Hail

To a griffin something like an old pony was not prey. Yes it was easy and yes they could sustain you but their sentience made it... wrong. But when your wings ache and a blizzard draws near after four days of starved hunt you tend to question what you thought. Is eating a pony as bad as letting yourself die? She had been thinking about this for over an hour, standing outside the dark cave in the middle of nowhere. No one would know what she did... and she needed it to live. Helga decided that perhaps survival was more important than morals.

Helga was a young bird, the old don't tend to do well in the wastes, with a sharp bronze beak and large grey feathers. In the wastes she was a beauty, but a total female population of a thousand tends to do that. If her feathers were a pure white, or her wings pristine she'd look better. If her face wasn't scarred and thin from failed hunts, nor her claws ragged and worn from lost fights. If her body wasn't chased by scars that made her look like a map, then she'd be beautiful. In the wastes the rugged survived and beauty died. Helga liked being alive. She liked to hunt. She knew how to prowl unnoticed through the cave, using the slowly increasing whistling blizzard wind to hide the soft click click click of claws on stone. She followed the sent of the old pony his home in the cave, where each step came with an electric feeling in her wings. The blizzard outside began to creep inside and stopped as she entered a large hollow cavern. The pony wasn't there. Has he given me the slip. she thought, not with this blizzard outside.

She climbed to a ledge high in the cave and sat in wait. Soon enough the pony walked out hood off. A unicorn, she'd have to be quick. He made his way to the center of the room and drilled the floor, that'd keep him distracted. A small preparation. Pounce. Glide. Strike.

Her beak was covered in the pony's blood, it's body still on the floor. She ate.

Loud cracks echoed around him, sending whizzing and popping through the brush. To his side a man stood in full combat gear and an emblem on his side, three crowns on a blue field. This man, Gustav, was his squad lead and a hell of a good fighter. At the moment he stood in the trench, announcing orders left and right, treating the bullets as if they were nothing more than bees. Sven was listening intently, his hands poised on his heavy machine gun let them get close then give them hell. Whilst he did not like it, Sven trusted his friend and waited until the order was given. "Now Sven!"

Like firecrackers in July his gun fired with a steady crack crack crack. He aimed roughly from foe to foe trying to take as many out as possible, and where it wasn't pin them down.

For no reason in particular -at least to him- he heard one shot louder than all others, and with it a sharp push on his chest. He fell backwards onto...

A bed.

In any other circumstance it'd be a welcome change of pace, but in the middle of combat napping was fairly high up on the list of things you don't want to do. Then again he might not have to worry about that list. Combat usually had the constant clamor of commands accompanied with the cracks of shots fired yet Sven could not hear any of it. He was certain he could hear, the low whistle of wind was proof enough. Sitting up he saw a room made in a cave that just looked wrong. The desks were way to small and the coffee table didn't pass his knee. Not to mention all the furniture looked -poorly- hand made and was situated in a cave. He stood up, taking a look around, and saw many things. First that he was naked, Second that there were furs on the bed and Third that he looked good in them. Not model good, best caveman in the shop good.

He heard crying of some sort. It sounded longer and higher pitched but was unmistakably crying.

Hair on edge he softly padded towards the sound, picked up a stool, and peaked round the door. Sat in the middle of a larger cave, claws covered in blood, sat a literal griffon over the ripped corpse of a literal... something. There aren't many ways to identify what looks like a blue horse, especially when a sizable portion is missing, presumed eaten. Sven padded slowly forward and crouched low, trying to get close up and behind the beast. It's ear twitched...

It turned around...

...and saw some sort of snow-monster carrying a chair above itself as if it were a god. It was weird hairless -apart from the blond mane on its head- with a strong frame. It bore a large pink scar on its chest. Clearly it was a threat so she wisely cried fearsomely.

"EEEP!"

Perfect, frightening. The beast dropped its chair, now it was time to take the advantage. She spread her wings with a whoosh and flew of to the other side of the cave. The creature just stood there, chair lying poorly at its feet, clearly stunned.

After a good minute it walked to the room the old pony came out of, before emerging five minutes later with a large stick in its hands. It walked off to the entrance and passed through to the tunnels leading outside. Crows that's my escape... i'm trapped. She flew down to the half eaten corpse, picking it up and carrying it towards her ledge.

A day had past. Sven had stayed on her ledge the entire time, though she passed out some point in what she presumed was the night. She wasn't sure exactly when the Creature had returned to the cave but it sat in the center looking straight at her. "WHAT ARE YOU?!" She screeched angrily. The Creature looked at her with its beady eyes, clearly planning to kill her in the night... don't fall asleep whilst its here

She fell asleep. Though so did the creature. It was lying in the same spot softly shaking when she woke up. She ate some of the rest of that poor pony, which seemed to wake it up. It stayed there all day.

A week had past, though not all in the same routine of wake up and stair at each other until they passed out. The creature found some food in the back and often came out of there eating an apple or some weird pony foods. Sven had finished all the meat from the pony by the third day, and the creature gave her some meat on the seventh or so. It was getting hard to tell the time down in the cave. The Creature had gotten more comfortable with her now. It had taken to looking at her with some paper and coal in its claws most of the day, occasionally throwing it to the side. Why hasn't it just left she thought when it broke the unspoken rule they had between them -Don't approach her ledge. She rose into a battle stance and growled fiercely yet it seemed unafraid of her threats. Instead it just placed the paper down, halfway between her ledge and its spot, along with a section of meat. As it walked back to its room she slowly flew down to the meat. Grabbing it in her beak she couldn't help but look at the drawing it had made of her.

Not bad for a winter monstrosity, it had even captured her ruffled front feathers.