It should have been easy. Having no idea what needed doing when a caravan arrived at a stop, Gilda decided to just let the others do their thing. They knew what to do and what she wanted. Gilda was paying. She was their boss. It was expected of her to reap the rewards of their expertise. Especially when hers was fighting and played such an important role in the caravan. Nothing fairer or more reasonable.

But The Harpy would not be as kind to Gilda. Ironically, her own thoughts chastised her. As the Allmother didn’t put griffons in hard situations just ‘because’. Griffons did so to themselves, and Gilda had done it to herself. Even going as far as claiming her leadership over the caravan when convenient.

As the leader of their ragtag caravan of monster hunters, escaped criminals and refugees, they expected her to lead. Gosalynn and Gillian, upon realizing she had come after them, stopped and allowed her to walk in front of them. All the others then followed in her wake too. Suddenly, Gilda found herself walking down the hill first. She even tried to slow down and allow them to take the lead again. But no such luck graced her.

Reality came crashing down like her burning home had done. For the first time she noticed they expected something from her. Not in the ‘teacher wants the math homework done’ way. Or the ‘get to work to pay for punching a kid in the face’ way. Not even in the awesome ‘recall memories from a past life‘ way.

A crowd had formed by Frozenlake’s faux gates and Gilda could see several well-dressed griffons among them. Mostly at the front and expecting to talk to whoever happened to be in charge. Of course, Gilda was in charge. And being in charge was cool when it meant ordering others around and having griffons asking her for directions. Those griffons didn’t want her orders, nor to report something to her. They expected her to do something. And she had no idea of what she was supposed to do. Or say. Or if she should sit or stand on her four legs. Should she let the welcoming griffons speak first? Should she make a friendly gesture? Maybe say something. Would they say something? What should she respond?

Was She still in touch with Gilda, The Harpy would be saying something along the lines of how a griffon’s mind regressed to a safer place when put under stress. The problem was that whenever Gilda had to do anything in school, she’d get laid with a nerdy dweeb and say how awesome they were. There were no nerdy dweebs she could seduce into meeting the Frozenlake griffons for her.

“Are you alright?” Gia cocked an eyebrow next to her. “You look like you ate something rotten.”

“Nah, I’m cool.” Gilda, whose legs shivered, feathers ruffled like a duster, eyes were about to burst out of their sockets, and breathed too fast, said trembly. Of course, Gia caught up on her distress.

“Don’t worry.” The other returned a knowing smile and made Gilda even more nervous. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, your enemies won’t know either.”

“It’s okay.” Grunhilda whispered from her right, smiling candidly, before Gilda could draw Mythical and murder her loremaster friend. “I’m here with you.”

While there really wasn’t anything Grunhilda could do to help, Gilda appreciated her being there. She smiled and whispered back. “Thanks, Big Girl.”

Meanwhile, Gil proudly stomping around with their stupid red flag didn’t help. But there wasn’t a lot Gilda could do about it and nobody seemed to mind it.

They met just by the lone stone gate, still under the sunlight filtering through the clouds, but the pyres were a nice touch. At the front of the welcoming committee stood a line of Sky Sentries in blue and golden armor, posing with their pikes and sitting on the snow. Complete armor, with helmets and white capes, and all of them wore the red scarf, as did many of the well-dressed griffons. Sure, they were larger and more rugged, but in the end, they reminded Gilda of the ‘upper strata’ from Thunderpeak. Just well-dressed in the savage northerner fashion, with animal skins, metals, and a couple of weapons here and there. And, of course, red scarves.

Among the large and imposing griffons, at the front of the group of Sky Sentries stood a more normal-sized griffon. He dressed well, though, and in the northerner style, with a white wolf skin complementing his dark-gray fur and white head. Yellow, ferocious eyes locked on Gilda. Next to him a cute griffon tom in similar colors, sat on the snow. He carried something under a velvety red cloth fluttering in the wind, with a big smile.

Capes and feathers too danced in the wind, but the air was quite pleasant, if damp. Under the perpetually cloudy and revolving clouds, that was good enough. Especially since Gilda had already gotten used to the cold of the snow under her feet.

Gia and Grunhilda walked with Gilda, but also Mister Gillian and his daughter walked next to him and carried their flag. The griffons that ended commonly known as ‘the leadership’ walked next to Gilda. The rest of the caravan followed, with hopping griffons running around, excited to finally make it to the first stop of their journey. The oxen followed behind with all the rest, and even they seemed excited.

Finally, they arrived at the gate, just as Gilda thought she was going to explode with anxiety. Fortunately, the griffon in the white wolfskin took to breaking the ice, opening his forelegs in a grand gesture. “Frozenlake welcomes you with a warm hug, Lady Gilda, Swordmaiden of the Shaddani!”

He grabbed her in a hug. Although ‘hug’ might be too weak a word, unlike him. He was much stronger than his size implied. More like a bear wanted to eat her, without the eating part. Her spine popped back into place at least once and fixed a small discomfort from sitting on the uncomfortable cart. Meanwhile, griffons cheered despite her pained wince.

Finally free, Gilda needed a moment to recover her breath. Coughing twice, she shook her head, barely in time for the griffon to pose next to her and his assistant. A griffon took a photo of them while he held something.

When Gilda had the chance to see what it was, he presented it to her. A fish. A framed fish! About half the size of her foreleg, all silvery and spotted with black dots on a white backdrop, complete with a gray painting of the city’s gates above and a flag with said fish jumping out from the water below.

Gilda held the rectangular white wood frame with the shiny dead fish for a couple of strange expressionless seconds. Its mouth hung open and its eyes looked like they were going to swallow her soul. But the griffon spoke to her, and she looked up from it. “It is with the utmost pleasure and delight that I, Mayor Gotiere of Frozenlake, gift you with a genuine Frozenlake Trout! On behalf of our faithful population and by the graces of Lord Graham and Lady Geena under Lord Gilad!”

Staring at his grin for a second, and before it got too awkward, Gilda gave her best smile too. Although it probably came off awkward anyway. “Thanks? I appreciate it.”

The crowd cheered again. High-pitched screeches, ululating whoops, flapping wings letting feathers everywhere and some pirouettes between the applause. Another flash almost distracted her, but she was too busy trying to figure out what she was supposed to do with the fish while the others celebrated around her.

Which was worse? Her anxiety from before, or the awkwardness of the ceremony? Gilda considered herself lucky she couldn’t figure out in time to feel anything before another griffon approached to greet her.

Just in time, Grunhilda took the framed fish from Gilda. A large, fluffy white queen with spiky green feathers greeted her, bowing before she sat on the snow with a wide smile. Vibrant pink eyes sparkled with excitement as the griffoness shook Gilda’s paw. “What a wonderful day! I’m meeting the Swordmaiden of the Shaddani!”

“Ah… Hi.” Gilda did her best not to look overwhelmed, but her still awkward smile might have given that away. Not that the griffoness let it slow her down, anyway.

“I am Gorsta! I am the Representative for the city’s Commerce Guild! Welcome to Frozenlake! We have great shopping opportunities for one such as you!” She kept shaking Gilda’s paws up and down. “We have local jewelry, great woodwork, ice sculptures, and even excellent restaurants! All filled with owners and employees dying to assist you!”

“Thank you! Ah…” Gilda smiled but also frowned at her excessive greetings, trying to free her paws. “I’ll be sure to make time to visit the town’s shops!”

After a big, happy grin, the griffoness gave space for another griffon who wanted to meet Gilda. Like they didn’t want her to think and end the whole thing. But instead of one, two griffons assaulted her next. Both covered in glossy black fur while the plumage on their chests and heads were both a stormy gray. Such shiny feathers and fur, almost mystical, like they were sprinkled with stars. And their eyes, while the queen had a more mellow stare, both held the souls of true Children of The Harpy. It was their happiness which made them seem less fierce. Those were content griffons, happy with their lot in life, and on top of that, they grinned at Gilda like meeting her was the highlight of their year.

Barely visible, but Gilda could see smudges of soot in them, and those seemed to enhance their visage, like unintentional cosmetics. It was a curious thing, but it worked. Somehow. Gilda simply couldn’t not be smitten with the sibling-looking griffons.

“Hello!” The queen greeted her with the happiest of voices. “Welcome to Frozenlake!”

“I am Grotti,” said the tom with a paw on his chest. “She’s Groffi! At your service!”

Their combined excitement and rustic beauty made Gilda retreat a step, grinning as naturally as she could, still so overwhelmed. Especially as they bowed before her. “Hi! Nice to meet you!”

Done speaking, the tan griffoness’ insecurity let escape a mindless mumble, but the black female only giggled. The male spoke more relaxedly. “We would really appreciate it if you could grace our smithy with your patronage!”

A giant grin followed his words. And before Gilda could graciously decline (at least she thought she would graciously decline), Gertha intruded in between them and rescued her boss. With the usual cheeriness to match theirs. “Awesome! My brother and I need some gear looked after! We also got some neat ancient weapons that could use some love from a blacksmith!”

Like they spoke the same language, the black griffoness gave an excited hop. “Of course! Our shop is by the inner south wall! We’ll be waiting! Don’t forget us!”

“Yeah…” Gilda kept trying to smile as best as she could. “We’ll meet you guys there before we leave.”

“Well then.” The black tom chuckled and pushed the female with his body. “Come on, Groffi. We’re in the way.”

“Thanks.” She yelled as her brother moved her away and Gilda turned to Gertha, who only nodded at her with a happy ‘you’re welcome’ grin.

But before Gilda knew, more griffons wanted to meet her. A hubbub formed as others talked to the mayor and to the Sky Sentries, trying to be the next one to greet the Swordmaiden of the Shaddani. They just didn’t make it past the Sky Sentries. The curious thing was that one griffon barely squirreled himself through the middle of the crowd, practically sneaking his way to Gilda. But what really drew her attention was his amber fur covered in leopard rosettes and caramel feathers. He had a short, straight beak, and despite his powerful physique, his eyes had smoother lines than most griffons in the north.

Saddani. She thought, but she never let the word leave her bill.

“Please!” The word came out a plea, but in a low voice as he bowed before her, mostly trying to remain unseen, looking up to her. “I must speak to you! Meet me under the north wall. The inner one, by the time the sun sets. There are several lives at stake!”

Gilda and Gertha gave him concerned stares but had no time for words. He scampered away at Madam Gelinda’s approach. Both knew better than to try and disguise their worry at the quick meeting, but the Loremaster didn’t mind it. Instead, the old griffoness smiled at Gilda.

“Having fun yet?” Gelinda chuckled at Gilda along with the words, in the middle of anxious talking griffons.

“How do I go back to being a nobody?!” The answer came with an anxious frown and an awkward smile.

Gelinda only chuckled again, and was going to say something, but the suddenly silencing crowd drew their attention. Griffons distanced themselves and opened a path in the middle of the hundreds as well as a clearing around Gilda and her friends. At the end of the strip of stepped-on snow, a griffoness walked towards Gilda.

Gilda had already noticed she stood taller than most griffons, even if by a little. Supposedly, it had something to do with magic, even though Grunhilda still held a height advantage. But the griffoness walking toward her had a grace, power and presence that came just short of rivaling that of the Allmother Herself.

The world stopped for her to take the stage. White fur like the virgin snow of the wild made her much like Grunhilda. Her expressive blue eyes too reminded Gilda of big, shiny sapphires. If Gilda must ever choose the perfect embodiment of the Nartani, she would point at that griffoness. The wind ruffled her soft blue cape and the feathers on the hem looked like the snow following in her wake.

Grunhilda’s words, recounting a northerner tale on Grahan’s airship, rushed back to Gilda’s mind, behind her bugged eyes and hanging jaw.

The wind carried the Windigos’ mocking neighing, even when friendly faces warmed their hearts. He saw Lord Graham and his fair Lady Geena with her cape of cyan and white feathers of the swans. In the wind their banner with the white field and spotted trout hailed from Frozenlake.

A silent gasp escaped, Gilda’s chest warmed, and she fought the urge to take a step back. Or to bow at her presence, as the others did. A living legend of the Northerner Children of The Harpy walked toward her.

How could such a powerful creature walk with such grace? Gilda expected it of The Harpy, but she had only seen her in dreams. Her steps barely disturbed the snow. The fluffy feathers like small ears on her head fluttered on the wind and her eyes remained on Gilda like they bored a hole through her soul.

Then she saw it. Not as though her majesty was false, but Gilda saw her for what she was. A Loremaster of The Harpy. Perfect in every sense, a symbol of Aya Harpyia’s perfection. Like seeing the technique an artist painted with, her subtle movements bared themselves before Gilda’s eyes. Every carefully elaborated, flowing gesture, a display of griffon grace. A testament to Mother Harpy’s creation for griffons to look at. Her very existence screamed at Gilda’s mind. ‘Look at me! I am what Our Mother made you to be!’

Stopping before Gilda and her scrutinizing glare, the griffoness smiled. Gilda smiled too, like they understood each other.

“You should not allow them to trample over you.” Gilda almost laughed at the ridiculousness of just how well she articulated each syllable. How well her voice carried the loving admonishing at Gilda’s lack of dominance and her smile shifted smoothly into a frown. Like The Harpy pulled her strings. Perhaps even better was her light-hearted disapproving glare to the mayor and his reflexive sheepish grin. “Gotiere has been trying to push the fish souvenir for longer than he has been mayor.”

Politicians… Gilda rolled her eyes. As long as he didn’t do the shit they did back in the south…

“However, we have been waiting for your arrival. You are very much welcome and Frozenlake will host your caravan.” Lady Geena spoke softly and griffons, once again, cheered, whooped and just plain danced with happiness.

Other than celebrate, griffons also moved to help. Gillian and his caravanners approached to talk to the local griffons and many hurried to assist. Bringing in the oxen, freeing the animals of their burden and guiding them into the city’s pens. Others brought water and hay to the feeders. The local Sky Sentries promptly prepared a line to search the carts and the newcomers. Much like their arrival on Wayfarer’s Rest, but much less strict. Gilda’s refugees reacted with none of the previous apprehension and things seemed to proceed smoothly. A few blue-caped loremasters asked questions and winged dogs sniffed around the cargo.

“I am supposed to tell you about Gerdie and Master Gabriel.” Gilda looked back at the majestic Lady Geena.

“So, you are.” Geena smiled and shook her head softly at Gilda. “This formality is barely necessary. You have made quite the name for yourself already. While griffons must walk, messenger birds and communication spells are quite faster. Why, I imagine even Lord Griskjal already expects your arrival with excitement, you being such a delightful young queen.”

That probably sounded creepier than she wanted. Nonetheless, Gilda had more she ought to discuss with Lady Geena. “Also, to give you the medallion. Grunhilda?”

Gilda put out her paw for her friend to paw it to her from her backpack, but Grunhilda never responded. What happened was that Grunhilda zoomed past Gilda like the wind from the Stormy Eyrie and squealed at the top of her lungs. “Auntie!”

Gilda blinked at Lady Geena’s astounded and ecstatic expression while the young griffoness galloped at her with open wings and not a sign of stopping. Gilda expected some sort of explosion on impact, with all her momentum. Grunhilda clung to Lady Geena like she was a lost puppy, hopping like an overexcited bunny.

Alabaster fur and soft feathers, the same symmetrical crests of delicate feathers which looked like a pair of cute little ears. The expressive blue eyes, deep as the ocean. The same powerful frame. Grunhilda only lacked the age, evident on Geena’s sharper facial lines, stature, and her imperial grace.

“Gracious Harpy above, cub...” Geena held Gilda’s thrall and friend in a hug and warmly let the words through the effort of a much-delayed hug. “I cannot believe my eyes! What a wonderful young queen you have become! What happened? How did you make it here? I thought you were lost to me!”

Only one word escaped Gilda’s bewildered expression when she turned to Gia. “Auntie?”

“Oh my!” Gia’s orange beak pulled into an amused grin, just as Lady Geena held up Grunhilda’s paw and gasped at the delicate iron chain bracelet.

Grunhilda hummed and her ‘feather ears’ lowered like she’d done something wrong. “I can explain.”

It should have been easy. Grunhilda was in trouble, Gilda saved her, Madam Gladys strapped her with the bracelet, boom. Grunhilda was Gilda’s thrall. Especially because they lived more like lovers than anything. Just… The big, majestic, and powerful griffon lady didn’t know. All Gilda had to do was explain and blame Madam Gladys.

No! Gilda was happy! That would sound as though she didn’t like having Grunhilda! She should just tell her how fortuitous their meeting was and how happy she was Madam Gladys essentially got them stuck together.

What the heck? No! That sounded like they had married or some shit! On the other paw, saying that Grunhilda had become her servant because Gilda had saved her life wasn’t much better!

Lady Geena kept looking at her. Waiting for her to say something. How in the feathering world did Gilda manage to pant and sweat so much in the middle of all this snow?! Just speak to her already, you stupid featherbrain!

“It’s not what it looks like.” Gilda finally managed to half-speak, half-garble. Twitching eyes and fluttering wings didn't silence the thunderous sound of a thousand ancient Loremasters, all facepalming in consonance at the back of her mind.

Much to Gilda’s surprise, Lady Geena just laughed. Thank the Allmother Grunhilda decided to say something already before Gilda made it worse.

“They were going to send me to Shatteredrock. I owe her more than my life.” Grunhilda held Lady Geena’s paw like a fledgling begging for attention. “Miss Gilda saved me. She even wanted to free me from my bond, many times because she didn’t understand its importance.”

The ‘smaller’ griffoness finally let go and remained seated on the snow, with her eyes cast downward and a worried voice. “Thanks to Miss Gilda I was able to learn what happened to my parents and I have returned to Snow Mountains. I found a profession I can follow, and I have been given my parents’ heirloom. Thanks to her I have a future other than spending the rest of my life cleaning offices and corridors for a pittance. Or inside a padded cell.”

She seemed to want to say something further, but her voice came out only a soft whine. Lady Geena sighed and, perhaps uncharacteristically, rubbed the feathers behind her head, looking at Grunhilda.

Only then Gilda noticed, but the working griffons had stopped. The Sky Sentries interviewing the newcomers stopped to look and the griffons in the caravan stopped too. Even a couple of oxen being led to the stopped to watch when their leading griffon too stopped. Gosalynn and Gillian, talking to a local Sky Sentry looked at them, while Gilda could feel her friend’s stares boring holes at her back.

Even the damn wind must have stopped to look at Gilda’s furiously blushing cheeks. She flared her wings and let her voice carry away the embarrassment. “Don’t… Don’t all of you dweebs have stuff to do?!”

Seemingly, Gilda had learned her commanding voice, because griffons distracted themselves with whatever was available immediately. Lady Geena, however, giggled, and the blue grassbreath thestral approached with a cute pony glare. “Why don’t you edgy northerner freaks just marry already?”

First of all, Gilda was still becoming a northerner. Second… Despite lifting a finger to deliver a righteous command for the fruit-eating pony to shut her muzzle, the simargl hounds interrupted her. Barking all around them, one of the dogs got free and rushed like a cannonball in their direction. Quite fast, despite its large frame and fluffy pelt. The fire-drooling mouth did make it more terrifying, though.

Moonbow screeched and awkwardly climbed on top of the nearest cart with help from her wings. A small mountain of cargo in the process of being unloaded protected her from the hound, who kept jumping and barking, despite its wings. Soon, others joined in a cacophony of mad barks and panicked thestral screeches, déjà vu from their meeting at Wayfarer’s Rest. Griffons around them started showing angry frowns at the racket while the handlers tried to control the dogs.

Gelinda approached Gilda with an annoyed glare. “The simargl truly hate this pony.”

Before Gilda could respond that she too didn’t really like the pony, Lady Geena walked to the mess and hissed the dogs into silence. Showing her impressive wings and taking the leash from one of the handlers to pull at the beast. Once they submitted, she returned the leash to the handler and ordered the pony hop back to the ground.

Once the griffons had all their winged dogs under control, the pony jumped down from the leather-protected pile of goods and drew in the air to speak. Whatever she was going to say never left her mouth. Lady Geena’s paw closed her muzzle like a vice. Moonbow tried distancing and freeing herself, pulling and tossing her head without any success. The griffoness held her and frowned as the pony stared back at her, bug-eyed and murmuring in distress.

“We discovered the hounds are quite fond of changeling meat.” Her sapphire eyes squinted and the griffoness leaned closer to sniff at the pony. Moonbow closed her eyes and tried shaking her muzzle free. “Are you a changeling, little pony?”

Gilda kept a respectful distance, but she stretched her neck to look at the pony. Between curiosity and anger, trying to see her smug pony face behind Lady Geena. The accusation rang reasonable. Moonbow had shown up in the middle of the refugees, during the hurried and improvised reception in Wayfarer’s Rest. Madam Gelinda, Gilda supposed, would have noticed, but then again… Changelings were known for subterfuge.

“Filthy changelings should die already.” Someone cried in the crowd. Everyone had stopped their work, again, distracted by the commotion.

The local Sky Sentries, as well as the ones from Wayfarer’s Rest, didn’t stop. They surrounded them, with a couple hovering in the air, pikes, and guns at the ready. Gilda approached and so did Madam Gelinda. While Grunhilda kept her distance, with Godwin and his sisters, all three stretching their necks to watch, Gertha came right next to Gilda with a dangerous stare in her pink eyes.

“The last changelings who tried infiltrating Snow Mountains quickly found out their masking magic is not as mystifying as it once was.” The griffoness spoke in a hushed and threatening tone, pulling at Moonbow’s ear with her talons. Was the situation not so serious, Gilda would have laughed at how big the pony’s eyes became. “They lay in pieces in Lady Gwendolen’s laboratory, and I would very much like to have a specimen of my own.”

The thestral squealed and finally managed to free herself, speaking with the most offended of tones, despite slamming her butt on the snow. “I am no changeling! T’is not fault of mine own thy cursed hounds art murderous beasts!”

Lady Geena stared down the thestral without a reaction, despite the angry ‘fang lisp’, offended glaring, or flared wings. One of her blue and gold clad Sky Sentries intervened and pushed Moonbow’s chest. “Watch your tone, pony. You are not in Griffonstone. Rejoin your travel companion and do as the guards tell you, or we can’t guarantee your safety. You are Lady Gilda’s guest, but you are not as welcome as she is.”

With an indignant huff, the pony stood on her four hooves and walked away, closely followed by the guard, who ignored the tail whip. Gilda and Gelinda approached Lady Geena who kept her eyes on the retreating thestral, despite smiling when she looked back at Gilda, rejoined by Grunhilda. She pet Grunhilda and caused her to smile too.

Meanwhile, a cute, salmon and white, young queen approached, also wearing the blue cape of the Loremasters. She said nothing, however, as Gelinda talked to Lady Geena. “Lady Geena, we must talk. I have important news in urgent need of reaching Griffindell. I lack your resources at Wayfarer’s Rest.”

Geena nodded silently, while she still petted Grunhilda’s head. “We shall see to that immediately.”

Turning to the normal-sized (for a northerner) salmon griffoness, Geena spoke with a commanding tone of one used to being obeyed. “Have Lady Gilda and her entourage be accommodated at The Manor and expedite any exceptional concerns relating to the caravan.”

After the salmon-coated lady acknowledged her orders, Geena turned to Gilda again. “I will see you soon, Lady Gilda. We have much to converse about. I am most curious about your adventure, and I have interesting propositions for you. Until then.”

As Madam Gelinda and Lady Geena walked away, the loremaster who remained offered Gilda a paw in greeting and spoke with a clear, happy chirp. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Gilda. I’m Gjarma. You could say I’m Lady Geena’s second in command.”

Gilda greeted her with a smile and shook her paw letting her speak again. “When you are ready, I will take you to our guesthouse. We will provide you with everything and any servants you or your companions might require. But first, I must see the concerns surrounding the caravan, if it is not too much of an inconvenience.”

Gilda smiled. On one side, she felt like a dweeb, feeling so awkward at griffons offering her luxuries and comfort for the simple fact she was herself. On the other side, screw that. New and improved Gilda, also known as the Swordmaiden of the Shaddani, was perfectly fine with being pampered. Thus, she simply thanked Gjarma with a smiling nod and let the loremaster do her job.

Gjarma went to Gosalynn, and the short griffoness talked about transferring the Astrani weapons and armor they recovered. A griffon in the blue and golden Sky Sentry armor, supposedly the local Captain, joined them.

It seemed things would take care of themselves, and griffons minded the transfer of the caravan to Frozenlake. Gillian and Gilda’s new secretary, Gisele, busied over caravan matters with the frozenlakian merchants. Gilda saw herself busy with more griffons to greet. Mostly the city’s nobility, the well-dressed griffons. Swearing fealty, as silly as it might have sounded, Gilda supposed they were honest. Most of them added their greeting her into their city and offered any assistance she might need. The main feeling was a genuine welcome and all most wanted was to shake her paw. She obliged. Time wasn’t an issue since they had completed the first leg of their journey and reached safety. Not just relative safety. Actual safety.

The Saddani griffon who had sneaked close to talk to Gilda occupied her thoughts, though. With a small break at the meet and greet action, Gilda gave Gertha a beckoning gesture with her finger. The mercenary immediately understood. Inclusively keeping her beak shut as per Gilda’s serious stare.

“Can you meet that griffon guy who was skulking around to see me?” Keeping discreteness consistent with Gilda’s hushed voice, Gertha simply nodded. “I don’t know if I can go anywhere without drawing a lot of attention. See if you can’t smuggle him inside our lodging once we’re done here.”

“Will do, boss.” Gertha nodded and distanced herself without her usual cheeriness after a happy grin.

A quick glance around told Gilda griffons were still too busy worrying themselves with work and nobody seemed to notice her exchange with Gertha. Grunhilda, Godwin, Georgia and Giza all hovered close to her, like she was their responsible adult, but they wouldn’t say anything, and they too greeted some griffons.

Griffons who had no actual business greeting Gilda or concerning the caravan’s arrival and its subsequent departure also milled about. Conversations between working caravanners from Wayfarer’s Rest and the local crew sparked interest amongst the refugees, but language quickly became a barrier. Frozenlake was ‘actually the North’, apparently. Fortunately, the local griffons did understand Common Equestrian, they just didn’t like it.

A small army of pretty griffon ladies wearing the telling blue satin cape efficiently assisted the refugees in communicating with the locals. Understandably, the situation upset some griffons, but calm tempers prevailed. Apparently, Gilda wasn’t the only one to whom their actual situation dawned. Learning another people’s language should be expected when one moves into their lands. Better than staying in Griffonstone to be branded traitors. They would be alright. It might take some time, but they will be alright. Most of Frozenlake’s griffons even showed remarkable patience talking to them and their mangled pronunciations of High Griffonese.

Considering her getting involved would only make things worse and Gjarma was still busy, Gilda kept her distance even. She still had a few more griffons to meet and shake paws with. It became easier, as getting used to nice things was easy. Once she was done, she excused herself from the Mayor’s offer of touring the city, saying she should supervise the transfer of the caravan. Fortunately, he accepted her excuse. Gilda could walk around exchanging some pleasantries with the griffons she worked with.

The large queen Gilda saw working at the hospital tent drew her attention. The one angry at the confusion between the males and females already prepared a wagon with help from one of the southerner toms. Apparently, she really had ‘adopted’ one of them for her and things worked out. Maybe they planned on returning alone to Wayfarer’s Rest. They looked happy, working together to prepare their ox-pulled wagon, sturdier and better suited than the carts her caravan had used. Better suited for a smaller caravan, Gilda supposed. The large queen thanked Gilda and so did her mate, but they were busy.

Moving over, Gilda wanted to look for the others. Specifically, the small guy the rocs had subtracted from the caravan. He and his similarly small queen also had prepared a wagon for a return trip. But done with their work, she pinned him to the wheel and held him, preening the feathers on his neck. Both out of the way and out in the open. They probably wanted to live with their families, closer to the border. A small connection had formed, and Gilda silently wished them good luck. Supposedly Gosalynn would return with her Sky Sentries too and they could all travel together. If the tom survived the embarrassment, even if nobody seemed to mind their intimacies.

Garnet and Geldar seemed to be back together. What a night in a northerner jail could do to a griffon… But Gilda would rather not think about them. Hopefully, they’d stay at Frozenlake.

According to the conversations floating around, the caravan workers and griffons still without a home would stay at the city’s inn, supposedly a famous place. That included the pearlescent rosy queen who had ingratiated herself with Godwin and her family. But even if she kept staring at Godwin, her parents had her busy with the carts and transferring stuff. Although, by the banter reaching Gilda, many of the griffons from Wayfarer’s Rest would stay for a few days, precisely because of the celebration of the Gathering Storm.

That was when Gilda saw Her. She thought she was seeing things because it made no sense. But she saw Her, The Harpy, walking behind a group of griffons. The black tuft on her tail, clear as a fast stream on the rocks.

“Did you guys…” She looked at the griffons next to her and no one paid attention. Godwin and his sister talked to one of their friends and paid Grunhilda just shrugged.

The tan griffoness blinked and quickly made her way to where she had seen the Allmother. Was that some sort of game? She looked one way and the other, only to see Her sitting on the snow and giving her a cheeky grin before walking behind another group of griffons.

“Wait. I wanna talk to you!” Gilda trotted as fast as she could with an excited grin while trying not to raise much of a commotion. Reaching the same place She had sat, Gilda never saw her again. Her feathers flattened, but perked again in curiosity when she found the northerners had grouped the refugees in a separated area and she hadn’t seen it.

If she understood the conversations floating around, the frozenlake loremasters had divided griffons into three groups. Each according to accounts from the griffons working with the caravan. They had watched and worked with the traveling griffons, especially the ones who had volunteered to help. Most importantly, for the sake of clarity, the loremasters spoke in Common Equestrian to the newcomers.

Did Allmother lead Gilda there? Did she want Gilda to do something? Grunhilda just shrugged again at Gilda’s curious stare. She was too curious to be annoyed at the game.

Some griffons would permanently stay at Frozenlake. Usually the older griffons, or those who the loremasters decided wouldn’t do well in the wilderness. After all, rustic and wild as the North was, Frozenlake still had resources and facilities griffons ‘on the frontier’ might not have as easily. Sounded reasonable.

Others would travel to Brokenhorn and live there. The third group though would move to smaller towns either under Lord Graham and Lady Geena, or under Lord Griskjal, departing from their respective cities. And they would move ‘the frontier’ towards the lands claimed by the Windigos.

As the loremasters said, Lady Gwendolen transmitted to them Allmother’s Will. With a capital ‘W’. And things started making a lot of sense in Gilda’s head. Mother Harpy commanded griffons to reclaim the lands they lost to the Windigos. The way to do that was to move in, settle down, make your home, defend it, take over the ruins, and give the Windigos the finger. The middle one. Take back the Astrani territory the frozen turds stole.

Listening to the Loremasters, Gilda’s chest filled with the same excitement from when she held Mythical for the first time. When she talked to the griffons back at Thunderpeak. It was History, happening around her. The turning point.

Only one problem, though. Gilda’s caravan was full of griffons used to living in the amenable climate of the south and the biggest thing most of them ever fought was the packaging of their candy.

“Uh… So… Uh…” One of the Common Equestrian-speaking southerners raised his paw in the front row of griffons. A very griffonstonian sandy and gray tom with a puzzled frown on his cyan eyes. “Are we supposed to just find a flat area and build a town in the middle of the monsters and snow?”

No, towns could be built on the hillside too. Gilda rolled her eyes but said nothing, just kept watching. A small frustration sprouted that those dweebs might not be up to the task.

“Many of us have small cubs!” A distressed queen, caramel and yellow, with long feathers on her head flapped her wings. “Most of us don’t even know how to cook without a kitchen!”

The loremaster in charge of their group, a very pretty and even frail-looking queen, made calming gestures. Even younger than Gia, the blue and white lady sat on the snow to talk. “Calm down, please. It’s not like that.”

She spoke with the whistly northerner accent Gilda had come to enjoy, and the metallic sheen on her shades of blue spoke of a Nartani, if Gilda could trust her judgment. Most importantly, she raised her voice and spoke clearly. “Every caravan has been carefully planned with hunters, builders, at least one Loremaster and sufficient warriors to protect you. All they need are griffons willing to work hard and make it happen.”

And that was the young loremaster’s mistake. Assuming the southerner griffons would share on the northerners’ disposition and work ethic. As more complaining and agitated winning started, Gilda stomped in front of the loremaster, growling. “What in the feather did you idiots expect? That the northerners would come out of their houses and let you keep them? What are you even doing here?”

“Yeah!” Many griffons agreed with Gilda and yelled their support, but among them one walked to the front. Another very young queen, cyan and white, with a cute aquamarine cub clinging to her back, looking at everything with huge curious eyes. “What is wrong with you dummies? I thought all of you were tired of the Griffonian leaders messing things up! Don’t you want to fix the problem? Just run from it and have others fix it for you?”

The young queen spoke with Gilda’s frustration, glaring at the crowd. “Idiots like you put Gail in charge. Didn’t you pay attention to Madam Gelinda? Back at Wayfarer’s Rest? The northerners are looking for allies, not freeloaders!”

Gilda nodded at her and addressed the crowd again. She didn’t even think. It might have been better to let the loremaster handle it, but impulsivity always was a part of her. Words flowed out of her beak, and this time her inclinations served a good purpose. “Didn’t you go to school? Remember reading about how the ponies moved south after the Windigos arrived? Didn’t the northerners tell you how the griffons fled the Storm Eyrie into Griffonland and beyond? Haven’t you heard about how the Nartani stood their ground and held the Windigos from moving further south? The Nartani shed blood, from commoners to the Lords of the Black Gates, so that our fertile lands in the south would be safe.”

“Didn’t you believe when Madam Gelinda told us of the griffons waiting in the Stormy Eyrie?” A step forward, Gilda came closer, and the group opened for her to walk among them. “Those griffons who fought to keep our lands safe are now looking at us. The northerner skalds, both among us and in Our Mother’s palace, are waiting to sing of how we took back what the Windigos stole from us!”

Gilda’s paw sunk into her fluffy chest. “Griffonstone tried destroying my life. They wanted me to submit, and the ponies wanted me to forget all that My Mother made me to be. I had to fight for my life in a dark alley.”

Her talons shone under the faint sunlight filtering through the clouds. “I killed two thugs they sent after me with these. I fled. I survived, and I thrived! And so did my friend.”

Gilda kept her eyes on any eyes on the crowd which would meet hers while she pointed at Grunhilda. “They murdered her parents. Heroes of the Children of The Harpy. She adapted. She survived. And she thrived!”

She took a quick glance back and pointed at the siblings she had taken to care for. “They killed their father because he wanted Griffonia to change! And he put down the mercenary who killed their mother before their eyes!”

“What about her?” Gilda emphatically pointed at the cyan queen with her cub, and she reacted with a confident, stoic stare at the crowd. Which her cub mimicked, and was adorable, but Gilda kept her mind on the conversation. “She came from Griffonstone with you! To change Griffonia, to make a new lair for him so that her cub would grow out of that cesspit of corruption. So they would grow free, as there will come a day when the northerners will be free to fly across the sky because there will be no more monsters to be shot. The rocs will no longer steal our brethren away! The land will be warm and green instead of cold and lifeless. And the Astrani skalds will look down to us from the Stormy Eyrie and will sing to Our Mother of how we rid the land of the Windigos and took back what is ours!”

The cheering griffons surprised her. The jumping and whoops, same as before, surprised her. She stopped for an instant. She would never have said such things about a week ago. Once the realization sunk in, griffons still cheered her words. Worried frowns became excited glares and grins.

She had more to say. “One day the Pony Princesses will shudder. Because when their little ponies fled, our ancestors stood their ground. They will shudder because they will see that we have reclaimed the Frozen North. The Sun will shudder, because she will see why this world belongs to us, and not to them!”

As more cheers and excited cries erupted, Gilda noticed her speech had been heard further. She saw the locals cheering and throwing the snow into the air festively. She didn’t expect it, but Gertha and her brother cheered too, and so did Godwin and Georgia with Grunhilda. Even Gia clapped at her words, next to the excited Geary, albeit fuming with jealousy. Their Sky sentry escort and their local comrades, and even the dog handlers had stopped to listen to her. Not the dogs, though. They just waited with curious or distracted stares.

Harpy above knew how many others had heard her inflamed, spontaneous speech when she should just sit there and wait for Gjarma to take her to her lodging. She sat on the snow and let her thumping heart calm itself. Catching her breath. The cheering went on and on, slowly dying as griffons satisfied their impetus. Her eyes found the snow and her cheeks had tinted with pink as much as they burned in awkwardness. What had gone over her?

Finally, the cyan queen smiled at Gilda and left her to rejoin her group as the loremasters began calming griffons down to resume the process. Gilda almost felt like a nuisance getting in the way of their work.

“I see you are everything they told us, Lady Gilda.” The young loremaster next to her spoke with courteous softness. Eyes avoiding Gilda’s and with slightly tinted cheeks. “Thank you.”

Gilda chuckled nervously and her paw messed with her crest for a while. “You’re welcome, I guess. I just… Said something that I had bottled up, you know…”

“The best speeches come from the heart, Lady Gilda.” Gjarma approached them with a smile. “I have arranged for your pet roc to be stabled in the keep’s old aviary.”

The younger loremaster let escape a comical gasp. Her feathers raised like lightning had hit her. “Wait! Is it true? She actually has a pet roc? Like Lord Giranor?!”

Taken aback, Gilda winced. The stare from the loremaster looked like she wanted to date her. Enough to get a jealous glare on Grunhilda’s face. “It’s not really a pet roc. I just… Uh… Kinda rescued him.”

Gilda literally retreated, following Gjarma, with the others in tow. A few steps later she caught herself wondering if she should have gone along with it. That queen was very cute. But Gjarma speaking next to her halted those thoughts. “Right this way, Lady Gilda. The Aviary is close to the keep, inside the walls at the center of town. Much like the Manor too.”

An awkward cough escaped Gilda and Gertha caught up with them, carrying a giant grin on her beak. “Who is this Lord Giranor and did he actually have a pet roc? I mean… So is it possible to domesticate them?”

Gjarma smiled. “Lord Giranor founded Frozenlake. He was an astrani Lord of the Skies and it is said he liked the trout in the lake because they looked like him. Silvery with black spots. The lore says he hunted bison and fought wars against the pegasi with his pet roc and that it stayed in the keep’s aviary.”

Could be a sweet reference for a name for Gilda’s own roc. She would ask Gjarma or Lady Geena about that story eventually. There were too many things to see following the loremaster around the city.

The distance between the walled keep at the heart of the city and the stone gate marking the arrival to Frozenlake proved to be a bit of a walk. Fortunately, Gjarma was the talkative kind and seemed quite proud of her city and her lieges. For starters, the large camp next to town housed the soldiers Gilda had heard about. The numbskulls who got their asses captured while marching northward. With the things Gilda had been hearing about, the northerners likely just saved a lot of them from becoming Windigo chow.

The snow started to thin as they approached the city proper soon to become the same freezing mud from Griffonstone. Except the northerners, perhaps because they actually cared about one another and their city, made log walkways. Carts had to brave the mud, but then again, the northerners used oxen to pull sleds and they didn’t care. The walkways used by the griffons were mostly logs, cut in half, and lined along the way. House owners and shopkeepers shoveled the snow away in front of their buildings. So convenient, so simple.

Little griffon homes, made mostly of wood, clay and thatch, lined the streets and some cubs ran around, playing in the mud and making a mess. Adults walked up and down the street, minding their own business. Some griffons talked, standing out of the way or on little social areas set up with umbrellas and tables.

The city seemed to grow in an orderly manner, one home after the other, instead of one home here and there. It gave Frozenlake a very organized feeling, compared to the mess that Griffonstone became outside the regulated neighborhoods. Like urban planning was a non-renewable resource not to waste on the poor.

As they walked, griffons greeted them. Gjarma seemed to be well-known in the city and they would stop to greet her and then get excited about meeting Gilda too. She didn’t even mind stopping and exchanging pleasantries with them, especially since most of them had stuff to do or assumed she didn’t have the whole day to talk with them.

Moving along the corners and streets towards the center, the little homes became bulkier and fancier, yet never losing the northerner charm Gilda had come to enjoy. They became sturdier, built with stone and wooden shingles for the roof. The city did have an architectural proclivity Gilda found curious, though. Despite the wide ground floors, they had a tendency of becoming thinner the taller they became. Decorated with colorful banners like long strips in the wind, the city seemed livelier than Wayfarer’s Rest. Plazas became fancier and larger with a few stands selling jewelry or easy to eat morsels of northerner food.

The richer area had paving stones instead of the cold mud, and gutters in the middle, as well as smooth stone for the walkways. Colored stones made patterns and drawings. Trees, griffon homes, mountains. It marked the entrance of the main market area. Shorter houses took over, most of them stores or some sort of business for façade. Other stores occupied the entire ground floor while the owner’s living area was above. Signs hung from the walls by the doors stating names and business to be found in the buildings.

Young griffons and cubs stayed at the storefronts, calling customers inside along ‘A’-shaped stands and similar advertisements. Some stores, the richer ones, even displayed the products of their owners’ trade through glass storefronts. Nothing too fancy, however, as the rich stores in Griffonstone or the pony cities; glass seemed to be expensive. Most memorable of all were the smells of burning fats and roasting meats coming from the restaurants and the inn close to the keep’s walls.

Across the crowded market area Gilda saw the keep’s gates. The walls stood high enough any creature trying to fly up them would be easily spotted by the armored guards at the top. Four towers had strange weapons, like large guns pointing at the sky. Gilda had no idea what they were but decided against asking Gjarma while she talked about the statues flanking the gate.

The gate hung open, showing black metal with spots of rust, but definitely solid. Two pairs of Sky Sentries stood guard with their long modern firearms, sitting by the sides. A pair of statues flanked the gate. The same kind of statues Gilda had seen in the teleporter facility, adorned with gold and spotless white silk. A red banner hung above the gate, showing the black and white griffon wings. The heavy fabric fluttered noisily, as did the adornments over the statues of Mother Harpy.

Beyond the gate the floor had been lined with heavy stone slabs. In between them, each about two fingers apart, the space had been filled with straw. It kept the nasty mud underneath and the floor clean. The imponent and stony keep sat in the middle of the walled area, surrounded by other buildings, such as barracks, support buildings Gilda didn’t know and an execution square. Complete with a set of four hanging cages, a couple of stakes, and a stony block stained black. Charming, but Gilda supposed it was necessary. At least it wasn’t at the entrance to the city.

More curiously, a griffon sat inside one of the cages. So dirty she couldn’t identify his colors and bored, with a plaque hanging from his neck. ‘Liar’, it said. But at least, his head was still attached. A pair of guards, just griffons wearing leather and armed with wooden batons, stood guard, just as bored.

The square tower in the center probably was Lady Geena and her mate’s residence. Piled stones held together by mortar and some patches of green. The large doors were left open, and the city’s banner hung above the entrance. Inside Gilda could see a northerner hall with a central hearth fire and chairs beyond the busy griffons going one way or another.

Gjarma directed them to a sturdy wooden structure leaning against the gray stony wall of the keep tower. Dark brown, solid wood with iron-fitted windows beside the glass, it had a second elevated ceiling that seemed to provide ventilation. A lot of curious griffons gathered there while locals and the hunters from Gilda’s caravan secured the cage against the heavy open door. A few tarps had been placed over the structure of the cage, so Gilda couldn’t see her roc. Griffons had high moods, and nobody was freaking out, so she supposed everything was under control.

“This way.” Gjarma took them to a side entrance into a small room. Some farming tools stood by the side and gas lamps provided light. Pushing a door, she led them into the wide aviary. One of the largest inner spaces Gilda had ever seen, it looked like an upside-down boat because of the reinforced arched ceiling that stretched from thick wood beams. The elevated ceiling at the top indeed let the cool air enter and provided additional light. Most of it came from torches though, tightly fitted into stone pillars lining the walls. Straw covered the floor and the prevailing smells reminded Gilda of a cow shed.

By the wide main door, a pair of grayish griffons, the huntress’ mate and father pulled ropes with their beaks and using their feet for maximum leverage. They tried to coax the angry, screeching roc infant from inside its cage without much success. A small team of nervous griffons with blunt pikes stood behind them. Meanwhile the huntress stood behind them, with her wings flared, yelling angry warnings to be careful.

Lady Geena and Madam Gelinda sat on the straw a little off from the griffons, watching with mild amusement. When she saw Gilda arrive, Lady Geena smiled and beckoned them closer. “Ah. Here you are. Welcome. I believe you’ll see that the Aviary is adequate.”

“I don’t think Rocky agrees!” Grunhilda hawked anxiously.

“What the? His name is not Rocky!” Gilda snapped to her, but she was more worried about the roc than Grunhilda giving him a dumb name. “He really doesn’t look happy, though.”

“Come.” Geena, still smiling, beckoned Gilda again with a gesture of her head before she walked past the griffons with the pikes.

One of the pike-armed griffons squawked anxiously at seeing her, and reached with a paw, but never touched her. “Be careful, Lady Geena!”

Gilda immediately followed and pressed her step, pushing in between the griffons, until she caught up with Geena by the open cage.

The roc, definitively not named Rocky, cocked his head, and gave them a distrustful, side-eyed glare, despite the two griffons letting go of the ropes. Gilda smiled and sat, putting up her paws and showing them to the roc. “Hey, come on. It’s me.”

Geena never stopped, though. She walked with the confidence of a Canterlotian supermodel as the giant bird scratched wood scraps out of the logs and screamed at her. Gilda winced when it opened its wings as much as it could in the confined space and struck the floor before the white griffoness with a fierce thud. Like an oversized chicken… Funny as it was, he was huge compared to the griffons. The hole it opened on the wood, broken fibers, and a missing chunk, reminded Gilda it was still a dangerous mythical beast. Even if it was an infant, and with his warning ignored, he stood as tall as he could and struck again. Gilda almost jumped at Geena to shove her out of the way.

The roc never struck her. The griffoness touched the side of the bird’s head. Like she had held it with sheer physical power, but rather, it immediately calmed. Not-Rocky stowed his wings and let a soft cooing sound, laying on the floor. He just rested there, letting the tall queen softly stroke his feathers. Astonished griffons murmured behind Gilda, and she let her beak hang open, just as astonished.

“Come Gilda.” Geena spoke without looking back. She nodded to the roc and removed the ropes from his neck. “Touch him. He is quite calm now.”

She held Gilda’s paw firmly, but softly made her touch the side of the roc’s head, along the blue-gray shadow around his eye on the off-white plumage. Gilda didn’t resist, but other than the soft plumage, she felt nothing, and nothing happened.

“What do I do?” She turned to Geena with a frown only to be shushed by the taller griffoness, closing her eyes, also touching the roc.

Gilda did the same, closing her eyes and almost on instinct clearing her mind of thoughts. Her frown slowly dissolved and the griffons behind them made not a peep. Fear crept into her. Slowly, but sudden in how so fast it grew. Yet it remained detached. In a similar way to how she felt the emotions of the griffons she had shared her soul with during her past lives. She wasn’t sure if she was awake or dreaming anymore.

The fear abated. Her own presence dampened it. Gilda needed a few seconds, confused, before she understood she had connected with the creature’s mind. The realization dropped a bucket of glacial ice on her stomach.

“Wow…” She whispered as softly as she dared, fearing it would somehow break it.

Through the creature’s mind, she could feel Lady Geena’s paw gliding over the silky plumage. She could smell the damp wood and the straw. Hear the wind blowing against the tarp over the cage and the noise made by the thick fabric. The cold in the surrounding air and the discomfort of an empty stomach. An annoying soreness bothered him in his wing, he had slammed it against the cage trying to scare away the big catbird. She felt anger and panic, the distress over the scary catbirds lassoing him and trying to pull him into an unfamiliar place.

His airways burned at the frantic breathing and screeching; his heart thumped violently, slowly calming itself.

Cold sadness made a background against it all, with the memory of the monstrous rocs and the unholy cold that came with the horse-spirit. It contrasted with old memories of the beautiful avian creatures that cared for him before.

What could one say? Gilda lacked the language to describe the feeling of intertwining with the mind of another creature. It was so much more real than her dreams of past lives. She just let her breath escape softly. “Wow…”

“Now tell him to come out. That he will be safe, and that these griffons will feed him, and care for him on your behalf.” Geena’s voice changed with her smile. “Never order another’s mind, instead ask gently. Even if you hate them… Softly, like singing. The secret is in how Our Mother’s magic touches his mind through you, and becomes you, because you are Her magic, and your soul is Her soul.”

“How do I do that?” Gilda immediately felt stupid at her question when it simply happened. She saw the creature’s mind change and decide to walk out of the cage. It only waited, slightly confused at the two catbirds in his way.

Both walked back out of the cage and the roc infant followed them with wobbling bird steps, stopping to give them an inquisitive stare down his beak. He scratched the straw and chirped at them.

Gilda’s face had locked into a goofy grin she couldn’t undo. “Harpy above… I… Oh, Harpy above! I have no idea of what I just did, but it was awesome!”

Geena chuckled at Gilda, shushing away griffons so the little roc could explore its new environment. Wobbling around and pecking at the straw-covered floor with a soft chirp every now and then. “His is a simple mind. This is the first step after learning all the secrets of Our Mother’s magic relating to the mind. It is not quite so simple with more complex creatures such as a pony, or a griffon. But it still requires something of a special connection to Her. One you already possess.”

How much of a connection Gilda could claim to have after the whole creepy ‘mom-thing’ and screwing her mind blown with a vibrating dildo was anyone’s guess. But melding her mind with a giant bird sounded more special and likely to get griffons to agree with her. Gilda could barely contain her inane grin of mischievousness and awe.

“Can I… Learn? More?” Returning to the moment, Gilda smiled at the taller griffon queen, smiling like she asked her mom for some candy.

“Why, teaching you is precisely what Lady Gwendolen has asked me to do.” Geena giggled. “But I meant to invite you to stay a few days during dinner. You are an important guest, Lady Gilda, and there is a lot we need to talk about. You should get yourself and your entourage settled at the Manor, now that your adorable roc feels more comfortable.”

Next Chapter: The Game of Griffons, pt. I Estimated time remaining: 9 Hours, 48 Minutes