“Try and flank him, there’s nowhere he can run!”
The shout echoed through the forest. The pursued light-brown griffon with mustard yellow feathers leapt over a log and landed in a small ditch, just big enough for him to fit. Quickly, he covered himself with leaves and branches, peering through a small opening to watch the search party rush past his hiding spot. Safe, he allowed himself a sigh of relief.
Finally. I must make my way back and warn the others. But before he could stand up and shake off his camouflage, another soldier flew in.
“Hans, come on, catch up! They spotted him further ahead!”
Someone called out in the distance as the lone Reichsarmee griffon landed nearby, catching his breath on a rock.
Silence settled over the forest. The sounds of flapping wings and pounding paws faded away, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. The older griffon clutched his chest, breathing heavily, and raised his head up at the sky with his eyes closed, exhausted.
Time passed. It must have only been a few minutes, but it felt like hours.
Please, leave. Follow your friends, please… the young griffon pleaded silently in his mind, staring intently at the soldier through the gap.
Suddenly, a songbird landed on the log just above his head and began to sing, catching the soldier’s attention. Startled, the hidden griffon shifted involuntarily in his hiding place, but the bird only sang louder.
“Halt! Show yourself!”
The soldier’s voice rang out as he stood, a fresh wave of energy lifting him, and unholstered his rifle. With no response, he started cautiously walking towards the log.
No. No.
His heart pounded as he watched the soldier approach, his wings and legs stiff with fear. He was unable to move, paralyzed, knowing there was no chance to run again.
“I know you’re there, surrender now!”
Coming to terms with being caught, he closed his eyes, listening only to the soldier’s steps and the insistent song of that Maar-damned bird.
This is it, Armin. This is how ideals die.
When his eyes snapped open again, he found himself in a small, cozy, bedroom, a songbird perched on the windowsill. Armin sighed, and the bird finally flew off, leaving the window alone. Glancing over at his mechanical alarm clock, he noted it was set to ring in about five minutes.
Not wasting any time, he shook off the remnants of his dream, untangled himself from the bed sheets, and moved towards the wardrobe.
The bed is about as comfortable as lying in the forest, he thought, suddenly reminded of his cloud-cushioned bed back home.
Home.
The word felt like a distant memory. Ever since direct imperial rule was restored in the Duchy of Yaledom, he had spent the past several years being reassigned across the Reich, as far from his family as possible.
A better fate than being drafted, he thought with a bitter smile, I’m actually very lucky.
Armin finished buttoning his uniform, casting one final glance at his reflection in the small, cracked mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. A serious-looking griffon stared back, his piercing blue eyes almost startling him. He shook physically as the alarm clock started ringing, signalling that it was time to depart.
Putting on his cap, he turned off the alarm clock and moved on to the other room. Breakfast had become a foreign concept to him during his years of study, but today he grabbed a peach from the bowl on the kitchen table and took several sips of water from the canteen he had learned to carry around. Before leaving, he glanced around the tiny two-room house to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, then closed the door, leaving it unlocked.
The village was eerily empty. Peasant homes made of wood, mud, stones, and a few lucky ones with brick foundations lined the dusty road in the centre. Each one was caught in a state of slow decay, their owners having moved on to greener pastures or passed from old age. Fields and orchards were overtaken by tall grass and bushes, the surrounding forest slowly entangling the settlement in its grasp. The emptiness clashed with the lively nature of a late summer day, birds chirping, flowers blooming…
Armin flew just above the road, careful not to cover his uniform in dust. His eyes were fixed onto the two-story towering station in the distance when suddenly an inviting voice shouted his name.
“Good morning, Armin!”
A faded orange griffon girl greeted him, hovering above a nearby break in the road, waving a claw and holding a box in the other.
“Oh, good morning, Lena!” Armin responded, adjusting his course to end up near her.
Lena was one of the only actual remaining locals and worked as a ticket clerk at the station, while Armin was its signaller. Working for the imperial railway was a dream job for many young griffons, as it warranted an exemption from conscription, since its employees were counted as part of crucial state infrastructure.
“What’s that?” Armin asked, glancing at the box wrapped with a bow.
“This? It’s for Theo, it’s his birthday today.” Lena announced enthusiastically, quickly sizing up the approaching griffon. “What did you get him? Is it small? Did you leave it at the station?” she immediately interrogated with genuine curiosity.
“How am I to know it’s his birthday?” Armin retorted, disinterested. “Regardless, I think Dienerfeder should be grateful I’ll shake his claw and wish him good health. Even that rubs me the wrong way.”
“You’re being mean. He can be difficult to deal with sometimes, but he’s kind at his core. You’ll see!” Lena protested, grimacing at the unflattering comments.
Armin raised an eyebrow. “If you say so. Though I don’t remember ‘kindness’ in yesterday’s lecture on punctuality…”
“Oh please. You’ve only known him for a couple of months, give it time,” Lena was quick to intervene in his words.
“Speaking of which,” Armin continued his line of thought, ignoring what she said, “if we don’t want to ‘deal with his lecturing,’ we’d better get to work on time.” He steered the conversation elsewhere, slowly resuming to move towards the station, with Lena following closely behind.
The station building, however magnificent, was surrounded by a neatly assorted garden of herbs and vegetables, complete with a chicken coop. For all its architectural prowess, it couldn’t deny its rural setting.
I’d love to see the snobs of Greenback gnashing their beaks at the sight of this…
Theodor Dienerfeder, an aging, black-feathered griffon with sharp yellow eyes, stationmaster of the fine village of Griefenrast and a distinguished, meritorious employee of the imperial railway was tending to his chickens and rambling to himself, as he often did.
Lena tucked the gift box under her wing as she landed, cupped her claws around her beak, and shouted, “Good morning, Uncle Theo!” right next to Armin’s ear. He cringed, shifting away with a scowl.
“It’s about time you two showed up. Good morning yourselves.” Theodor waved back with his healthy wing. “What’s with the grumpy face, Armin? Didn’t sleep well?”
Armin’s heart sank, but he quickly forced a polite nod, pushing away the lingering memories of the dream that had left him uneasy. “Greetings, Stationmaster Dienerfeder,” he replied, sidestepping the question.
Over his years of reassignment across the Reich, Armin had encountered his fair share of pretentious, annoying and demanding stationmasters. But none of them measured up to the likes of Dienerfeder.
They should hang his portrait in every station with a plaque that reads ‘The Kaiser’s Most Devout Stationmaster.’ Armin thought, chuckling internally.
Unbothered by Armin’s usual passive greeting, Theodor began ranting about the Maar-damned chicken coop gate being busted again.
“I explicitly ordered Bruno to fix it last week, and he hasn’t even lifted a talon. Speaking of that griffon, look who decided to show up for work this morning.”
A large, grey griffon slowly approached, walking rather than flying. Officially, Bruno was the station’s on-site engineer, but the lack of traffic turned him into a general maintenance worker. He wore a sweater, possibly several, with his uniform straining over his bulk. He coughed before speaking.
“Would I miss the chance to shake your claw on your birthday?” Bruno said, sweating but smiling as he waddled over.
“I’ve been standing here all morning because that gate won’t stay shut. The train’s due in barely an hour, and you act like nothing’s wrong!” Theodor shook his head in disapproval. “Can you get over here and fix it now?”
“Consider it your birthday present, Theo, I’m right on it.” Bruno laughed, motioning for the stationmaster to step aside.
“Whatever. Fix it right, for once,” Theodor muttered, his gaze momentarily distant before snapping back to attention. “I will not spend my day wrangling hens like some peasant,” he hissed, striding towards the station’s staff door and motioning for the two young griffons to follow him inside.
Griefenrast railway station was the fanciest, most modern building around. A monument of imperial ambitions set against the encroaching wilderness. It also stood out as the only structure connected to luxuries like electricity, telegraph, and plumbing. Its interior was ingeniously decorated in imperial colours, from the wallpaper to the folder covers, all in tints of golden yellow and vibrant orange. In the waiting room, the staff room, and Theodor’s office, large portraits of Kaiser Grover V. were prominently displayed, bordered in black ribbon as a mark of mourning.
As soon as they entered, Theodor removed his cap and murmured a sincere, tearful salute to the portrait before putting his cap back on. He looked over his shoulder, visibly dissatisfied that neither Armin nor Lena had done the same.
“The youth ought to learn to respect their Kaiser,” he muttered, already moving towards his office.
“We have a new Kaiser now… what’s his name again?” Armin ventured, braving a tease with an obviously rhetorical question.
“Oh, was it Grover the Sixth?” Lena chimed in, only to receive disappointed looks from both Armin and Theodor. “Did I get it wrong?” She looked back and forth between them, confused.
Theodor scoffed. “The youth ought to learn to respect their Kaiser,” he repeated before shutting the door to his office.
“See what I mean?” Armin turned to Lena, a smug smile on his face. “I can’t believe a griffon his age can still be that overzealous.”
“You’re just provoking him,” Lena huffed. “There’s nothing wrong with being, uh, patriotic. And you’re making me feel like a fool in the process.” Frowning, she flew over to the counter and placed the gift box into a spacious drawer.
Armin considered a response, but with every comeback he could think of making him sound more like a moron, he let it go. He stood in the staff room in silence, his gaze drifting back to the portrait of the sickly griffon.
‘Blessed by Boreas,’ they say. Just look at yourself. The sick bird of Griffenheim, puppet of the aristocracy. Armin sighed. Your son will end up the same. Fake smiles and cake while millions of griffons suffer under the iron claws of the Reich.
A series of loud dings from the station bell announced the approach of a train, snapping Armin back to reality from his daydreaming.
How long was I out?
Quickly, he attended to the apparatus to confirm the message, then stepped outside towards the platforms. As a signaller, it was his task to manage the semaphores and indicate when trains were cleared to go. He pulled the large levers by the station door, then walked out onto the platform, holding his signal baton in his left claw and saluting with the other as he waited for the train to arrive.
The approaching steam train wheezed as it lumbered closer, worn and battered like everything on this line. Armin could see the faded ‘R-B-C’ letters peeling off the side, standing for ‘Readewetter-Brenna-Cloudbury.’ It was the only passenger line still running on this neglected stretch of railroad, the rest being occasional cargo trains.
The Griffonian Republic has held Cloudbury in its grasp for decades, yet the imperial railway still labels this line as if the duchy were theirs, Armin thought, sneering. Why didn’t they just rename it Readewetter-Griefenrast when it never moves beyond the border?
Spacing out again, Armin barely noticed Dienerfeder stepping up beside him. The stationmaster wore his fanciest uniform, with his honorary sabre hanging proudly by his wing. He held it in his left claw, caressing it as he saluted.
The usually deserted train was surprisingly packed with griffons. A hissing cloud of steam briefly obscured the view, shrouding the platform in mist. As it dispersed, an older, dominant griffon descended the carriage stairs, flanked by guards and other officials.
There stood the railway inspector, his gaze sweeping over the scene and stopping briefly on each member of the assembled staff. Dienerfeder’s saluting claw trembled ever so slightly, though his face remained focused and serious. Armin felt himself tense instinctively, sensing an air of judgment radiating from the impeccably dressed griffon.
Just then, a flock of chickens ran amok, scattering chaotically in between the two stoic griffons on the platform. Bruno slowly stumbled in from around a corner, cigarette in beak and a claw in his pocket. A wry smile curled across the inspector’s beak as he took in the pitiful scene.
“Stationmaster Failurefeder, I see you’re faring as well as ever this morning,” he said, still smiling with satisfaction.
Theodor cast a brief, furious glance at Bruno, his expression a mix of rage and disappointment. Bruno only shrugged and flicked away his cigarette butt aside. Lena, curious about the sudden commotion, stepped outside to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Always the same. The most shameful station on the entire network. I am impressed,” the inspector mocked, fixing his eyes on Theodor’s. “How does one uphold such notoriety yet still stand here so proudly? What’s the secret to your lack of self-consciousness?” He stepped closer, until he was within a wing’s length of the stationmaster.
Dienerfeder didn’t flinch. As the inspector drew close, he lowered his salute and extended his right claw for a clawshake. The gesture nearly made the inspector laugh aloud. He shook Theodor’s claw, barely containing his mirth, as memories flooded his thoughts.
“Ah yes, Theo, it’s been so long,” the inspector said with mock fondness. “I see all the training paid off. Shame you won’t be needing it.” He signalled to one of his attendants, who stepped forwards and handed him an official document.
“By order of the Directorate of the Imperial Railway, after much deliberation and detailed analysis, the ‘R-B-C’ line will be shutting down by the end of this month.” He read, carefully articulating every word. “Without a line regularly stopping at Griefenrast station, and with no prospect of growth in this part of the Duchy of Strawberry, the Directorate has also decided to permanently delist the station by the end of the fiscal year.”
Armin watched, anticipating the stationmaster’s reaction. Theodor’s face and posture remained rigid, but the subtle tremor in his left claw, tightening anxiously around his honorary sabre, gave away the blow these words dealt.
“Why are they cancelling the line?” Armin asked boldly, despite already knowing the answer.
“The railway serves the Reich above all else, and this station is simply unprofitable!” the inspector proclaimed, savouring every word.
“All railroad is unprofitable!” Lena shot back, her voice cutting through the air from the station door.
Theodor immediately snapped his gaze towards her and motioned with his healthy wing for her to retreat inside. She hesitated, her talon poised to step forwards, but after a pause, she yielded and slipped back indoors.
“Protocol was never your strong suit, was it, Theo?” the inspector continued his mockery. “I sense a major lack of discipline from your staff. You’re lucky the Kaiser isn’t around to witness this.”
As if that cub had anything to say about discipline, Armin smirked.
The inspector’s sharp eyes caught Armin’s hint of amusement, and he shifted his focus on him directly.
“The Reichsarmee will teach you respect,” he said, his tone dead serious. “There’ll be no more reassignments. I trust you’re intelligent enough to understand what that means for you.”
Armin’s eyes widened, his tail flicking as his beak opened slightly in shock.
“I have more pressing matters to attend to,” the inspector turned back to Theodor. “In Griffenheim.” He let the word hang, heavy with disdain. “Signaller, clear the train, the smell here is suffocating.” Waving a dismissive wing, he turned around and marched back into the carriage, flanked by his associates.
Before Armin could lift his signal baton to the engineer, the inspector leaned out of a window, offering a finite salute as he sneered. “Griefenrast will disappear from maps, a footnote in history!”
His words hung in the air as the train chugged away, leaving a lingering cloud of steam that drifted slowly across the platform. The scattered chickens, finally calm, pecked idly between the sleepers. Armin’s gaze followed them as he lowered his baton.
Theodor stood unmoving, like a tree rooted to the platform, still saluting as the train disappeared into the distance.
“Ouch,” Bruno’s raspy voice broke the silence, followed by a heavy sigh.
“The railway inspector is a griffon of honour. Don’t speak unless spoken to,” Theodor suddenly lectured.
“What?” Armin let out, thrown off.
“I would have thought they’d teach that in the nursery,” the stationmaster huffed, striding back towards the station without looking back.
Armin took a while to process the stationmaster's words, watching the chickens as he thought.
"Don't let him get to you, he's only trying to help," Bruno murmured after Theodor had moved out of earshot. He slipped a new cigaratte from his pack and offered one to Armin.
"Has this happened before?" Armin asked, unfazed.
Bruno hid the cigarette pack away and followed the signaller's gaze to the chickens, observing them quietly before answering.
"They get out all the time. We'll round them up later," he finally replied with a discreet wink.
"You know what I meant..."
Bruno sighed. "They have history," he said earnestly. "Its not the inspector's first visit."
"So the station won't close?" Armin asked, his tail perking up hopefully.
"He never brought an official document before," Bruno left the words speak for themselves. "Come on, let's get back inside, Lena's been setting up for the birthday."
Bruno gave Armin a pat on the shoulder and began to waddle towards the station, with Armin soon following behind.
Author's Note
Feel free to give honest feedback, I'm neither an experienced writer nor a native speaker, but I want to set a path for improvement. Thank you and I'll try to release chapters as they're ready.
Taking one last glance at the chicken infested platform, Armin sighed and opened the staff room door. Theodor stood in the far corner, one claw resting on a chair, the other caressing his sabre.
Same expression as always. How can he be so calm?
Armin moved towards him when Bruno suddenly extended a wing across his path, gently stopping him, then nodded for Lena to proceed with the ceremony. She cranked the gramophone and lowered the tonearm onto the record. A hoarse voice began singing the ‘Kaiserhymne’ in the most heartfelt way imaginable.
You must be joking… Armin resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
The stationmaster straightened, clenched a claw over his chest, and fixed his gaze onto the Kaiser’s portrait. Lena made sure the chorus repeated exactly five times before carefully lifting the tonearm, casting the room into silence. Theodor wiped away a tear.
“Stationmaster Dienerfeder, we are honoured to celebrate you on the occasion of your fiftieth birthday…” Lena proudly recited her speech with Bruno nodding along.
Are they seriously going to pretend nothing happened earlier?
Armin phased out, his thoughts drifting back to the inspector’s words.
No more reassignments…
The phrase lingered on his mind like a pest, gnawing harder each time it repeated.
End of the fiscal year… but when exactly is that?
His heart sank as it occurred to him that accounting might follow a different schedule than the calendar.
“When is the end of the fiscal year?” he blurted out, breaking the ceremony's solemnity.
Everyone paused, their eyes drifted towards the furniture, avoiding his. The silence was unbearable. The uncertain future of the station weighed heavily on all of them, whether for its sake, or their own. Only Theodor appeared unfazed. Lena, her speech cut short, was the first to recover.
“Uh… I think… the first few days of January? Is that right?” She looked to Theodor for confirmation.
“The thirty-first of December,” he clarified. “The imperial railway aligns with the calendar year. Is that all? We’ll have time to discuss it later…”
“No!” Armin snapped. “I can’t believe you’re… Just… It’s not fair!”
“Armin…” Lena tried, but the stream of his emotions had already breached the dam.
“We have about… what? Four months? Four months and it’s all over! My life is over!” Armin shouted, his gaze shifting between his colleagues as he held back his anger.
“Are you really only concerned about yourself?” Theodor finally said, calm as ever. “The Directorate of the Imperial Railway wouldn’t make such a decision lightly, but we must…”
“You’re defending them?” Armin swiftly interrupted. “I can’t believe you’re taking their side!”
“Come on, Armin, let it go. We’ll talk it over once we’ve thought it through.” Bruno nudged Armin’s shoulder with his talon and offered a smile.
“Forget it for now, all of you. Calm down…” Lena urged, finding her voice again.
“I am calm!” Armin squawked, hushing the room once more. “No more reassignments…” he muttered under his breath.
“Finished?” Theodor asked, his tone carrying a faint edge of venom.
Fuck you.
“Just stop it already, please.” Lena closed her eyes and sighed.
The tension was palpable. Theodor waved his good wing dismissively, while Armin dropped his gaze to the floor. Meanwhile, the others tried to salvage whatever remained of the festive atmosphere.
“I need a drink…” Bruno growled, wiping sweat from his brow.
Lena took a deep breath and mustered a smile. She picked up a tray of glasses and set it down near the group.
“Right, let’s not keep the birthday griffon waiting,” she announced brightly as she flew over to her desk. From a drawer, she retrieved a gift box, handling it with care, and approached Theodor with a touch of formality.
“Happy birthday, Uncle Theo, I hope this gift finds you well, despite the circumstances.” Lena said warmly, shaking Theodor’s claw before presenting the box.
Without hesitation, Theodor untied the ribbon and revealed a bottle of ‘Readewetter Royal Red.' For just a second, a sincere smile crossed his beak as he ran his talon along the fine glass.
“You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble. I already have one on display in my office,” he remarked.
“I know,” Lena chirped enthusiastically, “but this one you can open!”
Theodor squinted, surveying the room, the wine, and the tray of glasses. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he raised his talon to start pulling on the cork.
“A birthday to remember. Today, we drink like the Duchess!” he teased.
The jest pulled Armin back to reality. As the cork came free with a soft pop, the bottle released a faint wisp of mist. Theodor passed the wine over to Lena, who poured each of them a glass before placing the bottle on the tray.
“May Eyr keep the land bountiful, that such grapes may grow!” Theodor proclaimed, raising his glass with pride.
“May Arcturius keep the trains running, for our sakes!” Bruno snorted, lifting his own with a crooked grin.
“May Boreas grant us fifty more years of your company, Uncle Theo!” Lena squeaked, waving her glass in such a way she nearly spilled it.
Armin raised his glass and nodded absently. After the glasses clinked, he murmured, “…may Maar find me before the Reich does…” The bitterness caught in his throat, the words barely audible. None seemed to have overheard them.
‘Readewetter Royal Red’ was widely regarded as a wine of rich and satisfying taste. Perfect balance of sweetness and acidity, each sip unfolded in layers, smooth and juicy, with hints of strawberries and a subtle touch of woodiness. It was truly a drink worthy of royalty, both an appetizer and a finish to Duchess Gabriela’s daily meals. Undoubtedly, once the Kaiser came of age, he would uphold the tradition of importing barrels of it to his palace in Griffenheim.
But today, it was the modest staff of Griefenrast station who had the rare pleasure of sampling one of its finest vintages. Or so it might have been, had their commoner tongues possessed the necessary refinement to fully appreciate the wine’s complex flavours. Bruno downed his glass in a single gulp, as though it were a pint from the local pub, while Armin and Lena winced at the sharp acidity, only managing to finish theirs after a couple of small sips. Theodor alone adhered to the proper ritual of wine sampling, savouring every sip with appreciation. The gift, it seemed, had struck the right note.
Glasses emptied, the griffons set them back on the tray and exchanged a few reserved smiles, each pondering what to say next. Sensing the growing awkwardness, Bruno stretched and stepped forwards, extending a claw to Theodor for a clawshake.
“Well, Theo, it’s that time of year again,” he began in a friendly tone. “Another year older, another year of ‘blessing us with your company’… Hah, happy birthday, old friend.” He chuckled as their claws met in a firm shake. Theodor gave a simple nod, his gaze already shifting to Armin, waiting for his next move.
You can do it, just one clawshake…
Armin released a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. Straightening up, he slowly approached Theodor with a forced smile.
“Stationmaster Dienerfeder…”
“Signaller,” Theodor swiftly retorted.
“Uh… Stationmaster Dienerfeder,” Armin continued, faltering briefly. “On the occasion of your birthday, I wish you good health and continued success in your career.” He mumbled through his rehearsed words, extending his claw as the norm dictated.
Just take it…
Theodor offered an unreadable smile, nodding slightly as he accepted the gesture and politely shook Armin’s claw.
“Thank you, Armin,” he said simply.
You better be…
With his obligation fulfilled, Armin stepped back, his gaze dropping to the floor once more as he silently willed this birthday farce to end. Theodor, noticing Armin’s obvious discomfort, turned his attention to the others, observing their similarly troubled expressions.
“Thank you, Lena, for the thoughtful gift, and thank you all for your kind words,” he began, his voice unusually tender. “I wish we could proceed with the celebration in our traditional manner, but the circumstances compel me to address the dragon in the room…”
“No birthday lunch since Albert closed Café Rila and moved to Starclaw?” Bruno quipped, his smirk fading when both Lena and Theodor shot him disapproving looks.
Theodor sighed deeply. “As you’ve heard earlier, The Directorate of the Imperial Railway has made its decision. The last ‘R-B-C’ train will depart from our station in just two weeks.” Removing his cap, he rubbed his temple with his left claw briefly before continuing. “The station itself is scheduled to close by the end of this year. I won’t deny this troubles me as much as it does all of you.” He replaced the cap, straightening his posture as his gaze swept over them. “But we mustn’t falter, for Boreas is watching over us, and I’m convinced Griefenrast hasn’t breathed its last just yet.”
Uneasy glances passed between the group, Theodor’s apparent optimism doing little to dispel their doubts.
“Easy for you to say,” Armin muttered, shaking his head as his eyes met Theodor’s. “We’ve got four months. What’s your plan?”
“There’s only one griffon in the Reich that can put Griefenrast back on the map.” Theodor answered without hesitation.
“The cartographer?” Bruno ventured with a sly grin, drawing a faint chuckle from Lena despite the tension.
“His majesty, the Kaiser of Griffonkind!” Theodor declared, his voice rising with conviction. Gripping the wine bottle with his left claw, he took several long gulps, his eyes fixed intently on the Kaiser’s portrait. Without another word, he turned sharply on his talons and strode into his office, the door clicking shut behind him. This time, Armin couldn't resist the urge to roll his eyes.
“Uh… what did he mean by that?” Lena asked carefully, her brow furrowing.
“We’re doomed.” Bruno deadpanned, folding his wings.
“Stop it.” Lena snapped. “And you still haven’t delivered on your birthday promise.”
“No loss,” Armin grumbled.
“Nah, she’s right.” Bruno countered, his grin reappearing. “Come on, Armin, you’re helping me carry the thing to the workshop.”
“Just do it right, for once,” Lena muttered as the two griffons made their way out of the building, Bruno waving a dismissive claw.
Noon was approaching, and the sun mercilessly scorched everything within its reach. Neither Armin nor Bruno spoke as they trudged to the open chicken coop, its gate hastily tossed aside. Bruno pulled out a cigarette, struck a match to light it, and wiped sweat from his brow.
“It’s too busted,” he mumbled around the cigarette in his beak. “Had to take it off the hinges.”
Armin nodded, watching a lone chicken peck idly inside the coop.
“It’s not heavy. Pick it up and follow me to the ‘workshop,’” Bruno ordered, already waddling towards a beaten shed.
Workshop, huh?
Hesitating briefly, Armin wrapped his claws around the gate and tried to lift it.
Not heavy my flank…
Bruno chuckled from a distance, holding the shed doors open and waiting patiently. After several pauses to catch his breath, Armin finally made it, dragging the gate to the workbench before slumping over it.
“Anything else?” The signaller managed, visibly exhausted.
“No, not really,” Bruno said with a laugh. “But I’d appreciate the company.”
“Right…” Armin retreated to a shaded corner, still breathing heavily.
“You know, things weren’t always this shabby around here.” Bruno gestured towards the chicken coop, casting a sidelong glance at Armin to ensure he was listening. “I’ve got family in Brenna. My old griff moved here just before the revolution.”
That explains the accent.
“He moved here voluntarily?”
“Just so,” Bruno said with a hearty laugh. “Back then, there was a future here. Or so he claimed. Who’d have guessed the republicans would turn Brenna from a backwater town to an industrial hub?”
“It was always a town, no surprises for me. Griefenrast is a village, and it’ll remain one no matter what.” Armin removed his cap and tucked it under his wing.
Bruno chuckled. “Maybe it was the fresh air. Or running from the law. Your guess is as good as mine.” The jest fell flat as Armin’s stern gaze met Bruno’s.
“Where are you going with this?”
Bruno’s grin faded, replaced by a more serious expression. “You know, I’m not cut out for army service either. I’ve got a… uh… ‘contact’ in Brenna. There’s a chance to make a good idol, if you catch my drift… certain ‘logistics.’”
Armin’s feathers perked up, curiosity winning out over scepticism.
A scheme to abandon a sinking ship?
“I can’t do it alone. But together, there’s enough in it for both of us to make it worth our while.” Bruno fiddled with his cigarette as he sorted through a clutter of tools.
“And Dienerfeder?”
“Don’t worry about him. With the line closing, there’ll be plenty of chances to go through with it.” Bruno flicked his cigarette stub into a rusty bucket, the ember snuffing out.
“That’s not what I’m worried about...”
“You really think the Kaiser himself is going to swoop in and save the station?” Bruno scoffed. “Dienerfeder’s a relic. Clinging to past glories. Just because he met Grover beak to beak ages ago doesn’t mean he matters to them now.”
“I’m just… not sure…”
Each of Bruno’s statements left Armin with more questions. He didn’t feel comfortable dedicating himself to another rebellious venture, not after last time, but the idea still intrigued him. Before he could press further, the steady beat of wings interrupted his thoughts. Lena descended, her shadow skimming over the shed.
That annoying griffoness…
“They should arrest somegriff for this,” Bruno cursed, striking the broken gate on the workbench with a claw. “I hope you’re bringing good news, Lena.”
“I’m afraid not,” she said as she landed and shook her head. “Theo sent me to wrangle the chickens, but I need help. Is Armin free?”
Armin stared at the broken gate on the workbench. Bruno’s words still lingering in his mind.
“You two look like you’re conspiring,” Lena jokingly said, glancing between them. “Don’t let Theo catch you slacking. He’s already on edge.”
Oh, poor ‘Uncle Theo.’
“Hah, sure, I can take it from here. Thanks for the help, Armin, I’ll see you around.”
Armin gave Bruno one last glance before taking off to follow Lena to the platforms, spending the afternoon silently wrangling hens like some peasant. The tedious rhythm of the work did little to quiet his thoughts, and Lena’s attempts at idle chatter soon faltered, replaced by an awkward silence that lingered for the rest of the day.
I just… cannot… risk it… again…
Author's Note
I initially intended to include the 'birthday scene' within the first chapter, but went on to dedicate it a chapter of its own. Looking back, I might have dragged it out more than I should, but I suppose it all belongs to the process of learning. Thank you and feel free to let me know what you think.
