The wind screamed through the car, whipping through her hair with chill claws and the stench of asphalt. Karen leaned into it, watching the far side of the freeway where cars whistled past, and the farmland beyond. The mountains were distant, this far south, exposing ranches of plentiful prey- cows, pigs, sheep, even some horses.

“Aired out enough, kiddo?” Pa muttered, his moustache bristling as he hunched in the driver seat. He grumbled when she ignored him, “Hey! Karen, close it up. Need to talk!”

The girl pouted, drawing her knees up to chin as she rolled the handle. The wind whistled as if in agony as the glass guillotine rolled up, cutting off the tight cramped inside of their metal box from the great sky beyond. “Urgh, happy?”

“Better.” Pa kept his eyes on the road, his focus still iron strong even after a whole morning driving. “Don’t be sassy with your Gramma though. Might not see her for months, and remember-”

“Don’t mention magic, yeah, you said.” Her fingers found her amulet, the loops of miracle iron resting around her neck. It hardly felt fair, this was the first day she’d managed the magic herself after a week of trial and error. Wings, claws, eyes, or simply failure had marred her attempts at shapeshifting, yet what happened when she finally got lucky? Got it right? Mom decided it was too long since she’d seen her grandmother, and sent her off across state in a tight metal box, all noise, vibrations and cramps.

“That’s right. It’s not forever, kiddo, it’s just… old folk need time to adjust. And, who knows, she might never need to worry about griffins or magic.” He urged, “You managed this much pretty quickly.”

Karen watched out the window sourly, as they eventually pulled off, passed through smaller roads and towns, until they reached the home. The parking lot was half full, mostly big jeeps or tiny cars, and the nursing home itself was a wide low complex, with only a couple of offices even boasting a second floor. She broke free of the seatbelt and was out the door barely before the vehicle stopped moving, fidgeting with her amulet.

The air was fresh and quiet, conjuring up thoughts of flight immediately. With a single word she’d be great and sky-worthy, able to leave the stupid metal box far behind.

“Breathe. You’re fine, it’s just a car ride.”

“I can’t do that again.” She sagged, shaking her head, “I’ll fly home.”

“Karen, we’ll take a break- you’ll feel better. If you behave, we’ll get ribs on the way home.” Pa locked the car, offering a sympathetic smile.

“I am behaving! Come on, I could fly that distance- might even beat you home.” She followed him, waltzing into the main entrance, “Probably would- north east right? It’s shorter by wing than by wheel.”

“Really? It’s over a hundred miles kiddo- urgh, no, we’re not discussin’ this just now. Just… be good.” He hugged her, then approached the nurse at the desk, lowering his voice gently. Karen trailed behind, fists balled at the stale air and miasma of the place. An old folks home wasn’t meant for creatures like her, it wasn’t meant for living. Only for withered husks, weak bipeds well into the twilight of their lives.

It stung to see her grandmother in that category. Veena Montoya had babysat her when Ollie was born, lifted her on the counter to help bake brownies, and sang all sorts of songs with a sharp vigour. Now, sitting outside, she was a little raisin of a woman, smaller than even Karen with ruddy skin like crumpled paper. White clouds of hair were drawn back from hawkish features and intense eyes, that shifted from scrutinising a newspaper to glinting at them.

“Ah-ah-ah, that was quick!” Gramma Veena cackled, shoving her gnarled claws against the arms of her wicker chair to strain and stand, hunched as a vulture. “Are the police after you? Must’ve been some car chase to make it here in one morning.”

“Good afternoon Veena- don’t worry, all legal, I assure you,” Pa stepped up, offering a hand in support which the old lady completely ignored.

“Hey- careful there,” Karen winced as the old woman almost stumbled, but instead pounced to embrace her. The teenager almost shoved back from the unexpected contact, but forced herself to tense, stand strong, and slip her arms around her grandmother. She had to be lighter than Ollie, all skin and bones, it was so easy to imagine her shattering like glass. “How are you doing?”

“Just glorious, my little Sylph. Bright day, clear skies and good air, and to count my blessings further, I’ve got my girl visiting me. Thankyou, dear.” Gramma leaned back, dark eyes meeting hers, “Huh. You’ve gotten shorter.”

A wry giggle escaped her, “Gramma, you’re supposed to say look how big you’ve gotten!”

“I’m not that old, young lady, don’t be cheeky.” She said seriously, “Now, come in, come in, wipe your feet Sylvia, you too Mr Thomson.”

Karen winced as she moved away, across the small patio to sit at the table. She looked to her father, who breathed carefully, and took a chair himself.

“Now, Veena, this isn’t Sylvia- this is our daughter, Karen, remember?” He prompted, “She’s your granddaughter.”

“Ah. Yes- of course I know that- come, come, sit. I’ve got biscuits. Karen. Yes.” The old woman nodded fiercely, “Where is my Sylph? Where is Sylvia?”

“At home. Ranelk. She’s taking care of my brother, Ollie.” Karen approached, the hair on her neck standing on end. “Oliver.”

“Ah- well, more for you then. How are they? Is he bigger than you yet?”

“Not quite, he’s…” She swallowed. What was he? Mute? Traumatised? Sleepless? “He’s fine. Energetic, always on the go.”

“Five year olds tend to be, you were just non stop, Sylvia.” Gramma nodded safely, scooting the plate of biscuits across the table.

The conversation was as painful as pulling teeth. Karen had always known her grandmother was missing some memories, but those were of the distant past. She’d always been of keen mind and good humour despite that, had always sent them birthday cards and presents, and shown up to meals on time. Now though, it was like she was adrift in time, living in lost ages when Granda was still around and Mom was a kid. Sylph. Sylvia. Again and again, Karen corrected her name, and again and again it was brushed aside. Forgotten, like how much else?

She couldn’t take it. She muttered some excuse and wandered off to the bathroom. Then she veered off, out of the home, out to the asphalt and steel once more. She couldn’t open the car, but she sat by it, fiddling with her amulet, freedom only a word away. She wasn’t sure why there were tears on her cheeks.

“Karen.” Pa found her after maybe fifteen minutes, his arms crossed, his face drawn. “You can’t sneak off.”

“Why not? She won’t notice.” She sniffed, “Shouldn’t have bothered coming.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Nurses say she’s got good days and bad.” Her father unlocked the car and sat sideways, boots on the asphalt. “Might be she remembers you took the time to come see her. Might be she remembers you ditched her without sayin’ anythin’.”

“Or she might never remember me. Ever.” Karen stood, throwing her arms wide, “What’s the point!?”

The man frowned, looking upwards, and wiped his eye. “Hmm. It’s not just about her. You’re here too. Will you regret not sayin’ goodbye?”

Karen tensed, and turned around. She wanted to move. To storm. To hunt. But this was a problem not of that could solve, an elephant in the room she couldn’t slay. How many more times would she see her Gramma? She’d never wondered it before. Granda had passed before she could remember, but someone she knew passing away? It was unthinkable. Or it had been.

“Carpe diem.” She muttered, braced herself, and wound back round the wide building.

The table was still there, the biscuits vastly reduced, the old woman slumped and almost swamped in the chair, gaze low. She didn’t glance up as Karen approached, though the teenager was certain she wasn’t walking that stealthily.

“Hey, hey Gramma?”

“These aren’t my hands.”

“What?” Karen strode close, concerned.

“Look at them.” The old woman looked up, offering her ten digits with a sigh, “Tangled, twisted, creased and brittle…. Look more like twigs than fingers, they used to be strong… just… when did I get old?”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The youth looked at her wizened features, and quietly slipped her hands into her grasp. She didn’t have words. But she could be here for a moment.

“I’m going now, Gramma, heading home… remember who I am?”

“Tch, yes, Karen, I’m old, not blind.” She smiled yellow teeth, tightened her grip, and slowly stood to wrap trembling arms around her. “Give my best to your mother. Tell her to visit.”

“I will.” She hugged her tight, just in case. “Bye Gramma.”

* * * * *

“So,” Karen licked the barbecue sauce off her fingers, leaning over the table, “Can I?”

“Depends- give me an honest assessment, do you really think you can do it?” Pa was setting the plates aside with a weary look. “You’re damn impressive in the air, but this is a marathon, not like anythin’ you’ve done before.”

“All the more reason then, right?” She grinned, “Yeah- it’s perfect weather, and I just need to keep heading north-north-east, right?”

“More or less,” He produced the map again, “More like north-north-north east, but you gotta carry spare clothes, blanket, veil, and cash- and what do you do if it gets dark?”

“Bed down. Find a motel if I’m near a road.” Karen rolled her eyes- that was only a possibility because he kept delaying. “In human form.”

“Good, always have a backup plan, kiddo. Right, now off you trot, go get changed. At least I won’t have any complains on the way home if I listen to proper music.” He scoffed, and she all but bolted off, swooping with a blanket into the cover of a nearby copse of trees.

“Denrol.”

The spark of magic came easily this time. Out with the wind around her, mind clear as the skies above, it was easy to summon the simulacrum of a griffin. She was even prepared when the pain began, focussing on drawing out everything she was, on holding the alignment. Scales, wrinkles and tougher flesh broke out across her hands, while her down prickled and flared out into dark fur and feathers. The shifting of limbs, the removal of pinkies and toes, the great change to her face, were all uncomfortable, but they were what they were. Her tail and wings were the vastest change, as ever, summoning bones, cartilage, flesh and blood, outwards and upwards, as great as they could go, as perfect as she could be.

“SIRE!” She chirped in eager avian as the change ended, stuffing her clothes messily into the bag, the blanket trailing out. “SIRE! FIX, BE NORTH!”

“I heard you the first time, I’m comin’.” He trudged into the trees, chuckling wryly at her enthusiastic circling. “Steady, kiddo. Stand still, gotta do pre-flight checks, eh?”

“I’M GREAT.”

“Yeah, but don’t want your amulet fallin’ off in the air, do we? Or your stuff.” He knelt down and packed the blanket in more neatly, securely tightening the velcro, then carefully set the bag between her wings. One strap went round with heavy velcro at her neck, the other down below her stomach like a saddle, and she rolled her shoulders experimentally. It fit well, giving her enough motion to work with, while carrying everything needed, nice and close. The griffin butted into her sire, wings flaring around to embrace him, and nine fingers scritched at the back of her neck in return.

“THANKS SIRE.”

“Good girl.” Pa muttered shifting along to inspect her flank, her wing, the scar on her thigh, her tail, “Fly safe, alright? No shame in takin’ breaks. And answer your phone if you hear it.”

“MY WINGS GREAT!” Karen insisted in avian, flicking her tail as she stretched, looking to him expectantly. “FOOD?”

“You ate- oh, right, the bones? Think table service cleared them. Don’t tell me you’re still hungry?”

“ALWAYS.”

“Well you’ll only get hungrier flying all the way. Not changing your mind? Alright then,” He gave a final scritch, “Get moving then.”

“WATCH.” She took a loping stride, then glanced back, quickly adding “THANKS!”

Then she was running, hopping over logs, out past the copse of trees, and onto a field. A couple of shouts came from somewhere, as she leapt a fence, then took a second bigger lunge, and then pushed out and down with every muscle of her glorious form. Grass stirred and flattened from the downdraft as she hurtled upwards. Karen screamed for joy and relief, ascending with all her might, up and up- let any bipeds below flinch and search for the source of her noise, they ought to remember mystics existed.

After several hundred metres, she took to a circle, searching for any good thermals before her eyes widened.

She had never seen this world before.

It was still Idaho, of course, the elements of hills, valleys, forests and fields were the same. But the horizons here were all new, ringed around with different scatterings of towns, farms and wilds. The slender roads, glinting with vehicles, were a lonely arterial system through the Rockies, barely a sliver of the world that yawned far beyond.

She swivelled, searching the peaks, and immediately swept towards the highest mountain in view, it’s snowy summit daring to scratch the sky. It wasn’t the right direction by any means, but what was the use of flying if she kept to the roads and routes?! How many times had she flown close to Ranelk, barely remaining within the same twenty mile chunk? The world was so much bigger than that. Ridges and crests broke the forest needles like islands, streams caught glittering sunlight miles distant, and the fluttering of prey drew her keen eyes.

It took maybe half an hour to best the mountain, and the griffin circled down to land with a triumphant screech. Steam billowed from her beak, air sacs seizing the change to refresh, and she stamped her claws on the freezing snow. That was new, she’d not touched snow in a year, let alone with her talons.

“Wow, Charles, it did land here!” A biped voice drew her eyes. Two hikers were clambering the slope, heavily bundled up in coats with poles to give them a better quadruped grip. A woman, between Mom and Gramma in age, led the way while a beanpole of a man huffed and puffed up behind her.

“Aaah, aaah yes dear. Careful, don’t disturb it.” He panted, and strained eyes met Karen’s gaze, then squinted. “Ah, it’s not wild, it has a saddlebag.”

They seemed unarmed, and she wasn’t keen to rush off, so Karen loped up to perch on the highest slice of snow, the true summit, ignoring the chill on her claws. There was something amusing to their efforts. It had probably taken them many hours to reach the top, with planning, preparation and hard work for bipeds. She’d done it on a whim.

“Well, guessing you can’t speak, but you can understand us, eh?” The man took ten minutes to get within a pounce’s reach, and she rewarded him with a nod. “Have you seen another mystic on the mountain?”

Karen frowned, standing to cock her head quizzically.

“Something like a sasquatch or bigfoot. Big furry fellow, with antlers? I thought I spotted it through the trees, but Shona, my missus, thinks I just saw a tree wrong. No? Hmm.” He frowned, “Are there many of you live near here?”

That was hardly a yes or no question, and was beginning to grate. Who saw a magnificent griffin and started asking about other mystics? Was he blind? Karen yawned and clawed out RASA in the snow, rolling her wings.

“Rasa… ah, the Ranelk Area, yes?” The hiker woman, Shona nodded, “My, that’s quite a ways, are you lost?”

Karen rolled her eyes, glancing upwards and across the landscape. The road ran that way, and the sun was descending there, so north-north-north east was… there. She pointed a talon, and enjoyed the dawning acknowledgement.

“Yup, correct. Well, guess you can fly far on those. Do you mind if we leave a rock there?” The man produced a smooth round stone from his pack, “We’re trying to add to the cairn on each peak, and it should be somewhere under the snow.”

She wasn’t going to obstruct them, so she stood, raised her wings, and paced down to find a cliff edge. The drop on the northern side of the summit had to be well over a hundred feet, and Karen took a deep breath, before bounding over. The drop, the dive out of nowhere was exhilarating, and she flared her wings out perfectly to take off, sweeping across the landscape. That amusement taken care of, now it felt like a good challenge to wing her way home.

She climbed high, leaving the peak far below, and read the clouds. Diana had compared reading magic to reading the wind, amidst her many metaphors, but this one Karen could understand. Everything flowed, and each current of wind was part of a greater system, a greater whole, but not one you could understand from within. Strong winds from the north would only slow and strain her, but from the trees and clouds, shapes and senses, she could guess and seek out a current from the south to carry her homewards.

It was hard work. Flying for half an hour was fun. Flying for an hour was a challenge. Flying for two hours set a burning in her muscles. Flying for three tempted her to just dive out of the sky.

It wasn’t boring by any means- there was so much to see, and even from amidst the clouds she could spot cars on the roads, houses and shops, farms and flocks. The last was the most tempting. Sheep, cows, pigs, horses. Her stomach grumbled for a reward from all this effort, and any of the quadrupeds would be an enticing meal, hot and juicy, fuel to see her through to the next day. But no, her dame would have food at her nest, and killing biped’s prey only risked being hunted herself. The scars in her wing shoulder were testament to that.

The sky turned from blue to purple, the western horizon blazing red and orange while stars peered from the twilight. Karen kept flying, picking out the pinpricks of orange below where cars buzzed along darkening roads, or homes settled for the evening. She had to be nearly there, surely? Her sire had said not to fly at night, but it would be foolish to camp down just a few miles away from home. But how far was she?

The darkening landscape didn’t seem familiar, she didn’t spy familiar shapes or the lake. Though the lake would be dark when night came. Fly further or risk it? Maybe it had been reckless to fly off up a mountain first. She aligned with a road, spotting a congregation of white and orange lights. There had to be signs, right?

With an eager smile, the griffin folded her wings, dove down, down, down, through meagre clouds and then banked out in a wide arc. She landed with a bound on the outskirts of the gas station, several large trucks lined up by the edge of the freeway, the artificial colours an island of civilization against the beauty of the world. No sign of a motel though, if she wanted to bed down she’d have to find elsewhere, so there was no sense in trying to shapechange here.

Her talons clicked soundlessly on the asphalt as she stalked close, tensing each time a car blared past on the road nearby. Right- yes, there was the sign, illuminated, outlining the route’s stops, next rest place, and… Ranelk itself. Twenty miles?

She could do that.

* * * * *

It was dark, only the layout of the streetlights gave a sense of familiarity. There was the main street, there was the school, and so her own home was at the other end of the town, well away from the lake.

She swept down, weaving between the streetlights to land at a loping run in the street. She went a little far, quickly turning away from Caleb’s house, before darting back through the night. Her father’s car was already home, having beaten her there. He’d have lectures no doubt, and missed calls, but that didn’t matter.

She’d flown further than ever.