Gryphus

October
Western Griffon Kingdom
Millbrook, south of Gryphus, Army Group South

Amanda moved about the square, trying to find one of the Silverbeaks. Hundreds of griffons, both locals and from smaller villages further away had gathered for the weekend market. The cow found herself sticking out from the crowd like a sore hoof, and would have likely fled from the scene were it not for Miss Stela standing next to her, offering silent encouragement.

Finding one specific griffon from the crowd was difficult, especially when she had seen the older family members only a few times.

The two pushed through the swirling mass of bodies. The musky scent of griffons mixed with the smell of cooking meat and fish at a nearby stall, and the crisp, fresh produce from the farms. Smoke and steel lingered in the air as the village blacksmith worked far away. The kaleidoscope of sensations almost overwhelmed Amanda’s keen sense of smell, which was unused to such abundance.

“Amanda! Amanda!”

Greta’s happy shout simplified the search. The hatchling hovered a meter above the crowd, swaying from side to side in an unsteady flight.

Crossing the distance, they found her mother, smiling up at her daughter.

“I see she’ll be flying everywhere in no time,” Miss Stela greeted the griffoness.

“Oh she will,” the mother agreed. She had a worn dress, covered by a red apron that reached the ground. “It’ll be a struggle to make her come down. What can I help you with?”

“Amanda here-” the cow waved shyly at the spotted griffon. “-would like to send a letter to some of your husband’s soldiers.”

“Oh? Oh! Grigore mentioned you!” Amanda’s tail rose in surprise as the griffoness shook her hoof. She looked around for pen and paper, before shaking her head. “Dear me, this is no place for a chat. Please, come over to my house. Not right now, it is all messy. How about in the afternoon?”

Amanda leaned back in surprise as the griffon was suddenly face-to-face with her. She tried to stammer out a response, but only lone syllables made their way out. To her side, the cow saw Miss Stela nod in encouragement.

“Yes! Please. I’d love that,” she finally managed.

“That’s great, I’ll get the place ready in a jiffy.”

As the griffoness spoke, Greta kept tugging at her sleeve. Now that she had realized the connection, Amanda could see her mother’s black spots on the lieutenant’s silver feathers on the hatchling.

“Mama! Mama! Can I play with Amanda?”

Surprised, her mother looked up at the chick, then at the other two. Amanda was equally baffled, but Miss Stela’s cheeks rose in a smile. Realizing she had to ask everyone, Greta turned to face each in turn, wings flapping furiously.

“Please? Please? Please? Pleaspleaseplease?”

Spinning from griffon to griffon to cow to griffon, the hatchling finally lost her balance, tumbling from the air and landing in a cloud of dust.

“Owie.”

“She gets that from her father.” Mrs. Silverbeak lied, finally given a moment to talk. “Well, honey, I think you’ll need to get ready for when the guests arrive. But I think you have plenty of time to play with her later today.”

Greta looked up from the ground, giving Amanda the most wide-eyed, pleading look she could manage. “Please?”

“Sure thing,” the bovine nodded hesitantly, before looking at the teacher for confirmation. The griffones waved away her concerns with her claw.

“Dearie, I’m not your mother. You may do as you please.”

“Of course!” Amanda blushed.

“Well, I’ll leave you be,” Mrs. Silverbeak chirped. “See you at five in the afternoon?”

The Silverbeaks departed, disappearing into the crowd. Once Greta tried to take to the air, before realizing there was no room to spread her wings.

“It means a lot for her that you accepted.”

Amanda looked at Miss Stela, waiting for an explanation. The griffoness saw her confusion, and pointed after the departing pair. “When you said yes, she started practically glowing. Griffons don’t tend to be generous. One cannot gift anything, if they themselves don’t have enough. The Silverbeaks can scrape by, but nothing more.”

Amanda tilted her head in confusion. “Then why did she invite us over?”

“You have news about her husband, no matter how old. She would give anything to hear them, and all you asked for was a favor.”

Amanda thought of what she said. If griffons were rarely generous… “Why did you take me in. You’re not exactly swimming in money.”

“Oh dearie, I just thought I’d be useful.”

Talonico sipped from the cup of coffee. Sunlight streamed in through the open window, washing the kitchen in bright white light. He was dressed in a loose, partially unbuttoned shirt, and a pair of worn pants held in place by leather suspenders. His uniform was nowhere in sight.

“So, a week of leave?” His mother asked, pouring coffee for them both. She was a portly griffon, with white feathers streaked with red.

“Yes,” Talonico answered. The two sat on the opposing sides of a small kitchen table. “Feels good.”

His mother nodded and placed the coffee pot on the table. Steam rose from the white, floral printed spout. Talonico savored the coffee’s soft, full taste. He had talked to his mother, but the words had already fled his mind.

With the cup empty, the griff reached out to pour another, but the pot seemed suddenly so far away. He should have reached it without issue, but his claws didn’t seem to obey. Everything felt intangible, and Talonico suddenly worried he might be sick.

“Any plans for the leave?” His mother asked chipperly.

“Yes,” Talonico answered, and sipped from the full cup. “Might go see a movie with Sil. Unless you or Ma need me for something.”

Sunlight streamed in through the open window, warming the kitchen with its caress.

“No, you have a clear schedule,” a male voice spoke up behind Talonico. Silvestro reached out with his pink claw, stroking the top of Talonico’s head. The Corporal smiled at the gentle touch. He parted the collar of his uniform, allowing his friend to reach further down.

“So touchy,” Talonico purred. He reached up, and after a moment of blind grasping, managed to twirl Silvestro’s long, thin mustache around his talon. His friend only petted and scritched him more in response.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to marry you.”

“Would I be your first griffon? All the bucks will be disappointed.”

How had Sil heard that joke? He was not into that type of humor.

“You’d be the first and only anything,” Talonico answered instead. With his free talon, he took the shot glass and raised it.

“Happy to hear,” Silvestro asked and drank the cheap whiskey. He still had not stopped petting him. “Will you wear your uniform at the wedding? It’s a bit dirty.”

Talonico looked down. Surely not? He wouldn’t have been allowed to leave before the uniform was clean. Barrel and back were fine, as were the sleeves, where large, yellow chevrons were stitched to the green cloth.

Then Talonico rotated his talon, and saw the bullet hole in his wrist. Blood soaked the uniform, slowly creeping up the cloth.

Sunlight streamed in through the open window, illuminating the wound.

“Was it worth it?”

Talonico was not surprised that his grandfather had asked something like that. He was a fanatic of the Feast Party. Nothing more, nothing less.

Talonico put down the mess tin’s cover, splashing lukewarm water onto the table. He stared at the griffon opposite him. Gray with age, and dressed in ill-fitting clothes, Talonico’s grandfather stared at him.

“It was.”

There was no hesitation as Talonico spoke. He cared little for the old farmer, who had spent months saving money to get a photograph of his newly hatched grandson. He did not recall the time the two had spent on the road as his grandfather had found his passion at the wheel of a truck. He did not care to remember how the two had loved each other.

All his focus was on the pin on his grandfather’s shirt. A golden talon held a golden knife, and Talonico felt the cold pain as the blade stabbed at his heart.

“That is not just your blood,” his grandfather spoke again. He did not sound mocking. Angry, perhaps. Angry to see his grandson on the different side of the battle line. “How many have you killed? That is griffon blood.”

Talonico looked at his bloodied claws. He had killed, but only the enemy. Soldiers fighting for the Party. “Blood will wash off. Sins won’t.”

“Even my blood?”

Talonico raised his head at the question, seeing his grandfather’s face for the first time. Shrapnel had torn his eye to pieces. Talonico wrapped his talons around the comfort of his rifle.

Talonico woke to Bluecrest shaking him awake. “Hey Corp, wake up.”

Talonico rose. His red, bleary eyes moved across the dark, blurry room until they finally focused on the black beak in front of him. The corporal glanced at his wristwatch and saw it was a few minutes until the beginning of his guard shift.

“Morning,” Talonico grumbled as he picked himself up from the floor. As the white griffon’s brain slowly caught up with reality, he gave Bluecrest a confused look.

“Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep after my shift, so I kept the Sergeant company. How about you? You looked restless.”

Talonico thought back to the hazy dream. The distant, pleasant memory of home called to him, but he could remember nothing more.

“I don’t know,” Talonico muttered and picked up his greatcoat. “Some food poisoning shit.”
“Might just be the lice, the place is full of them.”

Talonico grumbled something he himself didn’t understand and gingerly stepped between sleeping Talone, and the still warm stove Milan had chosen as her bed. The front door was slightly ajar, and the corporal headed for the sliver of silver light pouring through.

The cold air slammed into Talonico, worming its way under his uniform. The white griffon shivered, before accepting the invigorating coolness, letting it wash away the last vestiges of sleep, held in place by the stuffy, still air of the house.

Talonico closed his eyes, and breathed in the calmness of the night. He held his breath for a while, before breathing out a cloud of mist that disappeared into the darkness of an autumn night, joining the few thin, ragged clouds marring the dim half-moon peering over the trees.

“Enjoyed your sleep?”

“Not too much,” Talonico answered Greendown’s question. Like his rifle, the Sergeant leaned against the porch’s white, wooden railing. The green tufts on his cheeks stood out from the rest of his body in the darkness. He had his helmet on as regulations demanded, but hadn’t bothered to close the chin strap for the one hour of boring sentry duty. At the center of the village, their main concern was waking everyone up if the frontline raised an alarm.

“I don’t think anyone except Talone is sleeping well,” Greendown said, staring at the main road inhabited only by smashed carts and abandoned litter. “Although you had no trouble falling asleep. How long did you wait for the ammo?”

“A couple of hours. Sergeant Major took his time. Something to do with the battalion quartermaster.”

“Well, you got it in the end. Although, next time get some matches and such while you’re at it. We’re running low on those.”

Talonico stared into the distance, his mind racing. He really had forgotten to take anything except ammunition, despite knowing well it was a part of his job as the second in command.

“Shit,” his beak turned his realization into words.

“Eh, don’t worry,” Greendown reassured him. “I didn’t remember that at first either. You just have to remember it the next time, and I’ll pass the title of Quartermaster to you.”

“Can’t see Quartermaster working for Corp,” Bluecrest muttered, leaning into the railing on the other side of Talonico. Shell fragments had dug into the wood next to his talons.

“But it worked for me, and the section’s supplies are now his job. So that makes him Quartermaster.”

“True,” Bluecrest conceded. “But it is different with him. He likes doing it, but he doesn’t have this scary aura. The equipment lists are not his entire life.”

Greendown scoffed. “And were they mine?”

Talonico held down a laugh. “Green, at times I thought you would jack off to those lists.”

Greendown raised his claw in protest, then lowered it. “It was a lack of will, not a lack of ability.”

Bluecrest chuckled at that, a dry and cold sound. “Can’t spout those jokes anymore. I’d get plucked if Andrei starts repeating them.”

Most of the enlisted were young, and it showed. Sex was one of the most common topics, as the soldiers were drawn to the sight of any moderately attractive griffon. There was no way he would actually drop the subject.

“So get it out of your system here,” Talonico suggested. “And then go get some sleep.”

“Movement up the road,” Greendown said all of a sudden, picking up his rifle. “Single file, can’t tell how many.”

The other griffons also took their weapons, flicking off the safety switches at the ends of the bolts.

“Password,” Greendown demanded as the shades became the silhouettes of griffons. Although Talonico was the guard at the moment, and it would have been his job, the Sergeant had naturally stepped into the role.

“Wet,” came the first part of the call.

“Towel,” Greendown answered and lowered his rifle. As the column marched past them, Talonico finally recognized the battalion’s scout platoon. Many wore field caps in lieu of helmets, cockades removed so the yellow wouldn’t shine in the darkness. All had stained their feathers black with coal and soot.

“That isn’t good,” Bluecrest observed after the last scout had passed. “Means we’ll be moving soon.”