Gilda decided to take Gia’s advice to heart and tried finding a peaceful place to… Quiet her mind… Whatever that meant. She had told Grunhilda she was free to take care of her own business and she figured the young Loremaster would be busy too.

Originally, she thought of the meeting room once all the griffons had cleared out, but it would be just awkward to stay there and… Sit on the middle of the room and think. It would look stupid if someone happened upon her.

Walking back into the hall she found Grunhilda talking to that Geary guy. She couldn’t understand them talking in that language of theirs, but Grunhilda held her backpack and listened to him making gestures about the fox pelt accessory. He was probably teaching her how to organize stuff inside the thing and Gilda decided against interrupting.

She frowned a little. Gilda really ought to have a straight talk with Grunhilda thought. Her talk of being a thrall, or slave, always left Gilda with an unsavory aftertaste. Gilda wasn’t even sure what the wristband meant, but it bothered her. Grunhilda certainly was old enough to understand quite a bit of their culture before her parents died, and Gilda didn’t like the big gal thinking of herself as Gilda’s property. Like that was the big take away.

But it was best left for another time. She didn’t want to interrupt their… Packing lesson.

Before Gilda should figure out what exactly she was going to do with the griffons of Thunderpeak. She was supposed to be special, or something, but still had to figure out what it actually meant. If anything, Gia, at least trusted her.

Her new room might be a good place to get some peace and quiet. She could compare it to her old home, but the only way it did compare was in the fact that it was about the size of her house before it turned to cinders. With levels of luxury she had never seen before.

Gilda realized those thoughts distracted her, but she loved it! It wasn’t even ‘her room’, per se. But it would be until she left for her next destination. Wayfarer’s Rest, if she remembered correctly.

A living area with fancy, rustic furniture, and some books in that stupid language she didn’t understand occupied the entrance. After that, it had a giant ‘princess-size’ bed presently covered in a heavy red-brown pelt blanket which seemed ridiculously warm. Reasonable, considering Thunderpeak looked like it could get frigid. Not like Griffonstone.

A fireplace settled against an external wall, with a stack of wood. The luxury levels peaked beyond what Gilda ever thought possible in her entire lifespan. A giant and bulky wardrobe for all the dresses she didn’t havestood against the opposite wall next to a coat stand for the coats she didn’t have. An armor stand for the armor she didn’t have waited empty in a corner with weapon stands for the weapons she didn’t have.

Did she even belong in that place? Probably not, but soon she would be to one with all the fancy stuff. Maybe her room would be even bigger once she arrived at Griffindell. If felt so petty, because the money was only part of the problem as she wasn’t sure she belonged in the culture.

Anyways… Wooden floor and ceiling, made of well-placed and seated planks which didn’t squeak or even move. A door showed a bathroom beyond, with a nice tub. Cool! A stone tub, like her own personal pool. She had to find a way and use that thing before she left!

A little cabinet with bottles of different sizes and colors waited use next to the toom’s entrance, and she recognized the mead in one of the bottles. With a cheeky smile she picked it up and pulled out the cork but stopped just short of taking it to her beak. Soon to be a rich griffon lady, she poured the thing on a mug before she tasted it and grinned at its sweet fruity taste.

The room also had a balcony past a double glass door with black metallic framing. It sounded like a good place to try that meditation thing. But rather, she put a talon on her beak with a grin. As she recalled, Ghadah did so lying on the pool. Now, that sounded fancy.

As she took another generous sip from the mug, her mind wandered to an image of herself lying in the stone pool in the bathroom. Filled with scented hot water and dotted with rose petals. Her head leaned against a folded towel on the edge and Grunhilda’s weighted on top of her, with fingers pressing and slowly massaging her face. Gilda’s paws massaged the others hips…

She coughed and hacked the mead out of her, almost dropping the expensive bottle and mug to the floor. She coughed a couple of times more before she regained her breath and the voice in her head laughed at her distress. “What the heck?”

Grunhilda, probably the last griffon she wanted to see, opened the door to her room and peeked inside with a worried frown. “Miss Gilda, do you need anything?”

“No!” She hacked, waving her away with anxious paw gestures.

“Okay!” The other cheered and closed the door again.

“Geez!” Gilda chastised herself and put the bottle back in the cabinet. “What the heck, get a hold of yourself, Gilda!”

It has been some time since you have indulged in the pleasures of the flesh.

Yeah, such a conversation would not be happening, and Gilda frowned to make a point.

Why do you flee from the subject? You are a mature adult and even in the hooflicking culture you used to live the subject of sex was openly discussed. I loathe to accept ponies will enjoy such pleasures more than My Children.

Not the problem! Gilda knew prudes and she wasn’t one of them. She had her head on other things she couldn’t mess up. Or, rather, should have. But also Grunhilda thinking of her as her master. She saw Grunhilda as a friend, a partner in her travel.

Ghadah would not hesitate to indulge in a willing partner’s desire.

Gilda imagined for a second if Ghadah would hesitate to indulge in an unwilling partner… But inside she knew Ghadah enough it would be crossing a line for her. But, well, that is the thing. Gilda wasn’t Ghadah. Gilda didn’t want to put up with slavery in any way, shape or form. She simply wanted to ensure Grunhilda and she saw things eye to eye. If anything, she needed to make sure Grunhilda understood she could say ‘no’. To anything.

Gilda had gotten distracted again and rolled her eyes at the realization. The weeping wind outside drew her attention and her eyes turned to the balcony past the glass door. She notes in a passing thought the thing was so well constructed the wind didn’t rattle the door or glasses. She supposed with a chuckle the cold would do her good, though.

She found chilly wind outside, but it not as bad as she had thought. It fluffed the feathers in her chest and her inner furnace could keep her warm. Her fur stood at the cold too, and could feel it, but it didn’t bother her: it helped her focus on her thoughts.

Supposedly, she had just found her ‘thing’. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She could hear her heart thumping; she could feel blood propelled forth, and she heard it as a river running inside her ears. The cold had become a part of her, and the wind silenced as though she had literally turned inward. Suddenly, she was a griffon sitting on a rocky outcrop of a mountain. She had the carcass of a small earth pony at her paws, broken pink coat exposed bones and entrails. Its blood tinted the feathers in her face and her paws.

The smell immediately picked at Gilda’s senses and tingled inside. But she had become used to the sensations of sharing the mind of one of her past selves. It felt odd this nameless one would die in such a dramatic way, but even if she could communicate, her animalistic mind wouldn’t comprehend what she would show her.

Hopefully Gilda wouldn’t ever know the day she would die, or even worse, how.

Yet, she had learned from her ancient self. Listen. Pay attention. She talked to her, and Gilda must listen.

Even then, the thoughts which came to her were of curiosity. She saw Princess Celestia, surely. She didn’t have her royal regalia, or even behaved like an intelligent being. Funny. Something didn’t seem to connect in the whole thing. Did she see a beginning? Animal-like ponies and griffons? Maybe it would make sense, but something seemed off. Something she hadn’t quite remembered yet prevented she understand the situation as a whole. And just such an insight unsettled her but carried truth with it.

Regardless, she was the griffon sitting on the stone with a full belly, squinting at the wind and hearing the distant thunder in the fading daylight.

Other griffons arrived and they brought prey too. They shared with their family, with their friends and potential mates. One of such landed close to her, depositing a dead opossum by her feet and holding his wings high. Pushing forward his fluffy gray chest with a gravely serious frown, parading in front of her and grumbling deeply in his throat.

She didn’t care for the opossum, but the griffon guy, with his strong back and stony gray fur and feathers…

No! She distanced herself as far as possible from the memory.

Everything seemed perfectly fine, as far as the fact she could, apparently, attract the memories to recollection. Maybe it had been the cold that brought that memory. She should be happy she managed to invoke the memory at all, though. It seemed Gia was right. Maybe knowing she could do it helped.

The only problem seemed to be that her mind insisted on raunchy thoughts!

You need release, Child. Even I must. It is our nature. It will clear your mind.

NO!

She needed Ghadah… Come on…

She thought of the fierce Swordmaiden and her elegant skills, so badass and secure of herself. It didn’t even take so much effort as she had expected. Much sooner than she assumed and more subtly, her mind shifted in an almost confusing way.

The stone and cold wind shifted into the dry air of the desert she then knew as the Hader. Into cool black marble beneath her feet. She stood on her hindlegs and moved swiftly with her sword in her paws.

She wasn’t fighting, though. Slow spins, wide sweeping arcs and fancy flourishes. Swirling and twirling her sharp magical sword too close to her own limbs. It left behind a trail of yellow magical glow in the dim light. She danced, spinning on her hindlegs, with her tail trailing behind her, but her partner was her weapon.

The black marble walls of the temple surrounded her and the burning pyres at the legs of the statues provided the unsteady illumination. Rustic musical instruments in the form of flutes, drums and lyres sounded delighted and portentous at the same time, much as Ghadah felt and so did Gilda through her.

Long tables with good food and drinks surrounded her with respectful voices. Compliments to her prowess amid the music. Lewd comments as eyes burned over her like the fire on the pyres. The language of the Empire in more ways than one. The smells of lovemaking invaded her nostrils despite the strong aromas of finely spiced foods and roasted meats. And yet most eyes on the room fell on her form, shinning with sweat in the flickering light of the burning pyres.

She danced in front of a particularly luxurious table, black as the marble from the walls, covered in a strip of golden fabric and lit with candles before the Emperor and his mate. She was both her sister under The Harpy and her superior. Their numerous family of sons, daughters and grandchildren stood along the table.

But behind them, black marble made the steps of a tall staircase and led to a round opening flanked by the black statues of the great griffoness. Mimicking her wings stretched upwards and condescending posture, staring down. From the opening came the nightly desert light against Her figure as She stared down at Her gathered Children.

Then She said a single word. Gahdah understood it, but not Gilda.

Ghadah finished her dance with one last flourish and let her sword stand, point down against the marble, under her paws. As she breathed heavily, one of her sisters entered the ‘square’, carrying her own sword on her back. One of her younger sisters, her name was Grana. A dark shade of bronze covered her body and a soft golden her head, but she lacked the typical crest of feathers. It only made her seem exotic. A good few years younger than Ghadah, she bowed respectfully before she rose on her hindlegs and drew her sword, glistening in the flickering of the flames.

The drums rose to a dramatic staccato as powerful male voices joined in song in a similar fashion. Strange to Gilda’s ‘ears’, but at the same time familiar through Ghadah’s own. Her sister’s sword arched forward with a short motion aiming at her face and Gilda’s heart raced at that alone.

She spun to the side and brought her sword in a sweeping horizontal arc the other caught in her own sword with practiced ease as they spun past each other. Griffons clapped in tempo with the drums like a frantic heart to the beat of their weapons whistling and clacking, sizzling with magic.

A wide swing from the other’s sword came and she bent backwards, in a most impractical fashion in a sword fight. It elicited whooping cries from the audience, and her sister followed with a spin and a downward cut Ghadah dodged with a pirouetting backward jump. A flap of her wings and a swing of her tail in a sequence that sent the watching griffons in a frenzy of cheers. Even more when the tip of her sister’s sword scratched the marble with magical sparks.

Even the Emperor slammed a fist on his table and cried something Gilda barely understood. Something about letting her guard down and laughing. By his side his mate sat in her place and clapped her pink paws together with a wide grin.

It surprised Gilda how much of the scene around her Ghadah managed to capture and with such level of details while keeping the other and her weapon closely under watch. Her heart beat furiously in her chest and the hotness of her own body radiated around her. Her breath came fast and very conscious in the dry desert air. Giddy nervousness took over her body, but her steel nerves held limbs stout as she caught the other’s sword in a wide horizontal sweep when she spun again. Then she caught her sword several times as her sister launched a series of quick jabs.

Once, twice, thrice. By the fourth time Gilda figured Ghadah could’ve ended in in the first strokes of the fight. But Ghadah grabbed her opponent’s paw and their bodies clashed together. They spun, like mirror images of each other, grappling and twisting their swords amid the whooping cheers and wild excited cries. To Gilda’s despair, as clashing warm bodies felt like the last thing she wanted. Ghadah greatly enjoyed that, however, even as she let herself slip and fall on her back. She stared up at her sister’s control of her own spinning body, shifting her head to the other side and sitting next to her, the tip of her sword to the cold black marble while Ghadah’s laid flat.

It was stupidly dangerous, and at the same time Ghadah never felt so safe in her whole life.

Their audience exploded with cheers and laughter as shiny coins were exchanged among paws and the Emperor talked to one of his sons with gleeful gestures.

Her sister helped her stand, and in Ghadah’s place Gilda looked up, above the stairs behind the Emperor’s table to the black figure of the giant griffoness. She was still there, inscrutable, unreadable expression shrouded in darkness against the moonlight.

There was a lesson Gilda was supposed to learn. What was it?

The cold marble stone became the cold air again and she stood below King Grover’s statue. She was no longer Ghadah, and whoever she was, she inhabited an older body. Griffonstone’s central square looked different too. Empty space replaced the hospital and the doors to the Chancellor’s Palace stood open, with a tall and very displeased tan and white griffon wearing a heavy cotton coat and spectacles. He was escorted by a group of griffons in metal plate armor who sat holding pikes or crossbows before the mural which commemorated Griffonia’s unity.

A confused crowd of cheering and booing griffons had taken over the plaza. None of them had the courage to openly agree with whoever Gilda shared her mind with, or to throw the vegetables they held in their paws.

Old snow covered most of the walkways and cold water ran in the central gutter of the streets. Stormy clouds above her growled with thunder as she stood on her hindlegs above a soapbox and pointed ferociously at the assembled hundreds. Her voice carried with magical power which both terrified and marveled her audience.

She spoke in the ancient language and her old voice still rose above the thunder.

But Gilda couldn’t understand what she herself said.

On her back a tattered and dirty blue cape made of fine silk which one day had looked brilliant and rich. A poorly fixed iron link chain had snapped several times, but also been fixed several times and held the cape in place. Her white paw with talons like daggers seemed as though they would pierce as much as her words to the enthralled audience.

Some shouted at her to shut up, too afeared to show themselves, or made crass jokes about her appearance or her bare stomach as she stood on her hindlegs. Others cheered at her words but also didn’t show themselves as she delivered vociferous word after word in a furious speech. Lines above her held colorful carnival banners, fluttering in the strong winds as did the wide banner. ‘Welcome Princess Celestia’ it declared in the large and bold letters the equines used for such festive greetings.

The local law enforcement in the form of the Chancellor’s own soldiers stood there too. Some fumed under their open helmets while others barely kept the façade of stoicism as her words did indeed cut deep.

A little griffon girl watched, and her gray eyes sparkled behind her big glasses at every word. Pristine white plumage on her head and shiny silvery fur on her body, her little silvery beak hung open as she listened. The griffoness knew she wouldn’t be leaving that plaza alive, but her heart warmed knowing others would follow, and her message reached across the generations.

Gilda repeated the foreign words in her head, as they felt eerily familiar. A harsh impact at her back interrupted her. She dropped from her box to the cold and dirty, stepped on snow. Her old body quickly exhausted all its strength and sounds of fighting surrounded her. Angry shouting, but the shocked gasp of the small griffon child reached for her. An adult, a scared male of brown shades stopped her the cub from coming closer.

Gilda waved the infant away. The words eluded her, but the thoughts stung like incandescent steel: the little one must not be made a sacrifice to her enemy. She must survive. Her follwoers must survive. She alone would be sacrificed for The Harpy’s glory.

The adult grabbed the child and vanished withing the mob as it either fled or resisted futilely against the Chancellor’s guards.

The cold of death burned the life out of her, and her breath became short and painful. She chuckled blood, Mother waited for her. Something stuck to her back, but, she laid on the snow until a shadow covered her. She whimpered as the object was torn from her and what remained of her warm blood wet her coat.

“We got you, fucking witch.” The tall griffon stood before her and held her shoulders, pure spite in his voice before he looked up. “Grab the others.”

He held her shoulder with one paw as the other drew a dagger he thrust into her stomach. The stinging pain didn’t bother her, dull and distant. But she grabbed his lapel of soft cotton and pulled herself closer to him.

Glassy scared eyes, he let go, but she didn’t, with a fierce scowl and croaky breath out of a nightmare even as she tasted blood in her mouth.

Words echoed in a concordant choir of different voices, consonant as the beating heart to the rhythm of ecstatic drums. A song repeating its chorus incessantly until Gilda finally grasped the meaning of the old griffoness’ fierce words. They scorched her thoughts like lightning carving the stone brighter and hotter than the sun.

“The Wheel of Time will spin unstopping and you will regret and cover yourselves in the ashes of birch trees. Sacrifice me and my sisters under Her sun and I will feast in the Stormy Eyrie, but when the Predator stalks the world again, you will share in their fear and I will rejoice, a captain of Her faithful at Allmother’s side!”

She finally let go and her eyes found the cloudy sky. Lightning crisscrossed the violent clouds and darkness ended her pain.

Gilda opened her eyes to the echoing sound of cracking thunder. Lightning flashed above her and sent pieces of the tallest tower in Stormrend Manor flying below.

She closed her eyes again and let her head hang. Her wings opened. The cold air of the mountains comforted her. Then she pulled a lungful of air and every nerve ending in her body lit up like she had inhaled pure lightning. Petrichor reinvigorated her. She felt as though she had slept for a thousand years and even the healing potion with its powers felt negligible by comparison.

The clouds rumbled and the wind howled, suddenly picking up. They called to her.

An undefinable tension rose, as though reality stretched, and the feathers in her wings filled with magic. Every bone in her body resonated with it. So powerful as it meant to burn out of her same as lightning raged across the sky.

Thunder rumbled above and she stood in a single fluid motion, pouncing out of the balcony. The wind caught in her wings, and she beat them, powerful as the storm winds and her tail balanced her flight. Natural to her as her limbs moving in harmony as she walked.

She spun in the air and shot up, towards the violent clouds and the air, filled with static, thick with unyielding magic. Reality stretched further and further until it snapped and she reached out with her paw.

But the blinding flash didn’t blind her. The deafening crack didn’t deafen her. Her fur and her feathers smelled clean, sweet, and pungent like chlorine. She had caught it as she stood at the barrier between dream and reality, staring at it, taken by childish curiosity.

Impossibly hot, undefinably bright. It shifted faster than the eye could see, but it rested in her paw as her wings instinctively beat to keep her hovering. It calmly waited as though she had caught a complacent animal that would submit to her will.

The light it cast illuminated the town below and the clouds above as though the sun had come out in the brightest day of summer.

She opened her fingers and it stood there, balancing on her palm, as a nervously shifting staff of unbound light while she stared curiously, tilting her head. Finally, she willed it free and it exploded to the clouds above. They met it with a bolt of its own, exploding with another resounding crack.

Was that a dream? Was she awake?

The city fell into darkness again. And the clouds above rumbled and twisted in the stormy winds.

She beat her wings stronger and stronger, fighting gravity, higher and higher until she touched the cloud’s blurry edge. Lightning flashed and she found herself before giant polished iron doors as they opened themselves to her.

The smell of roasted meat and mead invaded her nostrils and beyond the doors she found a roaring fire with a pair of giant boars spinning above them. A crowd of griffons, different sizes and colors, all welcomed her with respectful bows, but her eyes were drawn to the giant throne made of iron in the back. At the top of the stairs and flanked by the ever-present statues of the griffoness, laying on her belly and with her wings pulled upward, and a golden halo around her head, shimmering in the fire.

At the throne sat the great white and black griffoness. She welcomed Gilda and the griffoness of her dream with a proud smile. “Rest My Child, that your soul may rejuvenate, and you may continue your endless journey. You have made me proud, yet again.”

Thunder distracted her and Gilda found herself hovering above the clouds. They illuminated with lightning below. Her body was covered in cold water, and it refreshed her. The cold was there, but it didn’t bother her. The night sky above filled with Luna’s stars felt distant and alien to her.

She let her wings point to the sky and fell on her back against the cloud, letting her wings rest against it too. The searing heat of lightning washed over her, as did the loud thunder, but neither bothered her. The smell of thunderstorm rose from the cloud and intoxicated her like the mead she wanted while the taste in her mouth was metallic like blood.

Thunder distracted her again and she stared at the same night sky. It was peaceful and she felt safe there, but she supposed there were things she ought to tend to.

She closed her wings and let herself fall through the clouds as their violent and cold winds massaged her. Free from it, she allowed herself to fall for a few moments before she skillfully reoriented herself and allowed her wings catch the wind. She calmly spiraled down toward the balcony in the manor, beating her wings a few times to decelerate and land gracefully.

Her feet touched the cold stone, and she wondered once more if where dream and reality met. Had been real? But she didn’t have the time to ponder as she opened the glass door and closed it with a push of her hindleg. Something had changed, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

Then she saw an obviously Grunhilda-sized lump under the blankets in her bed. With a groan and rolling eyes, she walked over to pull the heavy blanket and found a goofy grinning griffoness staring at her.

“What are you doing?” She asked plainly.

“I’m warming your bed!” Grunhilda declared cheerfully. “It gets cold at night in these places and Geary said I should!”

“Get out of there.” She ordered with a nod, which the other obeyed, but then Grunhilda looked at Gilda and her wings flared open with red tinting her face.

“Oh! Should I fetch a towel, or…” She started but Gilda cut her off.

“No. Pay attention.” She snapped her fingers at Grunhilda a few times. “We need to talk.”

“Okay.”

“Do you understand that you are my friend?” Gilda asked with a frown.

“Yes!” Grunhilda giggled and Gilda didn’t feel particularly secure she had understood her meaning.

“I mean…” She joined her fingers. “That I don’t own you.”

Grunhilda frowned. “Of course I do! That’s not how thralldom works!”

Gilda massaged her temple to quell a rising headache. “Grunhilda, pay attention. I want you to be my friend. Not my sla… Thrall.”

“But I am your friend!” The other whined confused.

“Take that thing off, then.” Gilda pointed at the wristband at Grunhilda’s wrist, but the other held it defensively.

“No!” She cried. “I need it!”

“No, you don’t! Give me that!” Gilda reached forward to grab Grunhilda’s paw, but she curled up into a ball with a shriek. Even jumping on top of her and trying to reach didn’t help. “Grunhilda! Give me that!”

“No!” She squeaked again.

“You don’t need that to stay with me, you dummy!” She kept trying to reach and the other shrieked again.

Then Gia cleared her throat from the open door and frowned all her annoyance at the two. “Do you need a moment alone, or something?”

“Didn’t your parents teach you to knock?” Gilda let go of Grunhilda and sat, staring at the door while Grunhilda hid behind the bed.

“They did, but I heard struggling and your thrall screaming ‘no’, so I took a peek, and it sorely disappointed me.” The green griffon deadpanned at her.

Gilda simply sighed. Enough of that, already… She fixed her eyes on the young Loremaster. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

“Actually, yes!” Gia made her a big grin and flapped her wings. “It’s time!”

“Oh…” Gilda shifted a little. Thankfully Gia didn’t seem to notice her nervousness. “So, what is the plan?”

“Our supporters are getting the populace to gather in the central square so we can address them. Get ready. We’ll be leaving in a pair of hours. Be sure the town’s militia are going to be an issue as soon as the population starts getting antsy. And that is when we make our move.”

Gilda really hoped whatever she had done sitting on the balcony had worked, but she nodded, nonetheless. Before she could say anything Grunhilda flapped her wings a little too excited.

“We’re ready! Right, Miss Gilda?” She yelled and cheered, hopping like an excited bunny. “Woohoo!”

“I don’t think that you should be going, Grunhilda.” She looked at her friend. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Grunhilda immediately deflated. He crests of feathers like little ears flattened and she just sat and pouted in the cutest way possible. “I’ll carry stuff for you then!”

Gia shrugged. “She should have a weapon to defend herself if she needs. I mean, she’s a northerner… You don’t grow up in Snow Mountains without knowing how to fight. And you’re gonna need something too.”

“Grunhilda didn’t grow up in the north.” Gilda growled and pointed at the white griffoness. “She was a homeless kid in Griffonstone who ate dirty rats.”

At the same time, Gilda had to admit Grunhilda was an absolute unit by herself. And she had the feeling if she left Grunhilda alone in the manor she’d sneak out and get herself into trouble, anyway.

She stared at the big girl pouting at her. For feather’s sake, she didn’t have the right to tell Grunhilda stay when her experience in fighting was a past life and desperately snapping at three thugs. And that was not even considering that Grunhilda had saved her ass. And she had just told her she didn’t have to follow her orders.

“Fine! You can come with us.” Hopefully, Gilda could channel Ghadah again if she needed.

“Yay!” the big white griffoness cheered, clapping her paws.

Gia hummed quietly at the scene they made. “Follow me, we should find something for you two in the armory!”

They went downstairs, spiraling down the tower to the main structure of the manor and then they went underground. Walked through a torch-lit corridor until they reached a room with quite a few gruff and mean looking griffons of many sizes and colors. They all stopped what they were doing with Geary, grabbing weapons from the stacks. The room smelled of smoke from the ash torches, the beaten dirt, straw, and testosterone.

Several stands for all kinds of weapons took the stony walls, most of them vacant. Pikes, long spears, halberds, muskets, and more muskets. Bulky ones, with the revolver mechanism she had heard about. Beautiful designs made of clear steel inlaid with silver and blueish wood. Most looked as works of art as much as tools for killing.

They occupied not only the walls, but several ‘aisles’ for lack of a better word, lined with swords of different kinds, shiny under the light from the torches, tall or short.

“Things are going smoothly, Miss Gia!” Her thrall grinned triumphantly and the griffons around them nodded or grunted in agreement. “All the manor’s griffons-at-arms are accounted for, and most have already assembled outside!”

“Excellent!” She grinned at him and then frowned. “Where is Master Galahault? I need him to find some fancy weapons for Gilda and Grunhilda.”

“Hum…” The griffon frowned and deflated to the point his wings sagged from his side. “He’s being moody again… He at his forge. Outside.”

Gia groaned and rolled her head along with her eyes. “Come on…”

She turned and just left Gilda staring at Grunhilda who gave her the typical confused dumb stare but followed. They skipped up the stairs again and Gilda caught up with Gia. “What is going on?”

“Our blacksmith is a moody old griffon who acts out sometimes.” Gia stopped and let out a deep sigh before she made calming gestures with her paws. “Eeh… Things are under control! I just need to talk to him and I’m sure he’ll have something special and worthy for you and your thrall. Er… Your friend.”

Why? Whenever someone said they had things under control it felt like the opposite?

Next Chapter: Mythical Estimated time remaining: 25 Hours, 21 Minutes