//------------------------------// // Vagabonds // Story: Landsick // by redsquirrel456 //------------------------------// That evening, a gentle rain fell over Dust. It tamped down the eternal haze of grit, replacing it with a haze of grey, but sure as the sun rose it would be back the moment the rain stopped. Even for the temporary relief it brought from the dust, hardly anyone was out to enjoy themselves. This was mountain rain, and it fell cold and heavy in big fat drops that plinked and plonked, making quite the racket where it hit shingles and awnings. On a few occasions, thunder punctuated the susurrations of distant water, and the rumble that followed made everything shake like the mountain stirred in its sleep. Gertie liked the rain. Nobody else in the crew did; in fact few griffons cared for it whatsoever. It washed away the scent of prey and interfered with flying, freezing their wings and weighing down their feathers. ‘Above the clouds or not at all’ went the old saying. Griffons did love to look down on others. But Gertie liked the rain. It washed away more than smells and grime. It washed away worry and fear, cooled the hot-blooded, pelted the proud and reminded them to lay low until the storm had passed. Why, if it rained long enough, Gertie reckoned the rain could wash away the entire world, and what a sight that would be. The entire town was cool and silent. A far cry from the sounds of yelling and smashing and the sulphurous reek of explosives. Magical explosives at that, designed to confound the senses and disperse crowds violently. Gertie was shocked the tavern still stood after the Harridan’s crew made such a mess and the bartender assaulted everyone with his arcane grenades. The rain also helped with the ringing in her ears. But that pony, Trails. She’d seen him, watched him from the corner of her eyes. She saw the way he attacked the goats. That did not surprise her; what surprised her was how the pony attacked. None of them got up on two legs without very good reason. Not that they couldn’t. They just didn’t. Ponies enjoyed being close to the earth, crouched to run. They were built for it. But Trails had stood up like a minotaur and slammed his hoof down like a fist. Very curious. “Unnatural,” said Otto when she pointed it out. “A pony who doesn’t talk, and stands on his hind legs like he was born to it! Should’ve been a minotaur.” “He split that table with one clean blow,” said Hedwig, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “If he was a griffon, I’d get to know him better…” “And then he ran,” said Garth. “Like all ponies do. Shameful. Weak. Starting a fight and not seeing it through to the end? Just means you’re a troublemaker.” “Or smart,” Gertie muttered to herself. “The rest of that fight wasn’t his. He didn’t throw a single punch more than he had to.” Nobody heard her, or if they did they didn’t care. A griffon threw as many punches as he wanted, after all, and only throwing one was boring. But Gertie just had a different idea on how many punches were necessary. She had escaped the melee inside the tavern mostly unscathed, and now stood beneath an awning in the middle of town while the rest of the crew sheltered in the Harridan. While some routine maintenance was done the ship would rest in port, but soon enough it would depart for stranger lands than this. Gertie enjoyed these moments of freedom in between weeks in the air. The short moments of flight and wandering around on the ship essentially amounted to running laps. There was nothing more discouraging to a griffon than seeing the open arms of Mother Sky, and knowing they could not fly into them. The ground let her feel like she could explore. With the rain spoiling any more mood for fights, Gertie wandered the streets alone, letting the mud squelch between her claws. Most griffons despised mud as the ultimate symbol of clingy, dirty earth, weighing good griffons down and pulling them to early graves. Movement was a griffon’s favorite part of life. But Gertie enjoyed the give of mud, and how it felt cool on her feet. Besides, if she got dirty the rain was more than enough to wash it away. She passed a Diamond Dog grumbling to himself as he shook a sheet into the rain. Wood chips and dust fell to the ground. “New visitors,” the Dog muttered. “Always trouble, always bring Tuff trouble. Tuff must fix tables outsiders break, must clean cloths they bleed on, must do this, must do that—” “Sir?” Gertie asked, stopping to stare. “Is everything okay?” Tuff stopped in his tracks, turning to Gertie with a squinty glare. “Oh,” he said, “you are new griffon!” “That’s right,” Gertie said with a smile. “I just noticed you looked like you needed help—” “Tuff hates new griffons!” Tuff barked. “They make fights, real fights, like that pony. Break our only tavern!” He whined and turned to go back inside. “Only beds without rocks, must break those too?” “Oh, wait!” Gertie said, taking a step after him. “I feel like I should apologize.” Tuff stopped again. This time, he turned with a more curious stare. “Apologize?” he asked. “Griffon wants… apologize?” He sniffed warily. “Griffons… never apologize.” “This griffon does,” Gertie said. “My crewmates have been real eggheads the last few weeks. It’s bad enough they take it out on each other, but… I mean, when we start smashing up a building that might fall on our heads, well, you have to draw a line somewhere.” “Oh!” Tuff said, ears perking up and tail wagging. “Then, griffon speaks to captain, gets Tuff insurance! Reparations for town!” “Ah…” Gertie winced. “No. No, I can’t go that far.” Tuff’s face fell back to a frown. “But I can apologize!” Gertie said, grinning hopefully. Tuff sighed, rolling his eyes. “... Get out of rain,” he grumbled, gesturing for her to come inside. “Don’t want angry goats to catch you alone.” “Ha, not while I got these,” Gertie said, flexing her wings as she gladly loped through his door. “I may be small for a griffon, but a goat? Please, I can take them out with a look. Even that pony sent them packing in the tavern!” “Nnn, yes, Tuff saw the pony. Only started huge brawl,” Tuff muttered, closing the door behind her. The house was only two small rooms, a front and a back, and the back was stuffed to overflowing with crates. The front room was cramped and dark, but warm. Apart from the door there were only two small windows, both shuttered tightly, and a fireplace in the wall crackled gamely against the night’s chill. Everywhere Gertie looked, there was a pile of… something. Dirty clothes piled high. What looked like a hookah pipe atop a mountain of cushions. Chairs and stools were piled on top of each other, crowding a workbench where an unfinished table leg sat next to a file and handsaw. Sacks of dried foodstuffs, boxes of tools, a Dog’s food bowl, a shelf full of small, wooden figures... “Are you a carpenter?” Gertie asked. “Nnn. Yes, fix tables when patrons break them,” Tuff said, weaving around a table jutting into their walking space and grabbing several throw pillows to drop them in front of the fire. “Also miner. Also sweeper. Whatever you need, Tuff does. Must do many things to live in Dust. Sit. I make tea, too.” “Oh, I love tea.” Gertie settled onto the pillows, fluffing her wings and folding her legs beneath her. “It’s such a nice change from alcohol.” “Dust ran out of alcohol three weeks ago,” Tuff said, filling a tea kettle from a large water barrel. He hung it over the fire before dropping down next to her with a heavy sigh. “Dipping into whatever we can, now.” Gertie tapped her claws together. The guilt over the tavern brawl weighed more heavily, especially since she had joined in near the end. Just to avoid the scorn of the others, of course. The fact she had smashed a chair over a yak’s head while imagining it had Viktor’s big stupid face only made her feel worse, now. “Seems like this town doesn’t have much longer,” she whispered. “It does not,” Tuff muttered, staring into the fire. “Why my house so crowded. Tuff leave soon, before things get worse. Tuff keeps everything under one roof so Tuff can travel easier. Maybe buy space on a ship. Maybe take wagon and walk. Tuff prefers ship, leave rocks behind faster.” He leaned back, propping himself up by his big digging paws. “Tuff… so, so tired of seeing rocks. No gems. No soft, warm dirt. Only rocks, big and cold.” They lapsed into silence for a time as the water boiled. The dull hiss of rain on the roof echoed around them, punctuated by a rumble of thunder. “Why can’t anyone mine here?” Gertie asked. “Firestone,” Tuff grunted, taking the kettle from the fire. He slowly, deliberately poured a precise amount of tea into two small cups, and wrapped both his large hands around one to warm them. Gertie merely cradled hers gently between her talons. “The firestone,” Tuff said again, “we find two years ago, while looking for gems. Firestone volatile. Explosive! Sparks, fire, boom. Only a little on clothes? Don’t sit next to fire, you are hazard. Bad to breathe dust. Veeeery special equipment needed. Is why we had Gizmonks, they build good machines. But, eh, money started leaving. Nobody wants firestone, too dangerous for fireworks, starting fires. Only use? Big, big explosions. And who needs big explosions?” “Armies,” Gertie whispered. Tuff nodded. “When last time you see big army? Nobody want firestone. Too much peace, not enough war. Then dragon king died, whole horde up for grabs. Gem market… pssshew!” He pointed his index finger down and plunged it into the rug. “Why mine what no one wants? And blows up if one mistake? Gizmonks bored. Miners not paid. Mine starts to die. Town starts to die. Fewer ships come. Dust is far. Dust is expensive. Gizmonks start to leave. But machine made by Gizmonk? Only Gizmonk understand. Now no one can run machines, nothing can be done. Gizmonks who stayed spit on for ones who left. So much anger, so much despair. Some, put whole life in this.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, and took a sip of tea. “Good idea, at the time.” Gertie lifted the teacup to her beak and sipped. It was herbal. Strong. Bitter. A good kind of tea for a night like this. “... I’m sorry,” was all she could say. “Mmm. So is Dust,” Tuff replied. “Tuff will return to Diamond Dog lands. Rocks are softer, Dogs always need good miners. Griffons will fly away soon. Miners will disperse, or die with Dust. But that pony…” “Happy Trails? I spoke to him,” Gertie said, her attention suddenly rapt. Tuff shook his head suspiciously. “Hnn. ‘Happy Trails.’ Not look so happy. Only pony Tuff see going east. Thinks other ponies live there?” “There are people living in Terminus,” Gertie pointed out. “Past that, uh… I dunno, actually. What made you bring him up?” “Most interesting thing in Dust since Dust was made!” Tuff exclaimed, raising his teacup as if in salute to the weird pony. “Ponies never leave Equestria. Mad if they do. Is like, erm, Diamond Dog leaving his pack!” Gertie squinted. “Well, you seem to be living alone…” she said through another sip of tea. Tuff snorted. “Diamond Dogs never really alone. Where two or more are found, there is pack. Tuff surrounded by his kind, even here. But Trail-pony? Only pony for miles! Why pony come so far, and then keep walking? Why east? What is east? Empty land for empty hearts!” “They say there’s more land out beyond Terminus, and the sea. At least that’s what the explorers say.” “Hnn. Won’t find ponies there, that is certain. Ponies are for Equestria,” Tuff said with a firm nod, as if that were an immutable law of the universe. “Did you see where he got to after the fight?” Gertie asked, trying to sound inconspicuous and failing. Tuff chuckled to himself. “Griffon should mind business of griffons,” he said over the rim of his teacup. He took another sip, and that was all he spoke of the pony again. Gertie eventually finished her tea, thanked him for the shelter, and walked back into the rain once again. Tuff wondered why she would leave right after drying, but it didn’t bother her too much; a griffon would be pretty useless if a little rain ruined their feathers. Gertie turned to walk deeper into the town. She did not worry about being bothered; her status as a griffon would help her walk unchallenged. Even as a falcon, she got some measure of respect out here, which was why she had no plans on bunking on the ship tonight. Viktor would be there, and after the bar fight he would be looking for more victims to prey upon. The rain had lessened to a light drizzle as she passed a small warehouse-like building sometime around midnight, next to a now-closed entrance to one of the mines. A sign next to it claimed this was the first tunnel dug when Dust was founded, the ore inside long since tapped and the shafts all collapsed. A railroad track ran from the mouth of the tunnel, curving around to the door of the warehouse, open just a crack with faint light glowing inside. Gertie’s first thought was it was a squatter, but upon very intentionally taking a peek inside, she saw the tell-tale silhouette of a pony walking (on two legs, no less) out from behind a carriage, if a carriage was an incredibly small house with wheels and an engine compartment instead of shafts for draft animals, and the house was a wooden box with windows and a roof made of whatever sheet metal was on hand. A dizzying array of pipes and axles sprouted like vines from the engine compartment and ran along the carriage’s frame and underside, to what purpose Gertie had no way of knowing. She slipped inside and cleared her throat. Happy Trails yelled and spun on his rear hooves, clutching his chest and falling against the engine. His eyes were wide with a prey animal’s kind of fright, and Gertie suddenly felt more sorry than mischievous. “Land sakes, you scared me!” Trails hissed, dropping to all fours. He growled and waved his hoof at her, turning away. “You’re quiet as a feather on the breeze, girl. Well, congratulations, you found me again, now lemme ‘lone.” “Sorry,” Gertie said, scratching her claws in the dirt. “Griffon instincts, I guess. I didn’t want to go back to the ship.” “Yeah, me neither,” Trails grunted, lifting a bag from the floor. He moved around the back of the carriage and tossed the bag inside with a raucous clanging and banging. “S’why I’m leavin’ before the sun’s up.” “Oh,” said Gertie, forcing her tail not to twitch. “You’re not staying in the tavern?” “I just needed a place with a lock between me an’ everyone else for a while,” Trails shrugged. “D’you have any idea how hard that is to find out on the road?” “More than you know,” Gertie said. Trails sighed and slammed the carriage’s rear door shut. “Okay, why are you followin’ me? I’m not taking no hangers-on, Gertie. Trust me, bad as that ship is, bein’ with your folk is better’n where I’m going by far.” Gertie shifted her weight between all four feet, fluffing her wings. “Well,” she said, her voice gaining strength as she spoke, “I guess I just want to know why you’re out here by yourself, because I like being by myself, and I thought maybe we had developed some kind of, you know, rapport or something! I learned that word from an ibex in Ungolia.” Trails stared at her for a good long while, squinting hard. “Well now,” he said, “ain’t that cute as a bug’s ear. Gertie, I don’t know who you are, or what you’ve been through, but that’s exactly why I’m telling you: get out of here, go back home, an’ stop bein’ the bee in my bonnet. I didn’t ask for a shoulder to cry on, an’ Terminus is set to be my last stop. Not like it’s a utopia from what I’ve heard, anyway. You’re better off where you are.” “I agree! And I think you’re making a mistake,” Gertie said, the words rushing from her mouth before she could stop them. “Trails, you’re right, I don’t know you, but I do know… I do know what it’s like not fitting in. Getting…  getting looks behind your back, people whispering like you’ve got something to hide, and maybe you do, but not really because all you’re hiding is yourself and people just… just hate you or something? How it feels to walk on eggshells because you think every step is going to be the last and, and you’ll just be up against a wall and everyone is going to see who you really are and that’ll just be the end of the whole friggin’ world, or something! But being alone doesn’t make you feel any better because smiling at a mirror just get so old sometimes and all you want is someone to just… just look at you? And tell you ‘hey, you’re cool, I’m cool,’ everything is… is cool, and…” Her voice slurred into a low mumble as Trails stared implacably at her, one eyebrow raised. She ducked her head behind her wing and winced. “I’m just saying going off to die in the wilderness, it won’t fix your problems? Maybe? And… and I guess I thought we had some things in common, and maybe you were tolerating me because, hey, wow, a griffon who isn’t a jerk for once, and I thought I could help you with some advice and I’m just really embarrassing myself here so I’m gonna shut up now.” The silence stretched on. Gertie couldn’t see Trails’ face behind her wing, but she imagined him thinking she was insane, because she was, insane and stupid and just never good enough for even a decent conversation, right? Gertie felt hot tears singe the corners of her eyes, and she slapped a claw over her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just… so sick of trying to fit in, sometimes. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you. I’ll leave you alone now. You did good sticking up for that Gizmonk.” She sighed and turned away, spitting curses at herself. Stupid. Viktor and the others were right. Falcons like her really were just eggheads. They couldn’t help being what they were. They couldn’t help being born weak. “Y’know,” Trails said, his voice subdued and soft, softer than any time she’d heard him speak before. “That Gizmonk put this contraption together for me, as a thank you. Just in the last few hours, actually. He didn’t have a horn, but he worked some real magic. This thing was a simple minecart this morning. Hell, I don’t even rightly know what it runs on, but it runs. Should get me to Terminus in one piece, maybe.” Gertie sniffled and wiped her nose, making sure she had a smile on before she turned back to him. “Well, what goes around comes around, right?” she said. “Not always,” Trails said, leaning almost fondly against one of the carriage wheels. It was nearly as tall as he was. “I don’t mean to be short with you, Gertie. You seem like a decent sort. I appreciate what you said. Really, I do. That took guts.” “Oh, well,” Gertie said, scuffing the floor. “I don’t mean to blow up like that…” “Hey,” Trails said gently, “I know what it’s like to bottle things up. To keep secrets you’re ashamed of but shouldn’t be. How it eats at you. Claws at the back of your throat until you just wanna scream an’ let it out. Thankfully for me, these hooves are good for punching stuff when I get frustrated.” “Heh, you did do a number on that table.” “Ah,” Trails shrugged. “It was askin’ for it. Anyway. Thank you. For showing some concern about my welfare. It’s, ah…” He scratched his mane, looking self-conscious. “It’s been awhile since anybody did that.” “But you seem so nice!” Gertie blurted out. “I mean, when you aren’t acting like a jerk so nobody follows you. Not everybody would punch a goat right in the face; I’d break my hand on their skull!” “Suppose you’re right,” Trails said, buffing a hoof on his chest. “I’ve found there are at least a few perks to being a pony. Ain’t all bad.” “Are you still going to Terminus?” Gertie asked, shaking her head. “Eeyup.” Trails hopped into the driver’s seat, fiddling with some levers and twisting the steering wheel. “I’ve got my reasons, Gertie. But don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. This Diamond Dog set me up with some supplies he had squirreled away; guy’s set up for Judgment Day or somethin’. I would be too if I lived in this dirt pile of a town.” “You mean Tuff, right? I met him!” Trails turned to stare at Gertie. “How’d you know that?” “Um.” Gertie sheepishly tapped her claws together. “I asked about you and he got real reticent. Made it kind of obvious you visited with him.” “Sheesh, lady!” Trails scoffed. “You’d make a private eye blush. Ever think of being a cop?” “Not talking much on a merchant vessel, you learn how to notice things,” Gertie answered. “Like, uh, it may not be my business, but I don’t know if this automatic carriage thing will get you all the way to Terminus in one piece…” “Well if she don’t, I can dump the engine and haul her. Also got plenty of supplies, like I said. This place is loaded with all kinds of useful junk lying around.” “So you stole it,” Gertie said, without judgment. Just stating a fact. Trails sputtered and coughed, raising his hooves helplessly. “Gertie!” he said. “Guy’s gotta live. I’ve been on the razor edge for a long, long time now, because as you well know, Equestria is just one little country in a big ol’ everything-eat-pony world, and it doesn’t take kindly to ponies who don’t know to just pony up and toddle back to the land of friendship and lifetime offers on root beer and party supplies!” Gertie tilted her head as Trails angrily adjusted switches and levers, and even leaned out the driver side window to polish the rearview mirror. “So… why aren’t you going to Equestria?” she asked. Trails turned and fixed her with a look so severe Gertie could swear he could pass for a griffon emperor of old. “One, because Equestria is a long way from here and I stand a good chance of dying before I get there. And two, because Equestria is a home for ponies.” He slammed the door to the driver’s perch shut. “Which means it ain’t my home.” He flicked some switches and pulled a large lever. The engine sputtered, coughed, hissed. Something popped, something put-put-putted, and the carriage shuddered and groaned before settling into a steady hum. “Kindly get the door,” he said. Gertie looked at the half-open door. “Terminus is where people go to find the end,” she said. “You won’t come back from it, Trails.” “That there’s the idea.” “Look, I don’t think it’s worth it! It can’t be! I mean, I don’t fit in anywhere but you don’t see me abandoning even a chance to live with my people! You’re the one who just told me to go back to them!” “Yeah, well, do what I say, not what I do. Step back, please.” Trails pushed a pedal and the carriage lurched forward like a confused cat trying to pounce. Trails cursed and stepped on the pedal more gently before the carriage settled into a slow, steady pace, pushing the door open with a loud crack. “Well, it was nice hearing advice from a friendly source, but I better get going,” Trails said, turning into the street. A few bystanders looked up in awe as the contraption rumbled past them, pumps and pistons hissing and churning. “Trails!” Gertie said, trotting alongside the carriage. “I’m not gonna tell you again! Are you sure this is what you want?!” “It’s not about what I want,” Trails said simply. “I got reasons for staying on the move an’ frankly they do not concern you.” Gertie leaped up and landed on the driving perch’s roof, peering upside-down at an irate Trails. “Did you ever stop to consider that maybe asking for help could fix some of your problems?!” “I said,” Trails replied, detaching one of the many levers off the dashboard and poking Gertie with it, “it’s not your concern. Now get off my roof an’ kindly let me saunter into the sunset, Gertie. I’d rather we part on amicable terms.” Gertie refused, batting at the poking stick. “Trails, you don’t even know how far it is! I don’t know how far it is! There’s no real way to Terminus, you just pick a path and hope it doesn’t kill you!” “I been lucky so far,” Trails replied, his voice growing more strident and his poking more insistent. “Now get your feathered tail off before you make me crash into something!” “But you’re pretty much signing your death warrant!” Trails stomped on the brake, sending Gertie flying forward to tumble into the mud. She squawked loudly and came up spitting dirt, wiping her eyes clean. Trails was upon her before she could recover, turning her to look at him. There was no more peaceful indifference in his eyes. Only anger, and fear. A griffon knew fear by instinct. Trails oozed with it. Fear and pain and remorse, like a prey animal who had chosen the wrong path to take and saw their doom approaching. “My death warrant?!” he bellowed, shaking her shoulders. “You wanna know about my death warrant, Gertie?! It wasn’t signed by me, you stupid bird! This damn world, and all the insanity that lives in it, that’s what killed me! Even after the War, even after the damn dust, I’m a whole world away from where I wanna be, an’ there’s still mad men with too much power making life miserable!” Gertie shook her head, shaking in his grip. She remembered how cleanly he had snapped a piece of furniture in half. “Wh-what are you—” “I’m not just a homeless bum, Gertie!” Trails snarled, shaking her again. “I’m not just some pony who don’t like other ponies! I’m on the run, you oversized turkey, an’ if you know what’s good for you, you’ll run back home before—” A massive fireball tore the sky apart just a hundred yards up the street, blossoming like a flower and bringing such heat and light it seemed like dawn just broke over the town. Trails and Gertie flinched against the awful glare but Trails less so, throwing Gertie and himself against the front of the carriage and covering his head. Something roared like a lion, and there was another blast, more concussive this time, enough to ripple the air around them. Though so far away, the shockwave still hurt their ears. The roaring subsided, replaced with the distant crackling of burning wood. “What was that?!” Gertie yelled. “Stay down!” Trails answered. Burning shrapnel rained down around them, fizzling in the mud. Embers, burning timber. A yak’s horn. “No,” Trails whispered, curled into a ball. “No no no no…” “Trails, what was that?” Gertie hissed, sitting up and poking her head around the carriage. One of the buildings up the road had been blasted apart. In its place was nothing but two stories of burning wreckage, a swirling vortex of blazing yellow and orange flame. “How’d it find me?” Trails whimpered, trying to hide beneath his duster, pulling it tightly around his body. His eyes were wild, panicked and unfocused. “H-how’d it… how did it…” “What are you talking about?” Gertie asked, her voice seeming to come from a great distance away The blast had deafened and dazed her, and she staggered a few steps towards the blaze. Maybe someone needed help… “NO!” Trails yelled, tackling her to the ground. “Don’t go back there! You gotta fly, you gotta outta here, now!” “What do you mean?” Gertie squeaked, struggling weakly. “Get off me!” “You have to GO!” Trails roared, shoving her away. “I gotta go! If I go, m-maybe I can draw it off, I gotta…” He turned to the carriage and threw the back door open, ripping a tarp off a large metal chest. He flung it open, rummaging around, and came back out with a crossbow and queer looking bolts. Instead of arrow tips, they ended with small canisters. “Trails?!” Gertie shouted, fur and feathers frizzing wildly, soaked as she was by mud. “Wh-what are you doing with that?!” “Shut up, just shut up!” Trails barked, holding one of the strange arrows between his teeth as he turned the crossbow’s cranks, pulling the bowstring back inch by inch. “Make sure the engine’s still running, oh God, please, just a little more time…” Another explosion, smaller than the first, ripped through the street. Dust’s inhabitants were awake now, poking their heads out of doors, shouting to each other, trying to organize a response to whatever it was that just struck their sleepy town. Some ignored it. Others walked. Most ran. Here, there, everywhere. Gertie stood in the midst of it, confused, frightened. Another explosion. Another roar of fire. Gertie turned back to the blaze. It had moved from the line of buildings, into the street, illuminating shadowy figures shouting, running. But there were no buildings to burn. How was it spreading over mud? Griffons had taken wing from the Harridan, circling the sight of the blaze, pointing and shouting at something down below in the midst of raging conflagration that just kept spreading out and out... Gertie’s eyes finally adjusted to the glare. She saw what the griffons were pointing at, and her heart skipped a beat. The fire wasn’t just spreading. It was moving.