well… that just happened...” Vadim mumbled, eyeing his blood drenched plumage distastefully.

They made up for the accidentally-devoured half gazelle later that day by adding a couple hares to their bounty, caught in a nearby glade and killed with Vadim’s assault rifle this time (.308 having… unsatisfactory results when applied to small game). They agreed not to speak of that little incident after washing off all the blood with the water jerry can they kept in the back of the truck.

As for Andy, carefree as she was about the incident, she was a bit worried at the cautious glances mommy and daddy gave the packed meat in the back of the truck. Why were they so worried? It was natural for griffons to behave like that when hunting, even if it was with mommy’s weird-boring style.

Vadim didn’t share the cub’s giddiness, his mind racing and going back to the couple paragraphs he’d read about griffon instincts in the Equestrian books. He may have scoffed when Gust warned him about it.

He was scoffing no more. Feral griffons suddenly made a lot more sense.

Author's Notes:

Thanks to Alden for helping me spellcheck this chapter, God knows some simple mistakes slip by me sometimes.

On the part about hunting... I genuinely don't understand the problems people have with it. Hunting is important for the ecosystem, particularly in areas like Western Europe where human activity has long removed the predators that would usually keep deer and boar populations in check. And the few wolves that rarely wander west of Poland often attack cattle instead of game. Understandably so, they're easier pickings.

Boars reproduce insanely fast, and even if you're callous enough to throw aside the damage they cause to fields, long term having an excessive amount of them in a region will cause untold damage to forestry. Deer can also cause damage, but to a lesser extent (as far as I know).