Griffinstone United

"The Red Gear has no fear, we make our words very clear!"

The singsong voice cut through the air, the freezing breeze carrying it down to the fledglings' camp supervisor who grinned at the children's adorable confidence. Despite it only being the birth of fall, the trees were bare of any golden leaves. It wasn't too crazy, however, since they were to the northernmost part of the empire, past the border. The unexpected weather was still odd, however, as a light snow had begun to fall earlier and the breeze was soon becoming a harsh wind. The skies above were a dull grey, the sun nowhere to be seen in the barrier of cloud.

Naked trees swung back and forth, their dead, claw-like branches seemingly bending down to grasp at the marching children. Beyond their voices, the frigid forest was abnormally quiet, besides the whistle of the wind. No squirrels scrambled about. No birds or crows called out. No rabbits hopped across the pathway that they all walked down. The whole place was devoid of life.

"The Red Gear will not fear, your armies are completely mere!"

Shoulda' brought a jacket, the supervising griffon, Gare, grumpily thought amidst the warmth from the children who were donned in thick cloaks and scarves. With deep, crimson red plumage similar to the Red Gear's color, and an even darker red coat, he had decided to leave his thick coat back at the cabin in the kiddie-combat camp. Now he sorely regretted it as the gale blasted against him, ruffling his feathers, making him shiver like a madman. Where is Greave, anyway?

This was a valid question. The assistant supervisor of the camp, Greave, who had only been hired days ago, had wandered off to grab some berries for the young griffons to munch on today, but he had left yesterday morning. The supervisor wasn't fretting about it; the way the wilderness was now, there wasn't a single threat to the kids or him. Either way, he should've been back in an hour or so, but instead he still hadn't returned even in the morning. That was the whole reason he'd set up this little march, to maybe look for him, but it was becoming evident that Greave would not be here. Regardless, they'd continue on while Gare looked around.

The whole scene was eerily serene. With no wildlife to watch or point out, the trip was mostly just scenery of dead trees that were whipped back and forth in the heavy gust, the snow that they had accumulated being discarded, falling to the ground. Twigs and bits of brown grass poked out from under the bright blanket of snow, and beyond the scrawny trees, Gare spotted a small lake that had been frozen over, the pale, silvery shore free of trees.

Maybe we could have a little picnic there, he thought off topic. The little griffons could skate around and chat with one another while I search for Greave. Perhaps he would do that, for the search was becoming fruitless. They might as well return to camp and alert somebody of the disappearance if he isn't back by tomorrow-

The cheery voices of the small griffons came to a screeching halt as they all stopped. Gare looked over, a frown painted over his beak. "Hey, why'd you stop..."

His jaw dropped, as the children's already were, at the sight before them. Paralyzed, a familiar looking griffon was encased in an uneven block of thick, crystal-like ice. His beak was contorted in agony, hands reaching out in fearful anguish, wings frozen in a way to where it seemed like he was trying to fly, yet he was entombed in his frigid prison. All of the fledgling's slowly started backing up, and one of them screamed out.

"C-c-coach G-greave is dead!" the leading child shouted, causing everyone else to panic as they flew off, zooming past Gare as he stood there, rooted to the ground in shock and awe. Their screams eventually started fading as he stared up at his frozen companion, Greave's iron gaze looking down at him, seemingly begging for help. Eventually, he started to stumble backwards, dizzy and lightheaded. His gut wrenched as he hacked up a mix of bile and leftover sandwich from their last bonfire, the dark brown sludge oozing over the clean ground, staining the snow.

We need to get the authorities here immediately, he thought, backing away, hands raised in caution as if the statue were going to attack. Gare didn't deserve this. His feet started going quicker and quicker until he broke out into a run, dashing after the fleeing children. The trees to the sides of him became a chromatic blur of grey on grey as he sprinted towards the camp.

He only swiveled his head to look back once, but he had caught a glimpse of some sort of figure standing above the oversized griffon popsicle, cobalt, luminescent eyes gazing back at him. A twisted grin was below those wicked eyes, but the strange creature vanished as soon as Gare focused on it, making him question if it was even real. Even if it was, it didn't matter. He just had to run. Run, run, and run...