Chapter 1: Who are you? Who am I?

Darkness.

Darkness and pain were the only things I knew. Everything hurt. Every breath burned in my chest. My head throbbed and felt nearly twice its natural size. I shivered with cold and burned with heat. My stomach churned and I wanted to empty it, but couldn't bring myself to.

Slowly, I opened one of my eyes as wide as I could and light immediately struck me like a blade. I closed it again and let out a moan of misery, trying to lift a leg to cover my eyes. My legs, something was wrapped around each one of them. I couldn't move them more than a few twitches and even that was agony.

Despite the pain, I opened my eye again.

The light wasn't as bad this time, but it still hurt. I let my vision roam as I took in my surroundings. I was lying on a bed and covered in several warm quilts. The small room was warmed by a fire across from me. The room was cozy, full of old furniture that looked hoof-made. Hoof-stitched quilts were draped here and there. From the pot hanging over the fire, the spicy scent of stew wafted over, making my mouth water.

Somewhere outside of my field of vision, I began to hear a rhythmic metallic squeaking and splashing. I strained to turn my head and see what was going on, but I couldn't lift it more than an inch before my strength gave out. My head dropped back to the soft pillow and I lay there, panting from the exertion. The world seemed to swing around me crazily. I closed my one good eye and pleaded with myself to not make a mess. The shock would kill me.

A cold, wet cloth was placed across my forehead and I sighed my pleasure as my feverish skin was cooled. I opened my eye again to reveal my benefactor.

“Ah, you've made it through the night. I guess that means you're going to be okay.” He leaned close and clicked his beak thoughtfully. “I can only assume it's been a while since you last ate, but I don't think solids are a good idea while you're recuperating. Do you think you could keep some milk down?”

The very thought of eating anything caused my roiling pit of a stomach to launch flashes of hot bile up my throat. I had no appetite.

The griffon shook his head. “Regardless of how you feel, you must try to eat something. All of the work I've put into mending your injuries will go to waste if I allow you to starve. As I hate wasted work, I have every intention of making you eat. Besides, milk will help settle your stomach.”

A feeble whine was all I could manage in protest.

My griffon caretaker ignored my complaint. He gave a satisfied nod and stood, disappearing for a moment before returning with a small cup.

“Here we are. Nice warm milk. I don't keep any cows, but the silver bit I have in the jug does a fine job of keeping the milk from spoiling for a while.”

He sat down on the edge of my bed and gently wrapped a claw around my barrel. Hot daggers of pain shot through my ribs as he pulled me into a reclined position against his chest. Tears welled up in my swollen eyes and he lightened his grip.

“I'm sorry. I know that hurt. Hopefully, we won't have to do this for much longer.”

Free of the quilts, I finally got a look at my body. What wasn't hidden by white bandages was a foreign landscape of purple and swollen flesh. My legs were held in heavy wooden crudely-fashioned splints.

“It's not the best work.” The griffon confessed. “I'm not exactly a doctor, but you should be fine. Here, the sooner you start taking in nutrition, the faster you'll heal.”

I stared at the cup he held before my muzzle, the creamy milk sloshing within, and turned away from it, pressing my head against his chest.

“Oh, come now. You're far too old to be acting like this. You should know better.”

“'M not hungry.” I managed to croak.

“Be that as it may, I'm not leaving until you drink it all. Think of it this way, the sooner you do as I say, the sooner you'll be rid of me and can get back to resting.”

That was all there was to it, apparently. He was a stubborn old bird.

Stubborn.

The word turned up a memory of an old mare with a green coat, arguing with me over something. Something trivial, but I'd be damned if I knew who she was.

Reluctantly, I turned my head back to the cup and wrapped my lips around the rim.

“There we go. Good girl.”

He began to tilt the cup as I drank.

“Not so fast. Not so fast now.” He lowered it and I sat, panting for breath.

The milk slid down my throat to my stomach and the heat eased somewhat. I felt a brief flash of annoyance that he had been right.

Again, the cup was pressed to my lips and I continued to drink, draining the cup. I was surprisingly full, despite the fact that I couldn't remember when I had last eaten.

Actually, I couldn't remember much of anything.

Carefully, the griffon slid out from beneath me and helped me settle back into a semi-comfortable position in the bed. Everything hurt, but I managed to shift into a spot where some things hurt less. I watched the griffon as he moved about the cabin, washing and putting away the cup, and generally straightening up.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He turned. “Who am I? My name is Yantzen and this is my home. I found you in the river just outside. I'd like to help you find your family. Do you know where they are?”

I thought hard, drawing up only hazy memories of a green-coated stallion with a brown mane and a half-grown, red-coated colt only to have them vanish as soon as I tried to concentrate on them. Finally, I ceased my efforts. “I'm sorry. I can't.”

Yantzen shrugged. “If you can't, you can't. There's nothing to be sorry about. In time, we'll find where you belong. Until then, you'll stay with me. I can't, in good conscience, toss you out the moment you're well enough.”

He peeled back the quilts and gently prodded me with a talon, assessing my injuries. Occasionally, he'd ask me to tell him where he was touching or how bad the pain was. He undid some of the bandages to get a better look at the wounds themselves. I tried to see what kind of condition I was in, but I still couldn't lift my head very high.

He straightened with a satisfied look. At least, I thought he looked satisfied. Beaks weren't the most expressive facial features.

“You Earth ponies are tough, I'll give you that. There doesn't appear to be any spinal injuries and none of the wounds are infected. That's all very good. I'm going to change your bandages. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to wash you, first.”

“Why is that unfortunate?” I asked.

He fixed me with a grim look. “Because it's going to hurt.”

With great care, he removed the blood-stained bandages, letting the wounds sit in the open air while he heated the water and fetched soap. I maneuvered so that I could catch a glimpse of what everything looked like.

A massive cut, closed by thread, ran along my flank from hip to wither. Another ran up my hind leg. Smaller cuts and abrasions covered my battered form, but those were the only two that needed direct attention.

“Most of your injuries are internal. The worst of them are to your legs and your ribs. What I think happened was that you fell from a great height and landed in the water on your belly. Does anything sound familiar?”

I shook my head. “I can't remember anything.”

He nodded, sitting down next to me. “Try to not do that again. It's rather painful.”

“So I gathered.”

From the steaming pot of water, he removed a wet cloth, which he loaded with soap. “I'll do my best to be as gentle as possible, but it will still hurt a great deal. Remain still and I will be done faster.”

I nodded and laid down, trying to remain relaxed as he worked the blood and filth from my coat. He started just below my ears and worked his way down, taking extra care at the wounds. I couldn't help the bit of squirming at his ministrations. However, I moved enough for him to feel the need to pin me with a talon.

Gently, he rolled me over and spread my legs so that he could wash my belly and under my tail. As he finished that, he rolled me onto my other side and began again from my neck. The bedding beneath me felt damp.

“Think you could change the sheets while you're at it? They're a little wet.”

He nodded. “Indeed. That was my intention.”

When he finished washing me. He folded the sheet around me and used it as a sling to move me to a pile of quilts on the floor. He was either very strong or I weighed very little. More than likely, it was a bit of both.

I watched while he moved quickly, changing out the damp sheets for fresh ones from a chest at the foot of the bed. He moved quickly and efficiently with practiced precision. The crisp sheet was stretched taut over the mattress and the pillows were neatly arranged. Satisfied with that work, he folded me back into the sheet and returned me to the bed.

He looked me over once more while idly scratching at his brown and silver plumage. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the pain is?”

“Six.” I replied.

He nodded and disappeared, returning with a jar of white ointment. “This will numb the pain for a while, allowing you some rest.” He opened the jar, took a talon-full of the goop, and began to spread it over my body.

The sudden absence of sensation was a welcome relief compared to the constant ache I had been in. I watched as he worked, carefully massaging it into my coat and skin. The powerful scent of mint hit my nose and I snorted my displeasure.

“I know.” He replied sympathetically. “Believe it or not, the mint oil I added actually improves the smell. The herbs I used to make this are known for their potency, not their pleasant aroma.”

He replaced the lid on the jar and set it aside. Taking fresh bandages, he wrapped my wounds and dragged the quilts back over me.

“The ointment will numb the pain for the rest of the day. Rest while you can. I must tend to my garden, but I'll be in periodically to check on you.”

I nodded as the heavy pressure of exhaustion began to fall over me. The pain was gone, for now, but all of the moving about had consumed what little energy I had. I felt good and clean. The bedding was clean, soft, and smelled fresh. Between the ointment, the fresh bedding, and the general feeling of safety, I soon found myself dozing.