To tell the truth, Gilda almost sent Grunhilda to the smiths on her own. She would rather stay in the Manor and show Gevorg to their room for the night. But he would be busy until evening, so Gilda took Grunhilda to the market and Godwin went along.

The tom carried a firearm hanging from his neck. The short kind that Gilda saw with the restaurant’s guards back in Canterlot. It was intriguingly different from the muskets and rifles to be seen everywhere, and she knew little other than that it was a northerner-only weapon. But instead of inquiring about it, she just welcomed her young friend on their walk, noting his pouch of coins also hanging from his neck.

Well past noon, the market had recovered from the festivities of the Gathering Storm and was back to business as usual. Without all the tents, the wide road out of the keep was a lot less cramped and chaotic. It looked more like markets in most cities. A set of streets with stores, homes, and two-story buildings which were both stores and homes. Most of the platforms were gone, leaving only the sidewalk planks and plenty of space for the carts that might need to go through.

Several of the shops never opened, though. All the partying left some griffons tired. Or maybe the profits made them think they deserved a rest.

A few directions set them on the right path, and they heard the siblings’ shop before they saw it. The banging of hammers and the queen’s laughter guided them better than any direction anyone could give. Gilda saw it across the street just as she walked around the corner. A large home and shop taking an entire chunk of the city block, with a plaque that confirmed it was the place. ‘Grotti and Groffi’, it said multiple times, with the names inverted back and forth and scrawled over until only the original carving, painted in red on the clear wood, remained. Both black and dark-gray siblings were there, hard at work, and with dozens of customers and employees.

Gilda and her companions walked all the way to the middle of the block not to step on the cold mud, but eventually made it to the smithy. It was an open shop resting against the side of what Gilda assumed was their home. Surrounded by wood beams and the side wall of their stone house. They kept the walkway around it clean, and the rails held exposed examples of their work, from tools to weapons and plates of armor. The house might as well be called a mansion. The forge looked like it could deal with demand from the entire region, including other griffons working for them around the place. From assistants, a janitor and a couple of security, at least a dozen griffons worked for them.

‘Blacksmith stuff’ filled the place. Things Grunhilda was probably better educated to appreciate, evidenced by Big Girl’s grin growing larger with every step. From a searing forge with a chimney through the ceramic roof and three additional, smaller ones to all sorts of tool sets, worktables and two grinding stones. Things Gilda barely even understood the function of.

Among the clients were griffons from Gilda’s caravan, and chief among them were the two ‘Gunner Guys’ and Gertha. The two males talked to the pink mercenary while they waited for the male ebony sibling to work the rings in a ringmail shirt with a focused frown. His sister was further back, fussing with a metal plate and hammering a round-tipped tool at it. A frown over her eyes and her tongue sticking out the side of her beak showed her focus. Other griffons waited and talked to their employees, showing them the stuff that needed work. Others paid with satisfied smiles. The smell of oils and burning stuff reminded Gilda of old Galahault’s forge, but larger and noisier.

“Hello, Miss Gilda.” One of the two Gunner guys greeted her with a wave. The other mimicked, and so did Grotti. Although the black griffon mostly focused on his job of pulling and poking with metal tools to set the rings right.

“May we help you, Lady Gilda?” The blacksmith stopped fiddling with the metallic rings and looked at her with a welcoming and excited grin. “We’re giving requests from your griffons priority.”

Gilda stepped onto the wooden deck with Grunhilda and Godwin next to her as the other patrons gave them space and offered deferential bows. Gilda smiled and gestured to Big Girl with a wing. “Grunhilda needs you to check the spear and shield she got from the ruins we came across.”

The charcoal-black queen squealed from across the forge and made grabbing gestures with her paws. “Ooh! Astrani artifacts! Gimme!”

Grunhilda obeyed, trotting closer to deliver the spear and the shield she carried on her back while Godwin patiently sat next to Gilda. The male sibling rested the chain mail on the table and beckoned the tom closer. Gilda went with him while eyeing the stringent work with precise tools. She thanked the Harpy she didn’t have to do that sort of thing. Meanwhile, the ex-soldier griffons and the male blacksmith sibling watched Godwin remove the gun from his neck.

Both tan griffons seemed interested in the firearm, as connoisseurs would, but the ex-soldier with the darker tan looked at her with a respectful, ‘soldier-like’ stare instead. “I respect what you are doing for the hippogriffs, Lady Gilda. They need help… I don’t want to judge the Harpy, or the northerners, but I still have opinions, and it feels right. Helping them however we can. Since… You know. We can.”

Gilda nodded and gave him a hint of a smile as Godwin set the weapon on the table.

“I don’t know if this will be useful here in Snow Mountains. I have another of the same model, and I feel out of place with two of them in the caravan. Georgia just doesn’t want hers.” The younger tom said. “I suppose I could give it to the caravan guards, but…”

“Bullshit, Godwin.” Gilda said. “It’s yours, and you can do with it whatever you feel like.”

“Ah… Shooty-shoots are useful anywhere.” The blacksmith grinned, examining the gun, looking down at it. “I can see what you mean, though. You gotta worry more about monsters than griffons around these parts, and a good, enchanted melee weapon can be more useful.”

“This is some good stuff. It’s from Stormvalley. It’s worth quite a bit. Yes. What would you like? Do you want to sell it? There is not much I can do for them.” The blacksmith griffon smiled at Godwin, looking up from the gun.

“When we went to save our guy from the rocs, I picked up a sword and a shield that felt really nice. My primary training was with guns, but I got one at the festival and I’d like a sword and a shield, too. Since firearms don’t seem to help a lot with monsters, this one gotta go so I can afford them.”

“Well, I can buy it off you. I know a griffon in town who will want it.”

“Did your parents teach you to fight, Godwin?” The dark-shaded Gunner asked, sitting next to him at the table and laying a paw on his back.

“Mom taught me to fight with sword, shield, and spear. She used to say every tom should learn those. Dad taught me how to shoot. When we visited Frozenlake, before it all started, they taught me a lot of stuff. Using these weapons and explosives. Setting up the large machine guns. Sniping. Ah… How to tell other griffons what to do, how to secure places, what to do in an emergency…”

“They were training you to lead, Godwin.” The other, the lighter shaded tan, Gunner said. And from a young age, Gilda would have added, but she supposed that would break the mood.

“Well, I guess it makes sense.” Godwin let his words hang in the air, looking at nothing in particular.

“Come on. Let’s see if we find something you like.” The blacksmith griffon walked him over to a stand with a dozen swords of various sizes and makes, waiting for a buyer.

While they talked and the blacksmith showed Godwin his wares, Gilda noticed she really had nothing to do there other than waste their time. But she wanted to be there with Grunhilda and Godwin. Her attention turned to the former, talking to the female sibling.

She held the metallic spear, standing about a head shorter than Grunhilda while holding it. That thing looked heavy, being all metallic, in a dark shade of gray. But not so much in the way Groffi moved it. The tip was metallic, and the shaft too, showing complex carvings, like vines engraved into the shaft. The heel of the spear showed a closed griffon fist. It was simple, practical and ornate at the same time.

Groffi’s gray eyes kept going up and down the weapon, critically appraising it. She got as far as sniffing at the metal and licking it. Finally, she sat and grinned at Grunhilda. “Yeah. This is Astrani steel. Old too. It’s true as the day it was forged, even if it is a bit short for you. The problem is that it won’t accept reforging. I could make an adaptation, but that would be disrespectfully shoddy work and prone to breaking. Not to mention that it would ruin the butt. You ought to learn to use it the way it is.”

She left the spear on the table and picked up the shield. Gave it a happy nod, holding it in her paws, turning it around, and smiling. “This thing though… I can adjust the fittings! That oughta do it!”

The shield was three concentric hexagonal plates of black-stained clear steel with an image of a stern griffon on his profile. It showed some dents, which Gilda thought added authenticity to the thing. Behind the steel it was plywood with a steel handle and an old leather loop. The thing was so old the leather had degraded, even with its infused magic. Or maybe it was because of the Windigos’ magic? The important thing was that Groffi could fix it for Grunhilda.

“Great!” Grunhilda gave a happy little hop. “Please do it, Miss Blacksmith!”

Gilda let Grunhilda take care of that. Seeing Big Girl taking care of her things and taking the initiative always made her happy. Meanwhile, Gilda turned again to Godwin and the male sibling. They still talked about the swords and shields on the racks as she walked closer to Godwin.

“Not that I want to take away revenue from our friendly blacksmiths here, but… Why don’t you take one of those Astrani weapons we got from the mine? I’m sure Lady Geena wouldn’t oppose it. Or Gosalynn, for that matter.” Gilda looked at him and then at the weapons. Not bad weapons, as far as she could see, but not ‘legendary tier’ ancient relics. She smiled at the tom. “We’ll tell her I want to give it to you as a mating gift.”

Godwin’s eyes kept drifting over the swords strewn over the table and hanging from the rack. “I feel like I’m not good enough, and it would be a waste to put something like that in my paws.”

He frowned at her. “I’m not some chosen one with supernatural skills and abilities to use weapons like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Gilda glared down at him. “You are going to be the next big bad griffon sitting at the top of the mountain after the Lion moves to Griffonstone to become the Griffon King. Lady Geena will be your subject. As are all the griffons who live in Snow Mountains. Including these two.”

Makes one wonder if that wasn’t the plan right from the start. Meanwhile, Gertha, the two Gunner guys, Grunhilda, the two black and gray siblings stopped what they were doing. Every single griffon shopper or employee of the siblings just stood there. All of them looked dumb while they processed Gilda’s words.

Finally, Gertha spoke, wide-eyed. “Holy carp! That’s actually right!”

Then she threw a foxy smile at Godwin. “I’d offer to mate you, Godwin. But I think you already got a younger and cuter mate.”

“Drat.” Gertha went on while the others laughed at Godwin’s panicked expression. “My quest to find a rich guy to marry continues.”

“You’d die of boredom within a week, Gertha.” The light tan one of the tan ex-soldiers laughed.

“That’s probably true.” Gertha laughed too. “Anyway, the point remains that you oughta get yourself some nice weapons, Godwin.”

“Not only because they’re nice and show your status, but they’re better for killing things. They make it easier for you and we don’t want you dying. Especially with you going on the mission to deal with the bandits. I’m pretty sure Lady Gwendolen too would prefer it if you didn’t die. Not to mention that if I can just take a sweet Astrani crossbow from the undead griffons, I’m pretty sure you can nab a couple of things, too.”

Gilda simply nodded at Gertha’s words, as did the two ex-soldier mercenaries. The light tan one spoke. “Right. You were there, fighting too. Legitimate loot if I ever saw it.”

The surrounding griffons voiced similar opinions or simply agreed in silence. The way the young tom stared into the empty air told Gilda he considered what Gertha had just told him. Gilda took the opportunity to act on the situation, because for feather’s sake, she liked the lucky, cute young tom and his sisters. It may be because of the way she met them, or because Godwin had grown on her, but whatever. The important thing was that he was lucky enough she liked him.

“Yeah. Let’s get something cool out of our bounty for you.” Gilda decided and then turned to Grotti, the male sibling. “Meanwhile, how about you get Godwin something nice too? Something special. Come on. I bet my feathers you have something in here.”

“I don’t know…” The male blacksmith sibling stroked the feathers behind his neck. “I think that what we have is kind of expensive and… Uh… Unique. No offense Godwin, but I gotta look for our business and this gun is nice, but it is mass produced. Not like an Astrani relic out of an untamed ruin.”

The first thing that dawned on Gilda was the silence. Not total silence, as the noises of the market still came from the street. The deafening silence came from the griffons around them because of the glare Groffi directed at her brother.

“Grotti…” She used that unique tone from mothers when they were not angry. Yet.

“Don’t start it, Groffi!” The male promptly defended himself, but she simply stared harder, and he winced. “No! Just no!”

“How can you say that!?” She opened her forelegs and raised her voice in abject shock at his posture. “We’re like family, almost!”

“No, we’re not. Godwin is a customer.” Her brother returned to his resolute posture, frowned, and groused at her. Like a battle of wills, he was quickly losing under her glare.

Godwin was going to say something, but one of the Gunner guys, the dark tan one, interrupted him speaking with a paw on his shoulder and a hushed tone. “Never interrupt an enemy when they are making a mistake… Or a vendor when they are about to give you a discount!”

Gilda simply sat and watched the situation develop around her. Any interference might break the magic.

“We were all fucking together last night!” Groffi insisted, glaring at her brother.

“That is not… I mean… It’s…” Grotti stumbled on the words and blushed.

“You were staring at Gilda’s ass the whole time!”

“I was not! I was! Fine! Fine! I’ll get the stupid armor!” Her brother screeched before he stormed into their home.

Groffi smiled warmly at Godwin with her large gray eyes. A dozen seconds of raging complaining passed. Angry thrashing, and noises of throwing things around came from inside the house. Finally, the brother pushed outside a griffon mannequin hidden under a coarse cotton cloth.

“You better be ready to cough up some good money for this, though! Because this thing is definitely not your entry-level adventurer gear!”

“There is no such thing as entry level gear, Grotti! For Mother’s sake!” His sister interrupted him. “Godwin is going to be your liege, birdbrain!”

“Can I just borrow it, or something?” Godwin rolled his eyes. He gave Gilda the impression he just wanted to be done with the mess more than buying the thing. “I’ll pay when I actually have the money.”

His posture changed as soon as Grotti pulled the cloth from the mannequin. It was an ordinary mannequin made of wood chips and an aggregating glue, shaped to resemble the basic body shape of a male griffon. It was even complete with a pair of open wings and details like eyes and a fierce expression. Nothing unexpected, but it held a full set of armor.

A clear steel cuirass, decorated with fancy, twirly lines over a tunic of clear and shiny ringmail. Bracelets with gauntlets, made with fine metal scales, fitting perfectly over the fingers. It had a curious, bladed, whip-like weapon on the tail, also made with thin scales and ending on a thin, sharp blade. A stylish helmet, imitating the feathers on a griffon, blown back during flight. Extending wingblades, made so the momentum would spin the free parts with the right movement. It looked rather flimsy and light, with the clearest shine to the metal, which meant…

“Some spelunker guy gave it to us to pay for repairs on his gear. He took it from a ruin but didn’t have the money to repair it and lost interest. Remaking it was a personal project of ours and it was sheer luck we had access to proper pieces of Astrani steel that fit. Working with it was a pain!” Grotti explained as he kept dusting the thing with the tuft at the tip of his black tail.

“So, it’s gonna be a five thousand Eagles.” Groffi walked next to it, smiling at Godwin and almost killing her brother.

“What the? No!” Grotti squawked, taken aback as though her words had physically hurt him. “That is far less than we would charge for a normal, complete set of armor!”

“Yes, but Godwin is special.” Groffi turned around and glared at him.

“He can pay the full price of seventy-five grand if he’s so special!” The male barked back at her.

Godwin tried saying something, but the female sibling talked over him with angry gestures. “He doesn’t have the money right now!”

The sum made Gilda’s head spin. She could pay the entire trip from Wayfarer’s Rest to Griffindell with how much that thing cost. Grotti yelling at his sister, growling, and flaring his wings drew Gilda’s attention again. “He can buy the armor once he has the money, and after he actually becomes the Lord of the Black Gate!”

Gilda’s first impulse was to just say she would pay for it and pile it on her growing debt to Lady Gwendolen. The whole thing was such a formality by now, even if seventy-five thousand was ridiculous. It was Lady Gwendolen who said that wealth is meant to serve a need. Although, ultimately, Godwin might not want someone making such expenses in his name. Thus, she kept her beak shut. If Godwin asked it of her, she’d get it for him.

Godwin never asked, though. He waved his paws and made the twins stop arguing. “I’m very thankful. But I am not prepared to make this sort of, uh… Investment.”

“See?” Grotti glared at his sister. “The tom is reasonable!”

Groffi sat and flared her wings, pouting like a slighted cub. “What if he dies in the fight because he didn’t have a good, well-fitted armor?”

Gilda raised an eyebrow at that comment, and Godwin just frowned. “I’ll do my best not to die, Miss Groffi. I’ll also take on Miss Gilda’s advice and grab something from our loot.”

Groffi gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Then, at least let us work on it. Bring it here and we’ll make sure they’re usable and refitted for you. And we’ll pay the difference on the gun.”

“Sounds fair!” Godwin said with a smile.

Next to the female blacksmith sibling, Grunhilda glared at him like she was his angry mother. “You should have told them you wanted the armor; you dummy!”

There were many ways they could have solved the issue of the price. But if that was Godwin’s decision, then that was Godwin’s decision. With the drama resolved, and a quick talk with Lady Geena sorted the plan of the loot too. Turned out it was all secured at the keep’s barracks, under Gevorg’s care.

Unfortunately, none of the suits of armor they found would fit Godwin, and the guard’s blacksmith didn’t think possible to adapt one in practical time. Unlike the piece the twins had, those were heavier and that made fitting harder.

Godwin’s beak held a giant smile, and his eyes glowed, though. They found a nifty arming sword with a guard styled as a screaming griffon with the sword coming out of its beak. The shield was plywood, reinforced with Astrani steel, the same as Grunhilda’s. Perfectly preserved, painted with sky-blue and a white mountain instead of the griffon’s visage protruding from it.

The sword reminded Gilda of all the rumors about Lord Gilad. That the Lion could cast magic with his words. The shield probably belonged to some soldier, thousands of years ago, that died protecting the mines from the Windigos, certainly. Could it be that the sword belonged to some important griffon, though? One related to Lord Gilad? A griffon that could, much like the Emperor in the past and the Lion in the present, use magic with their words? Either way, the important thing was that Godwin was happy. That was what mattered to Gilda.

Gevorg complained that his main weapon should be something like a lance or a pike, or any polearm. Or even a mace or hammer. An ax perhaps. But that would probably be fine, since Godwin had a nice gun. And those weren’t any run-off-the-mill sword and shield either. Maybe Gilda knew nothing of it, but she could see a badass griffon armed with sword and shield being just as effective as a polearm yielding soldier. Gilda just let Godwin deal with it and, while he listened to Gevorg, he had made up his mind.

With the day soon drawing to dusk, they returned to the blacksmith twins. It hurt Gilda a little that she couldn’t get him a good set of armor and that he was so happy with a sword and a shield. Truth be told, those were incredibly valued artifacts. They would serve him well, but she couldn’t help feeling for his humbleness and just how easily he dealt with what he had. Nevertheless, Grotti made sure the sword and shield were perfect for Godwin and paid him for the firearm.

Meanwhile, Groffi got Gilda to let her have a look at Mythical. Apparently, even legendary magical weapons made in present times needed maintenance. She would spend almost an hour fitting Mythical’s guard and pommel in their place, then re-wrapping the string around its handle.

Usually, Gilda would stay and watch the whole thing, but she decided letting Grunhilda learn from Groffi was a better idea. Her mind wandered to the roc and carried her feet in a bout of responsible guardianship. She had simply stashed it away in the Aviary and didn’t have a lot of time to be with it. Grunhilda would take care of Mythical while she was away.

The keep being such a landmark, Gilda found her way back to it and passed the gates in no time. With the Aviary in sight, something immediately seemed wrong. The young roc was making a racket inside and it didn’t sound like the happy chirping and excited cawing from when he first arrived. The guards had left their post and the side door was open. Gilda’s calm, smile and easygoing gait turned to a grimace and a gallop.

Coming in from the side entrance, she found wooden tubs filled with snow and fresh meat cuts. The roc screeched and wings flapped in the main room beyond. A pair of scared griffons hid behind the corner, and someone screamed on the other side. Gilda pounced ahead with a flap of her wings and skidded on the straw-covered floor.

The two guards stood before her Beastmaster’s father while he held down a thrashing griffon. Red stained his dark blue pelt and the straw on the floor. The pair of armed griffons held their spears and shields between them and the roc. It towered over them, even as they stood on their hindlegs. Flapping his wings and scratching the floor with tentative lunges. Both guards kept yelling at it to stop but had no effect.

The gray huntress reclined on the hay, a couple of wingspans from the commotion, holding her bloody shoulder. “This is not working! Stop yelling at him! You’re just making him more anxious!”

Gilda flared her wings and shouted at them to stop, but it availed to nothing. The roc’s beak struck the shield like a boulder. He pierced through the plywood, sending the splintered shield one way and the griffon to the other as he tried to dodge and deflect. The other guard thrust his spear at the large bird’s neck, but the steel tip glanced away harmlessly. It failed to pierce the magical shielding of his shiny caramel feathers, and now the roc poised to kick at the downed guard.

Gilda jumped in front of the roc, shoving the standing guard aside and wings flaring before the roc could attack again. “Cut it out!”

The roc infant jumped back and screeched. In the following split-second, Gilda remembered she didn’t have her sword and that thing probably could tear her apart. But he seemed to recognize her. From lunging and screeching, he flapped his wings with distressful caws, stomping his feet on the floor.

“Chill, little guy! I get it! You’re angry!” She sat and put forward her paws. The roc lowered himself to the floor with a frustrated caw.

He let Gilda touch his face, and she did it slowly, but firmly. Much faster than before, she found her focus and her mind touched with the roc’s. Her presence drew away the bird’s impetus at defending himself, as there was no threat anymore. Gilda shushed him with soft chirps before she smiled and pulled away. “It’s gonna be okay. Nobody is gonna hurt you.”

When she finally turned to the others, Gilda found one of their helpers from the city, a deep blue, medium-sized griffon, clutching his forepaw. A gnarly gash ran the length of his leg from wrist to elbow. There was blood everywhere, but he was awake. Clearly in pain, despite his silent wince, but fortunately awake. The guard who the roc attacked laid on the straw, also holding his foreleg, but there was no external injury.

“Are you guys gonna be okay?” Gilda looked back at the roc. Ensuring he was still calm, and found him lying on the floor, but watching with jerky, shifting eyes.

Ignoring a bloody hole on her gray cloak, the beastmaster held the bloodied griffon. “He needs urgent help!”

Her father and her mate came rushing and made the roc tense his body and raise his plumage, but Gilda’s shushing made him accept their presence. He reacted with only a couple of anxious, fidgeting upstarts and a distressed chirp. The two dragged the two injured griffons away while Gilda waved the other guard away. She remained alone with the roc and the huntress.

“What happened, Glena?” She asked the gray griffoness. The infant roc remained on the floor, eyes shifting between the two like a cub whose parents discussed their misbehavior.

“I’m not sure.” The huntress shrugged. “He’s been nervous, but he seemed happy. I had my back to them, checking the meat shipment. To see if it was alright. Then I heard a scream and the roc screeching. When I turned around, he kicked that griffon on the floor. My Pa and mate saw nothing either. Then the two guards came in.”

Gilda winced. The roc gave a long, pleading chirp at her and Gilda shushed him again. She spoke as softly as her snappy voice would allow. “It’s okay, little dude. Just chill. Just let me see what happened. Alright?”

She approached him again, extending her hind leg. He pulled back his head with an inquisitive chirp and swung his head from side to side.

“Careful.” The huntress told Gilda from behind. “He looks scared.”

His beak hung slightly open, but he was still lying on the floor. Almost pulling his neck and drawing away from her touch, like he was a turtle. His eyes kept shifting around, and Gilda spoke as softly as she could again. “Come on, buddy. I thought we were over this.”

Gilda was not as confident as Lady Geena, but she was assertive and knew what she was doing. The little roc chirped and fidgeted with his bird-like jerky movements before Gilda finally touched the side of his head. Just behind his eye.

Anxiety and fear flooded her, but it worked. Like her body knew what it was doing better than she did herself. Whatever magic connected them provided the answers. Like watching events unfold from the other side of a foggy glass, she saw a griffon approach as though she was the young roc.

Fear prevailed. Anxiety. Much like the first time Gilda touched the creature’s mind, it was afraid of anyone that approached it. Even her. Even the huntress and her family. The indigo griffon was no exception and he approached too fast. In his attempt to help, he forgot the roc was a wild magical beast. He ignored a distressed warning chirp and failed to notice the puffed-up plumage. When he tried to pet the roc, he crossed a line, and the bird panicked. It was a horrible feeling that sent Gilda back to the alley in Griffonstone.

The roc kicked and threw the griffon in the air, and then kicked again, almost ripping off his hind leg. Finally, Gilda pulled her paw away slowly and let go a soft sigh. No reason to make the roc chick go through that again. The oversized bird chirped and bent his head curiously.

Gilda calmly caressed his bill’s culmen. “I guess it’s not your fault. You’re too young and you’ve been through a lot already, haven’t you?”

His sad chirp barely came out while he came short of deflating on the floor.

“We’ll work this out, alright?” She stroked his beak again, a bit more vigorously, reassuringly and smiling.

The bird hopped to his feet and sang a cheerful note. His flapping wings sent straw everywhere, and Gilda took a couple of steps back, smiling. Even as an infant, his shiny feathers in bronze, caramel, gold and white were a glorious display. Even more so with his excited dancing.

The huntress approached. “You’re supposed to discourage inappropriate behavior.”

“Yeah, I know. But he understands he did something wrong. He’s just too scared.”

“This doesn’t bode well.”

“Wasn’t there a northerner lord that had a pet roc?”

“Lord Giranor.” The huntress nodded. “His roc was called Slipstream.”

“That sounds like a good name for him.” The huntress simply nodded at Gilda’s words. “Talk to the injured griffons for me. See about compensation for his injuries. And yours.”

“The fact you were born in the south is the only reason I am not offended.” The large, gray griffoness huffed. Her voice came out sharp, but she said nothing further. She paused as both watched the oversized bird expressing his happiness by running around and flapping wings. “The dangers of the job are understood along with the rewards.”

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to aggravate your honor or something.” Thankfully, the griffoness chuckled along as Gilda rolled her eyes. They watched the roc scampering around its coop. “But give the injured griffons the opportunity to accept compensation.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Hey! Can I help you feed him? I feel kinda bad I stashed him here and went to take care of other stuff. I could use some time to think, too.”

“Absolutely!” The large gray huntress smiled and started on her way to their meat storage, almost like a kitchen by the entrance. In her place, Gilda would want someone to have a looksee at her wound, but the Beastmaster didn’t seem bothered by it. Instead, she disappeared into the other room.

Gilda distracted herself watching the roc pecking at the wooden floor and throwing straw around. An innocent child exploring his small world. A small chick that could kill adult griffons and Gilda didn’t even want to think of the damage he could do to the hippogriffs. But the situation allowed for few alternatives.

Her thoughtful stare at the bird turned into a concerned, aimless stare while he scratched at the floor and ran off after something. Soon enough, Beastmaster Glena returned, pulling a rope with her beak, dragging along a small wooden board. A wooden plate held a red, juicy pile of meat along with a pair of iron tongs. Tools probably used by blacksmiths rather than cooks, the pincers would keep a safe distance between Gilda’s fingers and the roc’s beak.

The smell of blood kicked Gilda’s head harder than a double cup of coffee and the roc immediately dashed next to them. He hopped and flapped his wings with excited screeches like an excited pet.

Gilda couldn’t help but laugh. “He sure likes this stuff!”

“My Pa and Gorath went to the market to get some beef for him, but the vendor offered them fresh game meat. It’s probably better for him, anyway. He’s certainly feeling stronger after a couple of good meals.” She offered Gilda one of the elongated tools. “Enough to defend himself, for sure.”

The tan griffoness opened a wide smile, holding the tool and grabbing a piece of meat. Not letting go of the meat while he pecked and pulled at it. Eventually, the meat slipped from the pincers under his assault. He shook his head and chirped victoriously after swallowing his prize. It had probably gone cold, but the bird didn’t seem to mind. He immediately attacked another bite that the huntress offered.

“Do you figure Slipstream is a good name?” Gilda asked, as she grabbed another piece of meat. The roc still pulled and jerked at the piece of meat Glena offered. With admirable determination and focus, threatening to drag the beastmaster along the floor.

“It sure beats Rocky!” Glena squawked while the bird almost lifted her out of the floor before she let go of the meat for him. “Although I am sure Slipstream was a formel.”

Gilda blinked at the word but refrained from asking about its meaning. She decided to learn something new and pretended she already knew it meant ‘female’. Finally, the bird ripped the juicy red meat from the teeth-like pincers. They’d have to clear the even bloodier straw, but all three were having fun.

She chuckled and fed Slipstream another piece. “You hear that? You’re Slipstream now!”

It was impossible to know if he understood or even heard her while the meat seemed to be his priority. But that mattered little. Her happy thoughts couldn’t drown the images of hippogriffs in the places of those griffons. Of bloody gashes and lost limbs because of a scared animal. She could just take the hippogriffs, let them be and not care about any griffon getting in her case about it. But she wasn’t afraid of regular griffons. And once again, she concluded she had no choice after getting herself involved. Because the idea of abandoning those hippogriffs hurt almost as much as being abandoned by the Harpy.

“Can you do me a favor?” She asked Glena, relinquishing the last piece of meat to the newly named roc.

“Don’t worry.” Glena said as she laid her tongs on the bloody, empty platter. “I’ll ask Lady Gia to look at my shoulder.”

“That is not it.” Slipstream kept jerking his head. Looking at the plate and at the tongs Gilda held. “Educate the hippogriffs about feeding and caring for the roc. And uh… Be patient. They’re not happy and I'd rather not have too many issues.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am… I understand the situation. When you return from the raid with the others, everything will be fine.”

Next Chapter: Battle on the Fields of Sorrow, Pt. I Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 34 Minutes