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Filimar and Valerian quickly discovered that, when you had a leaping, boisterous griffin cub or a half-wild hawk sister, people left you alone. Great, diplomatic maneuvers were taking place in a conjured pavilion that rattled and snapped in the wind from the sea. Prince-Attendant Nalderick, Prince Andorin and Lord Galadin were all in there with Vikran and Aunt Meliara, hammering out the fine details of true, lasting peace.
…But nobody needed either of them. The newest Tarandahls were preoccupied with family matters, making ready to leave for Milardin. Val had a chance to greet Lord Tormun and Lady Faleena. From a distance, because Sawyer was very excited and tended to bite. Cute little thing, just... dangerous.
After that, Val withdrew to a sheltered crag, out of the wind and away from those billows of black, streaming pyre smoke. There, sitting tailor-fashion, he saw to the injured cub. Sawyer had lost some plumage on his long neck, and one pointed ear flopped badly, its cartilage torn.
“Pulled out of your collar again, didn’t you?” fussed Valerian, setting the griffin to rights with a healing spell. There were cuts and scrapes on the cub’s right side, where it had clearly dodged a huge, slashing paw. A potion and soothing hands quickly mended all that.
“Came all this way looking for me, I suppose,” chided the elf, not really angry. “Ran straight into trouble and almost got yourself killed.”
Sawyer’s clawed right wing wouldn’t fold properly, over-extended at the wrist joint. Also part bald. Val worked in some ointment, humming the Song that Takes Away Pain as he did it. A swarm of fey lights appeared, landing on Val as well as on Sawyer. A small and swirling gold miracle.
The griffin gazed up at him the entire time; barbed, scaly tail twitching, clawed forefeet gripping his folded legs. Bonding.
“Well, what’s done is done. I thank you for coming to find me, Sawyer, and for striking a blow at my enemy. You are a very good, brave boy, and I love you.”
Griffins, horses and dogs were easy to talk to; deeply, unswervingly loyal. Sawyer’s bright golden eyes half-closed as it rested that beaked little head on Valerian’s shoulder, parting his ragged blond hair. Val reached up and caressed the griffin cub, smoothing its rust-colored feathers with care.
So, he got a few cuts and scratches, himself… So, the griffin smelt strongly of raw meat, iron and musk… So what, if Reston considered the beasts a plague? Sawyer had broken free of a warded pen and come all this way to find the person who mattered most; his future rider, Valerian. What else was important?
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A sleek snowy owl had been perched at the top of the crag, facing into the keening wind. The bird shifted position and spread its wings whenever a gust threatened to sweep it off of its perch. Sometimes it soared up into the air and circled the clifftop, but always, the owl returned.
Now, as Sawyer curled up to rest, the owl glided down. Landed first on Valerian’s other shoulder (adding more scratches) then hopped off to the stony ground. There, it turned itself into a dark-haired, scowling ranger. She was not conventionally beautiful for an elf, with one blue eye and one brown eye, both of them fiercely narrowed.
“I didn’t know you could shape change,” remarked Val, casting a sleep spell on Sawyer.
“Gift of Frost Maiden,” snapped Cinda, adding, “You’re not the only one with a family god, Stupid.”
Valerian laughed.
“And if I were less of a fool, you’d be out of work, Kala,” he joked, using an old name. A love name. “Back to Lindyn again, hunting orcs for their bounty.”
She inhaled sharply, not finding him funny, at all.
“I can leave, Valerian. You have enough guards, plenty of family present, and a griffin… who will most likely drive you into the hills to run wild, eating raw meat like a wolf-rider.”
She had come nearer. Placed a slim hand on his chest.
“You don’t need me,” she added, her voice almost lost in the wind.
Val took her hand in both of his own, then lifted it up and kissed it.
“I needed you very much, today. You saved Alfea,” he said to her, squeezing that calloused and bow-strengthened hand. “Your mighty shot slew the demon before it could harm her. You fought to defend my wife, and I cannot thank or reward you enough.” Then, squeezing her hand three final times, he let go.
Once, there had been love. Once… but no longer. He had his wife and a baby. She had her freedom and pride. The past was over and done with, but they could never forget. Never quite part.
Right. Changing the subject (a thing he was good at) Valerian looked away north, grey eyes gone suddenly bleak.
“I must travel to Lobum,” he said, very quietly. “Gildyr’s folk deserve to hear of their son’s bold deeds, from me. He has gone, Cinda. Salem, as well, farther than I can ken… and I owe him this act of friendship: to meet with his family and thank them. To tell them what happened to Gildyr, in person. Will…”
He turned his gaze back to the ranger, who’d composed herself once again, looking flinty as ever.
“Would you come with me? There is a courtball game down in Karellon, first (I promised the prince that we’d play). But then, if his highness doesn’t object, I need to go north and speak with the druid’s family. He was a friend. Better than I deserved… and I owe him that much, at least.”
Cinda nodded. Then, smiling a thin little ghost of a smile, she said,
“I suppose you’ll be wanting to find “Distant Sands Oasis”, too, for Salem?”
“Yes,” said Valerian. “If I can get enough leave time from guard duty. Lady Shadowclaw crossed the realm to fight at my side. I can certainly cross it to bring her folk word and to thank them.”
Cinda nodded once more, already forming travel plans.
“There may be a gate we can use. Otherwise…” the ranger shrugged. “What the bright fires; it’ll be fun…”
“…Or we’ll die,” finished Valerian, laughing. He reached out then to stroke the straying dark hair from her upturned face. “Just like always.”