//------------------------------// // Hope // Story: A Song of Storms: Shattered Skies // by Sigur024 //------------------------------// Theod could not move. He couldn't do anything, couldn't feel anything. But he could see. Right in front of him, pressed up against his beak was a face. Verstohlen’s dead eyes stared back at him. Unblinking. Hollow. Theod did not know how long he lay there, unable to move, unable to look away. He could feel the sun on his back, heating through his plumage and into his cold flesh beneath. He wondered if he too was dead. Thoughts seem to pass through his mind like guttering candlelight. As he tried to grasp each one it slipped away, dim and intangible in the fog that filled his whole body. Perhaps his inglorious death had denied him Valhalla and he was cursed to feel his body rot, shot through with worms and tree roots until the time of ending. He coughed, spitting up a thick gobbet of phlegm. It tasted curiously like wine, and in his wondering why, Theod remembered that corpses did not cough. Or breathe. With tremendous effort the tercel rolled himself over, dislodging the body at his feet. The motion made his head swim and it took an age for his eyes to be able to focus on the clouds drifting serenely by above. Slowly sensation began to return to Theods body. An ache filled his whole body, similar but much stronger than when the Manticore had stung him all those months ago. The scar itched madly, but he couldn't summon the strength to scratch at it. Theod lifted his head slowly, squinting against the bright light. He was laid atop a pile of griffonic bodies in an irrigation ditch, some distance away from the fine buildings they had been celebrating in. The Auxillia filled the channel for a hundred paces, bodies tangled and plumage disorganised as they were tossed in. Quicklime had been tossed across the top of the pile to control the smell, but no crows had come to pick at the grisly feast yet. The tercel cocked his head to the side. He thought he heard something. He waited a while and again a low groan drifted up from the pile a short way from him. Theod dragged himself towards where he thought he heard the noise, another groan urging him on towards a white-coated body lying on its side atop the pile. He reached out and rolled it towards him, the body gasping at the surprise. Aella looked past Theod, eyes unable to focus on him. The tercel placed a talon on her cheek and hushed her. “Its okay, its just me, Theod.” he said softly. Aella swallowed and gagged. “We… we were-” “Betrayed.” Theod said, wiping a string of drool from Aellas beak. “But we are still… alive.” She slurred “We are.” Theod replied, casting his eye down the heap of bodies. They had survived, somehow. There must be more. He peered over the edge of the ditch towards the villa complex. He could see pegasi milling about here and there, no doubt servants from the aborted feast or other guests. “Stay here a while. Rest and keep quiet.” Theod whispered to Aella. The tercel began to search. It was slow and laborious, his body still weak from the poison, but someone was sure to fall upon the grave soon in search of trophies or souvenirs. Time was short. Theod made certain to check each and every griffon, shifting bodies to reach the bottom of the pile and make sure that none were missed. Gretus lay near the top of one pile, a short way away from Aella. The taciturn griffon had enough strength to drag himself from the pit, and attended to Aella with all the care he could. Tapfer was among the worst affected of the survivors. He was buried right at the base of the pile, nearly smothered by the weight. Barely able to keep himself breathing, the only sound he made were strained moans. As the sun reached its zenith no more than thirty Auxillia lay recovering in the shade. A few Theod knew by name, but most were as strangers to him. They were distraught, some weeping bitterly for lost friends or the mere closeness of their own death. Red-rimmed eyes looked to Theod as he returned and in them he saw a glimpse of their hurt. They had come so far from their homes, all of them. Most already felt that they betrayed their people by serving Cirra in the Auxillia at all. Then came the battle at Viridis, where so many spilled the blood of their kin to cement their bond with the Emperor. Now at their triumph that same emperor had turned on them. Murdered them. The peace and gentleness of their surroundings seemed to mock them. The sun was warm and soft, and the sweet smell of fresh cut hay mixed with the stench of voided bowels and vomit drifting up from the ditch. The twisted bodies, frozen in the spasms of their death were dreadful to look upon. So much promise lay there, dead and waiting for rot. The hope that perhaps the Empire could have become something greater in their union. Theod pulled himself away from the morbid scene, focussing his attention on the living. Bleary, bloodshot eyes remained locked on Theod, wretched and filled with despair. But also expectation. With a shock, Theod realised that they still looked to him to lead. Theod stood before the survivors, swallowed the stone that seemed to have formed in his throat, and spoke. “We have been betrayed.” He began “Pruina killed us. I saw it in his eyes.” A few of the Auxilla had to look away at that, unable to contain a fresh upwelling of despair. Pruina had been like a second father to some in the past few months. Consoling, encouraging, offering the sympathy that the likes of Barley would never give. To have someone they looked up to like that be the instrument of such murder cut deeply. “Most of us are hostages, taken from our families to secure their loyalty. Our betrayal can only mean that war is on the horizon between Cirra and all of the Griffon tribes.” Theod continued. “Nowhere in Cirra will be safe for us. We must go home.” One of the Auxillia, Palus spoke up. “All of the legions will be on the move, we can't just head for the border and hope for the best!” A ripple of disquiet passed through the survivors, and Theod raised his talons to calm them again. “We will have to keep to the fields and forests, walk rather than fly to avoid being seen. But we need a destination.” Aella pulled herself to her feet, Gretus fussing in rapid-fire Cirran at her sudden movement. “My father is loyal to Cirra and they do not question him.” She said carefully, her speech still slurred. “If we go to the hall of my father he will keep us safe, keep us hidden until the war is over.” The pale-coated Canii made up more than half of the survivors.They seemed happy with this idea, eager to return to the embrace of their people. But there was no doubt the griffons from more distant lands would long to be home as well. Theod wanted dearly to be at the hall of his father again. Theod looked over the crowd. Again the tired, pained eyes of the survivors looked to him as leader. He had to make the decision, for good or ill. He ran a talon through his plumage. It was gritty with the quicklime that had been tossed across his back in the rushed mass burial. “Aella is right in what she says. The Canii are our best chance for getting back to our homes.” Theod began. He did not mention the possibility their homes may not exist after the war. They needed hope now, even if it was false. “We have a long journey ahead. Cirras legions, our enemies, will be all around and we will have to avoid them the whole way. We are hurting. We are few in number. We are afraid. But we will survive this. I have lead you through the danger at Viridis. I will lead you through this.” Theod looked to the Auxillia, searching for their response. Their eyes were still filled with hurt, still wracked with the after-effects of the poison. But there was hope there too. That would be enough.