//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: Hegira: Rising Omega 
// by Guardian_Gryphon 
//------------------------------//

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Twelfth Month, Fourth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn

Though it was only an afterimage, the vision burned itself into my mind like a white-hot firebrand.  For a time, the nightmares had subsided.  I had gotten five months of blissful peace and rest.  

Then for whatever strange reason, or purpose, they had returned with a vengeance.
The image was always the same.  Always silent.  Haunting in its stillness.  

Nothing more, to the eyes of any other observer, than a young Human girl, crouched on the ground with her arms folded about her legs.

Always Sonya was staring at me.  It drove me to fits of near-madness.  I could not seem to grasp the intent of her expression.  For all my powers of perception, her emotional state remained utterly elusive.

I shook myself, doing my best to dispel the last vestiges of a fevered sleep, in favor of the comforts of morning.

I blinked, and stretched out my forelegs, yawning for a protracted moment, before at last rising from bed.  The sleeping enclosure was a comfortable circular single wooden piece, with a cushioning mattress, and a cornucopia of pillows, blankets, and fire-warmed rocks, that allowed it to become a sort of artificial nest.  

Very much in Gryphic taste.  I loved it more than any cot, bed, bunk, or slab of rock I had ever leaned on for my night's rest.  And there had been plenty of rock slabs in the bad old days.

I glanced around the room appreciatively, simultaneously breathing a prayer of thanks, and taking comfort in the familiar sights.

The north wall of the room contained two oaken sets of doors, trimmed in silver and bronze.  The right side portal opened onto the corridor of the mountain's stronghold, and the left onto the room's attached shower.

Steam, and the sound of running water over rock issued forth from the latter, informing me that the room's other occupant had once again beaten me to the start of the morning routine.  

Typical of her.

In the space between the doors sat a wide wooden desk, with a hutch and a large array of surprisingly deep drawers.  The only parts of the desk's surface which were not covered in miscellaneous bits of metal and wooden machinery, were covered in sheaves of my design sketches on thin, light-permeable parchment, which could be stacked in layers to reveal more complexity.

The eastern wall was essentially a floor to ceiling bookcase.  The collection of scrolls and books had once been completely inaccessible to me, and I had often thought to myself in the intervening years that one of the greatest handicaps to us Converts was that we hadn't been raised to read and write old-Gryphic.

Though my own skills were still relatively amateurish, I had finally learned enough from my friends and family to read basic forms of the script on my own, and to haltingly understand the more complex variants with the use of some memorized translation aids.  I had been told repeatedly that within a few decades I would be equivalent to any native reader or speaker.

The western wall of my room was given over to a semicircular hearth, which protruded several feet into the space.  I moved to stand beside it, stepping around the built in sunning rock in the process.  Sometimes sleeping on a rock could be a very enjoyable experience, given the flexibility of my distinctly leonine skeletal structure.  And warm granite against feathers on a cool night is a comfort that goes so far beyond the Human joy of warm blankets, that it doesn't even merit an attempt at description.

I raked the coals gently with one claw to bring them back to life.  The heat level was low enough to permit fleeting contact between my talons, and the combustible material, without damage or pain.  The tolerances parts of my body displayed amazed me, sometimes more in the little daily moments than in the heat of battle.

Small tendrils of smoke and steam wended their way up to a cleverly concealed brass flue, which produced a constant suction force.

I then turned to the southern wall, reveling in the diffused cascade of the sun's morning light as it streamed in through the room's gigantic window to fall on my red and russet feathers.  The single sheet of pure crystal covered the entire wall, and could be released downwards into a hidden floor slot, turning it into a direct exit from the suite to the outside.

I strode over to the catch and flicked the bronze fitting idly with one talon, pausing to examine the way the winter light sparkled on my claw's golden and black surfaces.  Years later, and I still couldn't tear myself away from the novelty of it.

The window dropped away on a set of cushioning springs, allowing a bracing icy blast of northern winter air to enter the space.  I closed my eyes, and smiled as the wind toyed with the tufted tips of my ears, pausing to take in the familiar smells and sounds of Tih’ré Seli’hn.

Though the city was not populous by the standards of most other species, it was still an impressive achievement in its own right.  

We Gryphons prefer spread out living, with even population distribution across many small settlements.  The cramped dense cities of other species are less than preferable for us as a long term living arrangement, for a variety of reasons.

The scent of myriad morning meals upon many hearths mixed with the acrid tang of hot leather, and melting steel issuing forth from the forges.  The amalgamation was underpinned subtly by the smell of newly fallen snow, lending the morning a fresh undertone endemic to winter's early days.

My favorite medley of scents in the world.

The whistle of a stiff morning breeze drowned out part of the usual thrum of morning activity, but the arresting clang of smithing hammers against metal was still easily audible.

I smiled, and exhaled as I sensed a new presence beside me.  Opening my eyes, I directed my gaze down at the red and brown fledgeling, who returned the smile for a protracted warm moment in silence.  

In Gryphic terms Alyra was approximately ten years old then, which equated roughly with her Human age.

To my chagrin, I did not know my own daughter's precise birthday.  No one but her birth mother did, and for all either of us knew the woman was dead and gone.  At the time of her adoption Alyra had long been a homeless orphan.

In lieu of a specific biological birth date, we had decided to instead celebrate her birthday as the day of her Conversion.  Only eight months had passed since that time, but I often found myself thinking fondly ahead to her first real birthday celebration.

At last I broke the silence, smirking outwardly, but shaking myself inwardly to break the reverie.  Sometimes I found myself completely lost in the fact that I had become a father;  The warmth, excitement, hope, and fear.  But most of all the love.

"Good morning.  I see you've already used all the hot water."

Alyra stuck out her tongue momentarily, then spread her wings and waggled them to dislodge any remaining water droplets as she spoke.

"You don't need a shower.  You smell fine."

Waggling a claw, I raised an eyebrow as my daughter leapt up onto the sunning rock.  I plucked a pair of heated stones from the hearth, and chuckled wryly.

"Flattery will not save you, my conniving little featherduster."

As I tucked one of the stones under each of my fledgling's wings, Alyra rolled her eyes, and giggled.

"It wasn't flattery silly!  I just mean that you're dozy in the mornings, and you'd end up late if you took a shower."

I snorted, and put on my best impression of a wicked grin.

"That's it!  You have insulted my honor for the last time!"

As I spoke, I reached out with one foreleg and snagged the nest's largest pillow, smacking it into the side of Alyra's head in one smooth motion.  The fledgeling let out a sound halfway between a surprised yelp, and a peal of laughter.

My favorite sound in all the world.

"*What* honor?!"

Alyra extended one of her back paws, snagging a blanket with her sharp back claws, and whipping the improvised weapon forward into her foreclaws.

"It isn't fair for you to attack first!"

I smirked once more, and my right ear twitched reflexively as the room's main door cracked open almost silently, and a figure emerged from the shadows of the corridor.  I kept my eyes fixed on Alyra 

"My dearest, if there is one thing I ought to have taught you by now?  It's this...  If you're in a fair fight?  Then you've made some sort of mistake."

Alyra screeched in surprise, and then mirth, as the second adult Gryphon snatched her up from behind, wrapping both wings and forelegs around her to hold her steady as I lightly dusted her with the edge of her own blanket.

She sneezed, and then sneezed again, prompting brief, but hauntingly beautiful laughter from her captor.  Neyla was quite close to my age in Gryphon terms, albeit several decades older by Human reckoning.

The Gryphoness was a visually arresting combination of blues and browns, the former covering her chest, face, ears, and wing bands, while the latter filled in her back, wing joints, head, and legs.

Neyla at last released Alyra, who promptly turned and pounced on me, regaining brief control of her blanket and desperately trying to avenge herself.

I rolled onto my back and briefly allowed my daughter to best me in mock combat, as all good fathers must, laughing all the while, before finally staggering back to all fours, and sneezing myself.

In response to the latter act, Neyla moved gracefully to the window, pulling the glass back up to its sealed position and closing the catch.

"To look at you, one might think this was your first winter."

I chuckled, and shook my head, helping Alyra back onto the sunning rock as I replied.

"Well it's only really my fourth, by your standards, and her first.  On Earth we didn't get a lot of clean snow, and we didn't really spend any time breathing the rarified air during the cold months, if we could help it.  Too many contaminants, too little nitrogen."

Neyla moved to stand as close to me as she could get without causing me to backpedal, and reached up towards my crest.  I tensed slightly, but remained still as my companion adjusted and smoothed over the brilliant blue feather starkly tucked in amongst its otherwise red neighbors.

"It's still there.  Never fear."

I intended the words to be reassuring, but I caught a faint glimpse of frustration and pain flash across Neyla's visage nonetheless.  The presence of one of her wing primaries in my crest indicated that she had marked me, so that other single females would not think me available.

For my part, I had consented to the unusual Gryphic equivalent of a promise ring, but I still found myself unable to take the next step, in spite of a conflicting and strong desire to do so.  

Sometimes I felt like such a coward, especially for someone with so much battle experience.

Neyla sighed, and flopped down beside Alyra on the sunning rock, draping one wing over the fledgling, who smiled and reflexively snuggled into her side.  Neyla was as much a mother to Alyra as I was her father, though the former relationship was not official like the latter.

The Gryphoness spoke softly as she began to gently preen the young one's crest feathers.

"I've never known anyone who could prolong a battle between love, and fear, for so long."

The truth hit, as it always did, with a short, sharp force.  Like the piercing of a rail-round, rather than the concussion of a fisted punch.

I snorted, and crossed the room, taking up a position beside its two armor stands.  As I gently removed my helmet from the larger of the two wooden constructs, I blinked, and managed to find a way to phrase my melange of conflicted thoughts.

"It's the Human part of me.  Humans are very good at living in a position of indefinite stalemate;  With love, with faith...  With life in general.  The Gryphon side of me hasn't quite worn that old weakness down yet."

Alyra leaned up and whispered in Neyla's ear.  Though the fledgeling thought her voice too low for me to pick up, she underestimated my hearing by several decibels.  

"I've been doing my best to help wear him down too."

I smiled slightly to myself as I began strapping on the rest of my armor.  Alyra had not yet finished learning the full extent of the powers, and limitations of the Gryphon biology.

Neyla smirked, and planted a small kiss on the fledgling's head, whispering something in return that was too low in volume for me to pick up at a distance.  With age came wisdom apparently.

Doing my best to feign ignorance, I raised an eyebrow and turned to face the pair as I knelt to secure my rear leg guards.

"What are you two ladies conspiring about?"

Neyla opened her beak to deliver some wry retort, but Alyra surprised both us older Gryphons by beating her to the punch.

"Wouldn't *you* like to know?"

I grimaced slightly, and inclined my head with a smile as I rose to attach my wing joint guards.

"Ah.  So I see you are learning after all."





Neyla

Tih’ré Seli’hn was perhaps the world's only truly unassailable capital.  

Built directly into the craggy side of a massive mountain peak, it spilled out beyond the bounds of the natural rock to partly fill a small highland glen.  Defense, lookout, and living towers were often hewn directly from the rock itself, constructed with a clear eye for both beauty and defense.

The structures of the city-castle were almost all fashioned from a material that might have been carved stone at first glance to the un-knowing.  Yet many of the shapes it created were too flowing to have been created from cut rock, and it lacked seams of any kind.

Veined like marble, but with less contrast and a darker aspect, the material was also similar to granite both in texture and toughness, even in wafer thin slices.

There were no harsh lines or trapping folds in the buildings, so snow had a difficult time gaining purchase on any artificial structure.

Taken as a whole most of Gryphic architecture looked a great deal like Human Celtic carving designs; Loops within loops, few straight edges.  Most of the city's buildings were very open, yet they possessed cleverly hidden deployable walls, panels, and struts to defend against invaders both living, and weather-driven.

Fyrenn paused on a thermal, to take in the sight of the city covered in snow, allowing Alyra and I to pass on ahead.

He was always caught up by the most ordinary of things.  Part of that was his history as a Convert.  As I had come to know him better over the years, I also learned that part of it was a childlike sense of wonder that was simply a part of him.  His unique personality.

Not for the first time, I think Fyrenn was lost in marveling at the sheer impossibility of attack from a non-flighted species afforded by the city's position.  

Those of us who had more experience with our architecture knew it as simple fact;  Air was simply the only way in or out, and even that line of attack would be suicide for an army a hundred times greater than the city's own population.  

In spite of its well designed, omnipresent defenses, the city felt open, as all our constructs are wont to do.  All the windows were large, clear, arching pieces of crystal, hard as the Humans' alloy-reinforced plexiglass, with no hint of internal bolstering by way of panes or filigree.

During the warmer months most of the windows were kept open.  Each was able to iris, divide, recess, and swing wide in a myriad of different unobtrusive ways.  The open plan left ample space for the wind, and Gryphons, to come and go as we pleased.

During the winter months, most were closed during the night, morning, and evening, to help structures retain heat.

Fyrenn realized abruptly that Alyra and I had nearly gotten out of sight.  I heard him tuck his wings, and dive sharply to catch up with us, alighting only moments after our paws and claws touched the cobblestones.

He moved to place one wing comfortingly over his daughter, and offered her the brightest smile he could.  The warmth of that simple, pure expression of love from father to daughter hit my gut the same way it always did, eliciting no small amount of churn and warmth in response.
I'd never told him just how much the sight of his pure, honest, kind, gentle love as a father for his daughter fired the heat of my own love for him.  I didn't want him to hide those moments from me.

He gestured up with one claw towards a gaggle of other young Gryphons, who were congregating before a large low-slung building.

"Stay sharp, listen closely, and make some new friends.  But don't ever hesitate to be the smartest one in class."

Alyra smiled wanly, and nodded.

"I know Dad.  You've said this, every morning.  For five months."

Fyrenn returned the smile, and bent to clutch Alyra to his neck.

"And I'll say it every day until you graduate.  I love you."

Alyra's smile widened into something far warmer and deeper, as she momentarily pressed into her father's neck.

"Now *that,* you can say every day for the rest of my life.  I love you too."

The fledgeling leaned upwards, and planted a brief peck of a kiss on her father's cheek, then the same on mine, before bounding away through the snow towards her classmates.  

As she loped along in graceful, swooping strides, her wings unfurled reflexively for balance.

Fyrenn smiled sheepishly as he watched the morning sun flash off Alyra's blue primaries.  Conversion was a thaumatically driven process as much as a technologically driven one.  

Since Gryphon reproduction and genetics were also mostly thaumatic in nature, that meant genetic bleed could occur between an existing Gryphon, and a new convert, during the process itself.  If the love was deep enough.

In a biological sense, Alyra was mostly the product of a combination of Fyrenn's genetics, and mine.  A fact that had caused us much embarrassment amongst our friends, for no small amount of time, mostly due to their incessant needling.  More so for Fyrenn than I.

He gestured with a claw, and sighed.

"She really does have your wings."

I nodded, and unleashed my retort with perfect deadpan.

"And your complete and total lack of subtlety."

The red Gryphon shot a wry sideways glance at me, then jabbed me lightly in the side with his right wing.  I chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

"I never said there was anything *wrong* with that.  Some of us like our males to be forthright puzzles."

Fyrenn turned to face me fully.  His eyes narrowed, his tone dropped, and his ears flattened slightly.

"Are you suggesting that I'm simple?"

I snorted, and shook my head as I snapped open my wings again.

"Quite the opposite.  Nonetheless I am, rather, suggesting that I'm smarter than you."

Before Fyrenn could react, I beat down hard with my pinions, rising like a reverse thunderbolt into the sky, and leaving behind a sudden mist of disturbed snowflakes.

He snorted, and followed suit, allowing the rush of wind against his face to clear away the snow particles.  As he caught up, wheeling into a wide circle in formation with me, he shouted out the best reply he could muster.

"Smarter maybe, but definitely just as ill-mannered!"

I responded with a silent smirk, before stooping down towards another part of the city.  Fyrenn folded his wings and paused briefly in mid-air before following me down to the collection of ring-shaped clearings in the snow.

Winters in the north were cold, and often gray;  Laden with snow, rain, and sleet, they did not lend themselves to the year's other usual activities.  

As such, a dozen impromptu arena structures had been set up before the castle's main landing area.  They took the form of well-packed circles of snow, fifteen meters in diameter, ringed by river stones and tall torches at intervals.

The fight rings helped provide entertainment, a task for us warriors to set our minds to, and much needed avenues to continue honing and freshening skill.

Though Fyrenn and I had a standing appointment for single combat practice every other morning, regardless of the season, I had insisted that we move the sparring from its usual residence in the formal training ring to the winter arenas.

I claimed it was our duty to the morale of the city.  Which was not a lie, precisely.  Just a partial truth.

Deep down, if I was being honest, I simply wanted to show him off, damn fine specimen that he was.  I think he knew that as well, though he would never admit it aloud.

He wasn't one to boast in his skills, or even to display them without good cause.  I had often told him I believed he needed to do a better job of getting himself noticed.   Potential superior officers needed to see his skill, if he was ever going to seek further promotion in the Knights' Brotherhood.

Fyrenn didn't think very highly of his skill as compared to his peers.  Though he had been a Gryphon for nearly five years, and a soldier for decades more, he lacked the truly refined skills of we Gryphons who had the advantage of a century of experience or more.

I, and his siblings, had all insisted that in place of that long-running experience he had, in Varan's words; 'A uniquely Human capacity for swift adaptation, undying optimism, and shrewd, devious strategy.'

As Fyrenn came to a stop on the hardened snow beside me, he sighed, and shook his head, fluffing his wings as he spoke in order to dislodge latent ice particles.

"I worry that she isn't branching out.  Alyra, I mean.  She seems to have become fully immersed in the culture...  She's bonded to all of us in the family without any reservation...  But she has no friends *her* age, and it feels to me like she isn't even trying."

I nodded, and withdrew my two curved short-swords from the hidden sheaths under my wings.  Pausing for a moment, I then carefully began to put words to my thoughts as I examined the glittering blades.

"It has not even been one full year since she lost her sister.  No matter how well she bonds to us, that loss will resonate with her.  Sonya was all she had for a decade, from the time of her first memories.  She is not ready to grow attached to those her own age again, nor is she yet able to forget enough of her trauma to come down to their level.  She is far older in spirit than most of her physical age.  Even among our kind."

I paused again, and twirled one of my swords about my left claw lazily, offering Fyrenn a half-smile for reassurance as I stepped away to the other side of the ring.

"I think you needn't worry.  Not for the present, at least.  For now, this is normal, and given that she is resilient, and has not given herself to bitterness...  I doubt you'll have to push her to re-acclimate, when the time comes.  For the moment?  Just keep being her father."

Fyrenn snorted, and unsheathed his own sword from the scabbard at his back.  The one-and-a-half claw weapon was more in the vein of a traditional old-Gryphic blade than my weapons;  Deceptively light for its size, and therefore faster than a congruent Human analogue - A 'bastard sword' I believe they would have called it.  Silly name.

"Yes, provided you leave my head attached for yet another morning.  Last time you bruised four tendons on my neck."

As Fyrenn spoke, he began to circle slowly.  I moved in time to his steps, keeping myself positioned directly across from him.  I smirked and raised an eyebrow as a small crowd began to gather.

Many had seen our previous displays, and word had quickly spread that our bouts were not a sight to be missed for any who were interested in a stunning glimpse of skill and speed.

I clicked my beak slightly, and cocked my head.

"It was only a flesh wound.  You got quite lucky."

Fyrenn snorted, and began to spin his sword around his right claw in slow, patterned arcs.

"I don't believe in luck.  I believe in persistence, perception, prayer, a touch of the unorthodox...   And a wee dash of overkill now and again, because honestly how else does one expect to have any *fun*?"

I feinted with one sword, then took an experimental swipe with the other.  The maneuver was merely one in a large playbook of my opening moves;  Designed as little more than a warm up compared to what was later to come.  

I never missed a chance to string things out.  The bouts were the closest thing I had to any physical intimacy with Fyrenn, standoffish as he so often was.  The more I could prolong the closest thing I had to a dance with him, the better.

I had to remind myself yet again;  He had his reasons.  Valid reasons.  Though I wished, as I so often did, that he would slay them with as much vigor as he could put into our sessions.

I grinned and used the opportunity to close the distance to him.  Though within striking range of each other, we remained relatively motionless, abruptly ceasing our revolving paw-work as I spoke again.

"Says the one who has lost eight out of ten of our last matches."

Fyrenn shrugged, and smiled, doing his best to ignore the growing noise of conversation emanating from the three dozen spectators around the ring's perimeter.

"True...  But there are three critical fallacies in your thought process."

Raising an eyebrow, I brought both swords to a fully ready position, injecting a playful note into my words.  Humans found, I had discovered, our Gryphic equivalent of flirtation to be not only extremely amusing, but often physically frightening, from their fragile perspective.

"Oh?  Do tell."

Fyrenn held up his left claw, extending a talon in turn as he reached each item in his list.

"Firstly, I consider two victories out of ten to be fairly good, given that you've been using swords twenty times as long as I have.  Secondly, you are mistaking my losses for defeats.  I learn something new every time you hand me a bruise, and finally..."

The red Gryphon smirked, and inclined his head as he completed his sentence.

"...You're too busy waiting for point number three to notice what I'm doing with my tail-barb."

My eyes widened reflexively, and Fyrenn seized the opportunity born of his deception.

Fan-tailed Gryphons rarely used tail barbs, due to the difficulty in finding a solid attachment point.  The device was mostly the purview of tuft-tails.  I was, however, aware that Fyrenn was often given over to unconventional strategies in his attempts to defeat me.  

His ploy depended almost entirely on my assumptions born of that fact.  He knew me, and he knew exactly how well I knew him.

As I moved my swords to block an imaginary attack from his swishing tail, never destined to land, Fyrenn flared his wings, and brought the inner edges of his joint-guards down sharply.

The unconventional line of attack had two advantages for him;  As a male, he had slightly greater mass, strength, and height than I did, giving his wings the power to overmatch the strongest part of my defense.

Humans could argue all they wanted about how the females of their own extinct raptors and leonines were larger than males, but it did nothing to change our own biological facts.  On average Gryphon males are two to four percent larger by mass and size.

The strange nature of the gambit, given that we Gryphons usually attacked with claws or blades first, then followed with beak and wings, left me further unbalanced.  

That damnably unpredictable, beautifully adaptable Human streak of his.  He unabashedly admitted that he hoped to pick up skills and proficiency from me.  Though I didn't say much of the ambition aloud, I always hoped to pick up some of that flare for the unorthodox from him in turn.

Fyrenn pressed into his lunge, abruptly folding his wings around my head, and launching himself into a vault over my back.  He used the force of his passage to flip me over via his wing-lock, ending with his sword across my throat, and his sharp back claws bared against the most fragile part of my belly.

I snorted, and sighed.

"I'll admit, that was a solid feint.  But I thought you said you wanted to avoid too much physical intimacy, for the present...  And this is as close as we've ever been in the last few months, if I do say so myself."

Fyrenn stiffened, and pulled away sheepishly, no doubt silently grateful that his red cheek feathers masked his blush to all but my eyes.  Before he had quite finished processing the fact that the words were my own special brand of tactic, I had pounced.

I managed, in a blur of motion, to instantly reverse our positions.  The maneuver buried Fyrenn in the snow, with both points of my swords across his throat, and my back claws firmly latched over his heart.  The cadence of his heartbeat was surprisingly smooth and controlled given the situation, and our exertions. 

Further proof that his skills in bodily control and discipline were improving by the day.

He gulped, and winced reflexively.  I smiled as he spoke.

"So...  We'll call this a draw?  If you were an enemy, I would have simply slit your throat when I had the chance."

I held my position for a long moment, one eyebrow raised, silently savoring his bemusement, and our closeness, before stepping back, and offering a claw to help him back to his paws.

"If I were an enemy, I would not have fallen for your charming little charade."

Fyrenn nodded as he accepted my aid, and began righting himself.

"True, but if you were an enemy, you also wouldn't have made the mistake of offering to help me."

Even as the words left his beak, he pivoted over the joint center of mass he shared with me, forcing us back down towards the snow, and placing him in a position to lay his sword back on my throat from above.

He grinned down at me as I blinked in surprise.  A smattering of applause made its way through the onlookers.  Fyrenn knew the gestures were more an appreciation of his humor than his skill.  

It didn't bother him.  Another thing I absolutely loved about him.  Like all of us, he had a proud streak.  Unlike most of us, that streak stopped short of full on arrogance when it came to skills with a blade.  He knew his limits.  Though he was fond of testing them, he could not be baited with challenges to his potency.

"So...  A little practice on my defensive form, and then a hot breakfast?"

I smiled, and rose as Fyrenn withdrew his sword, shaking the snow from my wings and back as I regained a standing position and spoke, making no effort to keep the warmth, nor the amusement from my voice.

"You've earned it.  I see you're taking my advice."

He shrugged, and retreated to his start position, bringing his sword up to a standard defensive stance.

"What?  You mean mixing my unique Human perspectives with my Gryphon nature?  That comes naturally.  The hard part is doing it for an audience.  I'm not shy, but I don't like to show off either."

My eyes narrowed as I pressed forward, forcing him to bring his sword into a dizzying series of parries to stave off the attack, both physical and verbal.

"Don't tell me you've been holding out on me just because people like to watch us spar!  I thought you had better sense than that!"

Fyrenn shrugged once more as he continued to place his sword into patterns of movement that would force me to cancel each new line of attack.  

"I suppose I'd rather have a bruised body than an inflated ego."

Like all forms of advanced Gryphic bladed combat, the fight involved little to no direct contact between our weapons.  We were perceiving and reacting so swiftly, that we could change tack before an impact was ever made in the first place.

Rather than the clanging metallic sounds most other beings associated with a sword fight, Gryphic swordplay is mostly punctuated by whooshing noises from steel cleaving air, occasional grunts of exertions, and the softer hiss of moving feathers.

I frowned, and pressed my assault with some added vigor, narrowing my eyes once more and concentrating, barely assigning any leftover brainpower to speak further.

"Well this time you'll either accept an unusually serious instance of the former, or you'll give me, and our audience, your best, at risk of the latter."

He snorted, and exhaled, pressing the limits of his own focus as he took a swift step to the side, and vaulted over my right wing.

"I'm not sure that my best is gonna be enough!  You're in quite a mood today!"

I spun sharply to track his center of mass, hoping to beat him with a complex series of close-in expert-level offensive swipes.  To my surprise, and more than a little pride, I found Fyrenn's blade already present, and set up to deflect each line of attack in turn.

He smiled, and raised an eyebrow as he stepped away, signaling a pause in the fight as he voiced his opinion.  About those, he was never shy.

"You get predictable when we spar.  You have to stop seeing me as anything but an opponent, or all those years of experience are useless.  One thing I can do just as well as you, is perceive and analyze strategy and emotion.  Yours are getting the better of---"

Seeing an opportunity, I abruptly cut the sentence short with an aggressive pass from my right blade, followed by the most flirtatious tone I could muster with my leftover brain power.

"You run your beak too much.  Less talk.  More strike."

A new voice, older and stronger than Fyrenn's, interjected sharply carrying a hint of amusement.

"Oh I don't know...  I think he 'runs his beak,' because he knows it works.  Just like you."

A second, more lilting voice joined in. 

"Both as compensatory mechanisms, and a way to put the other off balance."

Fyrenn and I both stiffened reflexively, lowering our swords, dipping our heads, and placing our right claws over our left shoulders in salute.  The other Gryphons encircling the ring mimicked the gesture momentarily, as the new arrivals entered the arena.

High King Siidran was dressed for combat;  Clad in a light version of his usual ceremonial burnished alloy armor, with diamond trimming.  His mate, High Queen Linnea, accompanied him in similar garb.

Both held traditional one and a half claw swords not unlike Fyrenn's in structure, though quite different in decoration.

Siidran and Linnea had taken an active interest in Fyrenn's life since the first time they had met.  

At first, the main motivation had been Fyrenn's status as the first Human convert to the Gryphon species.  Anyone could see that.

As the years passed, however, Siidran and Linnea had sought to forge stronger, more loving bonds.  If Fyrenn had known our culture a little better at the time, he would have already thought of them as godparents.

Perhaps he did instinctively, but had never put voice to the knowledge aloud.

He always seemed to feel unusually comfortable in the presence of royalty.  Though he retained a strong demeanor of respect, he felt he was permitted the leeway to be slightly more relaxed around the King and Queen.

The pair had, in fact, instructed him to do so, in blunt terms, on many occasions, several of which I was party to.  

I had often been similarly admonished, to my eternal embarrassment.

We Gryphons universally preferred not to stand on ceremony and formality during daily interactions, but we also hold exceedingly high respect for our leaders.  We never allow anyone to hold high station without earning it, as the Humans say, 'in spades.'

It had taken me much longer to suppress my inhibitions, embrace my instincts, and accept a more informal atmosphere around the royals.  But it eventually happened. 

In the end, it had a great deal to do with the way Queen Linnea and I shared so much in the way of personality, life experience, and upbringing.  That had functioned as an excellent foundation for a deep, and much appreciated bond of commonalities.

Linnea offered both Fyrenn and I a warm smile in turn as she crossed to the opposite side of the ring, directing her next words to me.

"I heard you had convinced Fyrenn to bring his training out into the open.  I thought it unfair that the High King and Queen should conduct their sparring in private when you are already setting such a good example by making your bouts public entertainment."

I grinned sheepishly, corners of my beak upturned ever so slightly, as a wave of applause swept through the onlookers.  Siidran and Linnea were, by nature of both their age and station, some of the most well honed fighters in the entire world.  

Or any world at all.  Let alone the Gryphon Kingdoms.

Like any well-loved ruler figures, their exploits had become treasured legends in their own time.

Siidran moved to join his beloved, placing one wing over her back.  The gesture was not unlike the way I had seen Humans put an arm around the shoulders of a loved one, though Fyrenn had once told me in a moment of emotional progress that having experienced both, he found the presence of a wing far more expressive, and warm.

I wished, as I so often did, that he would give to, and receive from me that gesture more often.

The King smiled, and inclined his head.

"Well now that I've been dragged out into the snow, why not make it truly worth everyone's time in the cold?"

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow as Siidran turned to face the majority of their audience, which had begun to slowly but steadily grow as word spread through the city.

"Why not make this a two and two all-out match?  Something to really remember!"

There was an instantaneous change in the mood of the surrounding Gryphons.  Mild interest morphed immediately into electrified excitement, and a roar of approval briefly drowned out all other sound.

As soon as he could get a word in edgewise, Fyrenn attempted to interject, shaking his head in embarrassment.

"No, I couldn't possibly.  I wouldn't last even---"

As soon as the words had left his beak, my right claw slammed into his side, knocking the wind out of him.  As he attempted to regain the use of his lungs, he watched helplessly.  

I smiled, and dipped my head, sealing our fate with my words.

"We accept."

The onlookers erupted into a thunderous screech of approval, and ground-shaking applause.  Fyrenn shot a sideways glance at me, rubbing his side and shaking his head.

"You realize that they'll have us begging for our lives inside four seconds, yes?"

Shrugging, I began to spin my short swords around both claws lazily.

"Where's your famous sense of adventure?  I thought you loved 'impossible' challenges..."

Fyrenn grimaced, and let out a deep breath, murmuring his response in a resigned undertone.

"I usually prefer to save those until *after* breakfast."